Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning

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LEARNING DISCOURSES AND THE DISCOURSES OF LEARNING EDITED BY HELEN MARRIOTT, TIM MOORE AND ROBYN SPENCE-BROWN

Published by Monash University ePress Matheson Library Building 4, Monash University Clayton, Victoria 3800, Australia www.epress.monash.edu.au First published 2007 Copyright © 2007 All rights reserved. Apart from any uses permitted by Australia’s Copyright Act 1968, no part of this book may be reproduced by any process without prior written permission from the copyright owners. Inquiries should be directed to the publisher.

DESIGN A. Katsionis (www.akdesign.com.au) COVER IMAGE Getty Images. Photographer: Jason Reed PRINTER Sydney University Publishing Service This book is available online at www.epress.monash.edu/ld

ISBN 978-0-9803616-4-3 (pb) ISBN 978-0-9803616-5-0 (web) Pages: 288

A NOTE ABOUT PAGE NUMBERING AND CHAPTER IDENTIFICATION Page numbers in this book do not run consecutively across chapters. Instead, page numbering restarts on the first page of each chapter and is prefaced by the chapter number. Thus 01.1 is chapter one, page one; 01.2 is chapter one, page two; 02.1 is chapter two, page one; 02.2 is chapter two, page two; and so on. As page numbering restarts at the beginning of each chapter, page numbers are not listed in the Table of Contents. This system, in which page numbering is self-contained within each chapter, allows the publisher, Monash University ePress, to publish individual chapters online.

LEARNING DISCOURSES AND THE DISCOURSES OF LEARNING CONTENTS Chapter Number v

Introduction

PART ONE: ACADEMIC AND PROFESSIONAL CONTEXTS 01

Problematising academic discourse socialisation — Patricia A. Duff

02

The perils of skills: Towards a model of integrating graduate attributes into the disciplines — Tim Moore and Brett Hough

03

Eliciting professional discourse in assignments — Jan Pinder

04

Role conflation in academic-professional writing: A case study from the discipline of Law — Steve Price

05

The socio-cognitive complexity of learning to argue in disciplinary (con)texts — Kara M. Gilbert

PART TWO: SECOND LANGUAGE CONTEXTS 06

Micro language planning for the support of international students in health science faculties — Helen Marriott

07

‘Don’t be so loud – and speak English’: School language policies towards Chinese international students — Louisa Willoughby

08

Intercultural academic participation processes: The case of a Japanese international student at an Australian university — Kuniko Yoshimitsu

09

Incomplete participation in academic contact situations: Japanese exchange students at an Australian university — Hiroyuki Nemoto

10

Peer networks of international medical students in an Australian academic community — Ayako Wakimoto

11

A case study of a medical PBL tutorial: Tutor and student participation — Rintaro Imafuku

PART THREE: FOREIGN LANGUAGE LEARNING CONTEXTS 12

Learner motivation and engagement in a pedagogic and assessment task: Insights from activity theory— Robyn Spence-Brown

13

Effect of individual and social factors on learners’ group work activity — Chiharu Shima

14

Effect of mentoring on second language composition processes in Japanese — Masumi Kobayashi

15

Social and contextual factors influencing L1/L2 use in learners’ social network contexts: A case study of learners of Japanese in Australia — Naomi Kurata

16

Negotiation of language selection in language exchange partnerships — Yuko Masuda

17

Washback of high-stakes assessment: Year 12 Japanese — Akiko Ryumon

18

Are second language classrooms gendered? — Julie Bradshaw

INTRODUCTION

INTRODUCTION The last two decades have been a period of quite intense and dramatic change in higher education in Australia, and indeed in many other developed countries in the world. This transformation, which has seen impacts on so many of the activities of the traditional university (the nature of disciplinary knowledge, the processes by which it is taught, who participates in these processes) is often broadly characterised as a shift from a small, regulated and ultimately elite system catering mainly to local communities to a burgeoning, mass system operating in an increasingly competitive and international market. A sense of the dimensions of this change can be grasped by a snapshot of student participation rates over the last 40 years. In 1967, for example, around 100,00 students attended Australian universities; in 1987 the figure was about 350,000, and now in the mid 2000s the figure is pushing one million (Department of Education, Science and Training 2005). This growth in the size of the student populace has also been matched by an increasing diversity in the social, cultural and linguistic backgrounds of students. These changes were first evident in the 1980s with the arrival on university campuses of students from so-called ‘nontraditional backgrounds’, a trend driven in part by various equity and diversity initiatives introduced by institutions around this time. An additional catalyst for this diversification was the opening of Australian university courses to students from overseas on a mainly fee-paying basis in the mid 1980s. This latter program in particular has had a profound impact on Australian universities, and has experienced an expansion that its designers could never have envisaged. By 2005, international student enrolments had risen to over 150,000, with the international education sector now the country’s second largest earner of export revenue. Such trends have also been evident at the secondary level, though on a smaller scale. Along with these changes in the size and diversity of the universities have been changes in their perceived roles and purposes in contemporary society. The expansion of the sector over the last two decades has been accompanied – even motivated – by a belief on the part of policy makers that our higher education institutions need to be concerned as much with the imperatives of national development and economic prosperity, as with traditional notions of scholarship and the advancement and imparting of disciplinary knowledge. One of the consequences of this new thinking has been a greater emphasis on the vocational dimension of university education, seen both in the proliferation of new occupational disciplines and in the increasing professionalisation of many of the traditional disciplines. This shift has experienced additional impetus through greater accountability pressures exerted on institutions by a range of stakeholders – government agencies, employer organisations, and increasingly by students, who more than ever are having to bear the costs of their own education. These changes, driven ultimately by the much larger forces of globalisation and the increasing application of neo-liberal market principles to many sectors of society, have not always been greeted with a wholehearted enthusiasm, it must be said, by many in the academic community. Among the concerns commonly expressed are a perceived loss of academic independence; perceptions of diminishing academic standards; and a general concern that educational debates are conducted increasingly within a narrow, instrumentalist frame (see for example Marginson and Considine 2000). But whilst many academics remain wary of the drivers and motives behind

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many of the changes that have occurred, there is a general recognition that the transformations ushered in over the last decades have, if nothing else, combined to make university campuses vastly more dynamic and complex places than they were previously. This is seen in the increasingly multicultural and multilingual backgrounds of many members of the university community (students and staff alike), and in the increasingly rich and intercultural nature of many of the social and academic interactions that take place within these communities. Clark Kerr’s old description of the modern university as a ‘multiversity’ – ‘a city of infinite variety’ as he described it – is perhaps more apt now than it ever was. One of the motivations for this book then is to explore some of the effects that these larger macro forces have had on processes of learning, teaching, and social interaction generally, in the highly complex communities that are our contemporary universities. Some of the papers explore these effects directly, while others are concerned with the micro-level social interactions situated in the new environments created by them. The central organising concept of the book is discourses. We use the term here in its broadest sense, one now used conventionally in the language-based disciplines to denote those social processes and practices in which language plays a role. This broader definition is one that extends beyond an earlier notion that tended to equate discourses with texts. As Fairclough (1989) points out, a text is best viewed as ‘a product rather than a process’ – discourse on the other hand ‘refers to the whole process of social interaction of which a text is just a part’ (p. 24). The broad theoretical position underlying many of the papers in this volume is that participation and engagement in university study (as it is in any institutional setting) is best understood as a process of ‘discourse socialisation’, that is to say, that to learn to be an effective member of the institutional community is to become familiar with and to gain some mastery over its relevant social processes and practices, including processes of textual production, both oral and written. An additional theoretical notion is the relationship between the social and the discursive, and how one is seen to act upon the other. Thus, on one level we can see the broad social forces and structures (of the type referred to earlier) having an impact on local discursive practices. This relationship however, needs to be seen as a fundamentally bidirectional one, such that emerging discursive practices in turn act upon and transform the larger social structures. The title of this volume – Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning – suggests a conventional division between the activities of students on the one hand (‘learning discourses’) and teachers on the other (‘discourses of learning’). Thus, the term ‘learning of discourses’ may be seen as denoting students’ experiences of the processes of discourse socialisation in the context of their study, and the ‘discourses of learning’ as those practices employed by teachers and institutions to facilitate this socialisation. As we hope to show, and this is perhaps the main theme to emerge from the book, a simple binary distinction between student work and teacher work fails to capture the breadth and variety of interactions that typically occur in contemporary educational institutions, as well as the diverse educational processes that arise from these interactions. Thus, in the various chapters that comprise the book, discourse socialisation is shown to occur through a variety of social configurations. Whilst the activities of lecturers remains perhaps the primary agency, a number of chapters demonstrate the important work that is also performed nowadays in universities by academic and language support staff, especially in facilitating the learning of second language students. Perhaps even more notable is the role that students themselves have come to play in these processes. Several chapters, for example, investigate the important

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function and operation of peer social networks, especially among international students, as a means to negotiate the academic, cultural and linguistic challenges of their study. An additional dimension considered in a number of papers is the way different social interactions and learning opportunities are shaped and mediated through work done on specific academic tasks. For local students learning foreign languages, the internationalisation of the student population has opened up new opportunities for interactions with target language speakers outside of the classroom, either through formally constructed academic activities, semi-formal activities such as language exchange partnerships and student-mentor relationships or purely social interactions. As in other areas of the university, the new emphases on professionally relevant and problembased learning have led to a focus on ‘authentic’ tasks and group projects. All of these are examined in the chapters within this volume. Many of the studies attest to the complexity and richness of academic socialisation processes. What is of interest is the fact that while some of these processes are institutionally planned and facilitated, others are shown to arise naturally out of this culturally-diverse environment, and are thus far less visible as educational processes. These latter processes suggest that in such an environment a good deal more learning may be occurring than is readily apparent to those only aware of classroom interactions. This is not to suggest however, that the participation and engagement of students in such an environment is unproblematic. A recurring theme in many chapters is, in fact, one of gaps and disjuncts: disjuncts between academic tasks and the demands graduates face in their professional lives; between the tasks framed by teachers and those taken up by learners; and between the rhetoric of policies and practice. Thus, along with describing successes of study in this environment, a number of chapters seek to document the challenges and also the disappointments and failures that can occur. The diversity of the academic communities described in this book can also be seen, we believe, in the backgrounds of the authors who have contributed to it. Authors include teaching academics from both English and non-English speaking backgrounds who either work in a Japanese language and studies program or in linguistics. Other authors are staff working in academic support roles within the university community. Furthermore, a number of graduate students from non-English speaking backgrounds have contributed their “insider” knowledge to the field through their studies of discourse socialisation or foreign language learning. Since the completion of their academic studies, most of these graduates have moved to other positions, especially university teaching, while others continue their research. The volume is divided into three parts. The chapters in Part One consider broader issues of academic discourse socialisation, and the related area of the connection between academic and professional discourses. The first chapter by Patricia Duff is an overview piece introducing many of the issues and concerns that are taken up in some detail in subsequent chapters. Duff’s overarching interest is in the processes by which newcomers to the academy learn to participate in its oral and written discourses, as well as how institutionally they are inducted into these discourses. Duff notes the intensive research effort that has gone into this field over the last two decades, and suggests that while many advances have been made, there are a number of issues that require ‘greater problematisation’. She identifies five of these. The first relates to the ‘academic’ nature of academic discourse. Duff suggests that whilst we may want to see the language and literacy practices of the academy as somehow distinct and stable, they are in fact subject to

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the influences of other discursive formations. Notable among these in recent times have been the highly intertextual and multimodal forms typical of popular culture and also net culture. A second issue for Duff is the assumption that discourse socialisation happens principally through processes of apprenticeship and accommodation of newcomers by expert native speakers. Duff suggests that such a characterisation may in fact overestimate the nature of student-teacher relationships in contemporary mass higher education, where access to staff can be limited, and where feedback on student work is often less than comprehensive. A third issue is the assumption that the principal discursive challenge for students in the university, particularly second language students, is handling the literacy demands of academic programs. Such a view, Duff suggests, can lead one to overlook the fundamentally oral nature of much academic interaction, seen for example in the modes of communication characteristic of online methods of course delivery, and also in the increasingly complex institutional interactions that a student must negotiate to complete a degree. A fourth issue relates to the nature of academic tasks. Here Duff is critical of the tendency in academic socialisation research to see academic tasks as having predictable discursive outcomes. The situation is much more dynamic, she suggests; indeed it is the frequent gap between the taskassigned and the task-performed that, she thinks, should be the focus of our research. A final issue concerns the relationship between the discourses of the academy and those that students will encounter in their subsequent professional lives. On this issue, Duff urges literacy professionals to examine whether the ways our institutions socialise students into academic discourses will actually prepare them for the quite different discourse worlds they will enter after they have completed their studies. The last of Duff’s problematics – the uncertain nexus between academic and professional discourses – is explored in some detail in the next three chapters by Moore and Hough, Jan Pinder, and Steve Price. Moore and Hough, in a more polemical piece, note the tendency in recent years to conceive of higher education as a form of professional training of graduates, seen, for example, in the growing influence of the graduate attributes movement. The authors argue however, that this increased ‘professionalisation’ of study has not necessarily been matched by the development of appropriate and theoretically-grounded pedagogies. One manifestation, they note, is a trend towards greater ‘skills’ teaching with a corresponding de-emphasising of the teaching of disciplinary ‘content’. Drawing on notions of genre and role, the authors propose a curriculum model that they suggest may allow for some systematic development of skills, but which is firmly embedded within studies in the disciplines. Pinder, in Chapter Three, investigates specific efforts made by academics to direct students’ writing towards these professional contexts. Specifically, she analyses a range of assignment topics from the disciplines of Business and Economics based on a prescribed real-world scenario and requiring students to take on a specific professional identity. In her analysis, Pinder notes the complexities involved in seeking to incorporate professional contexts in the classroom. These are seen to arise partly from a failure of some assignment tasks to provide sufficient detail to clearly establish the professional context, but also from the inherent disjunction thought to exist between academic and professional discourse worlds. Despite these difficulties, Pinder believes such an approach does have value as a means of developing students’ discursive abilities, and suggests ways in which it might be more effectively implemented in university programs. At the close of her chapter, Pinder suggests the need for additional research – into both classroom activities and student writing – as a means to better understand how students negotiate

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the contrasting requirements of academic and professional discourses. This latter research agenda is taken up by Steve Price in Chapter Four in a close textual study of a student assignment written in the discipline of Law. Using a case study approach, Price illustrates the very difficult discursive choices students can be required to make in their writing as they negotiate competing discourse demands. Price’s discussion confirms the conclusions drawn by Pinder regarding the important, but often uninterrogated differences that exist between academic and professional discourses. A number of the issues raised by Duff are illustrated in Chapter Five by Gilbert, who focuses on the use of argument in the written texts of students studying Humanities subjects. Gilbert proposes that although the ability to argue is integral to both oral and written academic competency, undergraduate students do not necessarily receive explicit instruction on how to use and incorporate arguments into their academic texts. Reporting here on a case study of an Australian L1 speaker and a Japanese student using English as her L2, Gilbert traces the social and cognitive processes behind the students’ construction of arguments, and finds similarities as well as differences in the two students’ production and management of argument. Part Two introduces five case studies of the English academic discourse socialisation of overseas students at Australian universities as well as a study of overseas students at one local Australian secondary school. Within the Australian context, the government-derived category of ‘international student’ normally refers to overseas students who pay full fees; if such students become permanent residents, then they are categorised as ‘local’ students. Needless to say, these terms are not exclusive ones and the choice of terms in many of the studies to follow is rather problematic. Many, though not all of the overseas students come from non-English-speaking backgrounds and hence are studying not only in a second language but also in a different academic context/culture, which is a highly challenging experience for them. As Duff argues in the opening chapter, academic discourse socialisation is a dynamic, situated, social, and cultural process, and frequently is also multimodal and multilingual. The following chapters illustrate various aspects of this contention. Beginning with a language planning perspective, in Chapter Six Marriott examines the institutional policies and practices that have been devised to support the socialisation of students, especially overseas or international students, in two Health Science faculties. In particular, the study focuses upon the role that specialist language advisors play in assisting students to participate in their new communities of practice in higher education, while, at the same time, preparing for their future professional roles as doctors or pharmacists. Language policy is also a central theme in Willoughby’s case study of a secondary school with a multilingual student population in Chapter Seven. Here, the author traces how various school policies and practices, in addition to participation in friendship networks, shape the Chinese students’ language use of Mandarin and English. Finding that some school policies resulted in language use different from that expected, Willoughby also identifies a positive role that L1 can play in international students’ education. In Chapter Eight Yoshimitsu provides an in-depth longitudinal study of a Japanese student, tracing her entry to university in Australia, her struggles and successes during her first year or so. The student’s voice is portrayed through her journal entries and in-depth interviews which vividly describe her participatory experiences. Nemoto, on the other hand, in Chapter Nine provides unusual insight into how two Japanese students on an exchange program from their home university fail to complete their one-year program in Australia and return home mid-way

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through their stay. His study probes a range of factors to account for these students’ incomplete participation. In doing so, he brings to the fore the complexity of academic communities of practice and shows how difficult it is for newcomers, at times, to overcome the many obstacles found in them. The important role played by peers in facilitating international students’ socialisation in a new academic community is illustrated in Chapter Ten in Wakimoto’s study of peer networks of international medical students. This case study of three Malaysian and one Singaporean student reveals the ways in which either co-national or multi-national networks not only supported students’ social needs, but also provided sources of study support. While also confirming other studies which have found limited host national networks among international students enrolled in Australian universities, Wakimoto explores such situational factors as students’ interaction history, their place of residence and future goals to reveal students’ satisfaction with their network formation. This section concludes in Chapter Eleven with an investigation by Imafuku of a problembased learning (PBL) tutorial in a Medical course and in particular, with Australian and overseas students’ participation in it. Although instigated in order to foster students’ self-directed learning and team-work skills, Imafuku found that the institutional guidelines for tutor and student roles in one PBL tutorial did not correspond, with an analysis of the classroom discourse clearly revealing a tutor-dominated classroom and with overall less oral participation on the part of the overseas-born students. Even so, students were not dissatisfied with this pattern of participation, perceiving that an active tutor was helpful for their clinical learning. In Part Three the focus changes from academic socialisation in general to the social mediation of language learning itself. Unlike the previous two sections, this section is concerned with foreign language learners, although in contrast to the majority of studies of foreign language learning, which focus on classroom learning, a number of the chapters focus on learners’ engagement with native speakers outside of the classroom. The chapters cover a broad spectrum, with two chapters focusing on tasks in a coursework context, three on out-of-class interaction, and two on systemic issues. The first five chapters address the nature of learner activity and the ecology of particular language learning situations. All take as their subjects learners of Japanese in Australia (where Japanese is the most popular language taught at tertiary level), and four involve interaction with target language speakers. However, the themes they are concerned with are by no means languagespecific, and are relevant not only to other foreign language learning situations, but to the situations of second language learners examined in other parts of this volume. These chapters also share methodological similarities, as all are case studies of actual learning situations, drawing on a combination of natural discourse data, and retrospective interviews. Spence-Brown and Shima address the issue highlighted by Duff in her fourth theme – the diverse ways in which similar tasks prescribed by teachers are instantiated by different individuals, and the implications this has for teaching and learning, while Kobayashi, Kurata and Masuda examine language learning activities outside of formal learning contexts. In Chapter Twelve Spence-Brown examines an extended task which aimed to engage learners in authentic communication with native speakers outside of the classroom, and to integrate assessment into a pedagogically meaningful sequence of tasks. Drawing on activity theory, she focuses on the twin themes of motivation and engagement, showing how the motivations inherent

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in completing assessment can be a key determinant of learner engagement, fundamentally changing the nature of the activity from that envisaged by the task designers, and resulting in both positive and negative washback on learning. Shima also draws on activity and sociocultural theory in Chapter Thirteen to examine the process of learners’ participation in a group work task, exposing the social nature of learning in the classroom context. She shows that not only does each group adopt a unique approach, but also each learner within the same group engages with and experiences the task differently by reinterpreting it on the basis of their individual goals, histories and situations. The study also reveals the effects of peer influence on learners’ behaviour and highlights the multiplicity of aspects on which learners focus during their engagement with the given task. In the following chapter, Kobayashi investigates the nature of student-mentor interactions, and their contributions to learning, in a study of students preparing for a Japanese language speech context with the aid of native speaker volunteers. The study highlights the ways in which the interactions provide a context for the social construction of language, and how this provides rich opportunities for language learning. Kurata ventures outside formal learning situations entirely in Chapter Fifteen, in a study of the social and contextual factors influencing L1/L2 use in learners’ social network contexts. Although situated in an English-speaking context, Kurata shows how learners have opportunities to use their L2 with other L2 and L1 speakers of the language, in a social rather than an academic context. Such language use is widely advocated as a strategy for language learning, but Kurata shows that it is not always easy to establish opportunities to use the L2, as usually both participants have competence in each other’s languages. She demonstrates how various factors interact to determine patterns of language use. A similar theme is pursued by Masuda in Chapter Sixteen, who employs a conversation analytic approach to bilingual interaction in order to explore the interactional sequences and language selection that occur in Language Exchange Partnerships (LEPs), wherein a pair of language learners who are L2 users of the L1 of their partner meet each other regularly, primarily for the purpose of improving their language skills and of increasing understanding of one another’s cultures. LEPs offer each participant the opportunity both to provide and to take advantage of L2 use opportunities, so language choice is a key issue. Although balanced usage of the two languages is regarded as ideal, asymmetrical use was observable in the actual language use of some of the partners studied, and the analysis identified various factors relevant to the language alternation by the participants. The final two chapters examine foreign language learning in Australian secondary schools. Ryumon (Chapter Seventeen) investigates how the senior school curriculum is implemented by individual teachers, and highlights the relationship between curriculum teaching and assessment, in particular the washback of assessment on teaching (a theme which complements Chapter Twelve’s focus on washback on learning). She explores factors that affect washback, such as teacher beliefs, school policies and cultures and the perceived stakes of assessment, as well as the ways in which washback influences materials, content and teaching. Although the prescribed curriculum and assessment were designed together, the study demonstrates the ways in which gaps between assessment and curriculum prescriptions contribute to an implemented curriculum which is very different to the prescribed curriculum. In terms of the theme of this volume, the public discourse of curriculum documents is shown to be at odds with the implied values embodied

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in assessment, and the latter appears to be much more influential in determining what actually occurs in classrooms. In the final chapter of the volume, Bradshaw explores another of the underlying discourses in foreign language learning, that which positions language learning as a gendered activity. Using government statistics, she examines the participation rates of boys and girls in post-compulsory language instruction, highlighting the low participation rate of boys in post-compulsory secondary (year 9 and above) language classes, and identifying interesting differences between languages, as well as evidence of a return to language study by some boys at tertiary level in certain languages. She also draws on students’ retrospective self-reports to identify some reasons why boys’ engagement in language study declines, including notions of hegemonic masculinity, the gendered language classroom and classroom activity types. As can be seen from this brief overview, the chapters within this volume cover a wide range of concerns, in a variety of settings. Together, however, we hope they provide insights into the diverse but interconnected discourses of learning in our educational institutions. Without doubt, they also illustrate the changing nature of universities and their increasing complexity. Editors Helen Marriott Tim Moore Robyn Spence-Brown

REFERENCES Department of Education Science and Training. 2005. ‘Higher Education Statistics Collection’ [Internet]. Australian Government. Accessed 30 July 2007. Available from: http://www.dest.gov.au/sectors/higher_education/publications_resources/statistics/higher_education_sta tistics_collection.htm Fairclough, N. 1989. Language and Power. London: Longman. Marginson, S; Considine, M. 2000. The Enterprise University: Power, Governance and Reinvention in Australia. Cambridge University Press: Cambridge.

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PART ONE

PROBLEMATISING ACADEMIC DISCOURSE SOCIALISATION Patricia A. Duff, University of British Columbia Patricia A. Duff is Professor of Language and Literacy Education at the University of British Columbia. Her research interests include qualitative research methods in applied linguistics; language socialisation; classroom research; and task-based and activity-based research. Correspondence to Patricia A. Duff: [email protected]

A growing body of research examines academic discourse socialisation as a dynamic, situated, social, and cultural process that in contemporary contexts of higher education is often multimodal and multilingual as well. The process is characterised by variable amounts and uptake of modelling and feedback, variable levels of investment and agency on the part of learners, behind-the-scenes power-plays, and variable outcomes as well – both short-term and longer-term. In this paper, I discuss five sets of issues that stem from a common lack of understanding of these complexities and illustrate them with findings from recent research, particularly but not exclusively in studies conducted in Canada examining oral academic discourse socialisation and, to a lesser extent, written academic discourse. Some implications of this overview are that language professionals need to better understand the actual discursive practices and requirements of various fields and activities and the experiences of participants who are being socialised through courserelated activities. We must also consider possibilities for enhancing those experiences to maximise students’ participation and success in their language and content learning.

INTRODUCTION Academic discourse has been examined from a number of theoretical perspectives over the past two decades in applied linguistics, particularly at the postsecondary level, with language and literacy socialisation being one of the more recent. The basic questions this latter work addresses are: How do newcomers to an academic culture, whether as native speakers or non-native speakers of the language(s) used, learn how to participate appropriately in the oral and written discourse and related practices associated with that discourse community? How are they explicitly or implicitly inducted or socialised into these local discursive practices (Duff 2008a)? How does interaction with their peers, instructors, tutors, and others facilitate the process of gaining expertise in those practices? And how do the practices and norms themselves evolve over time and across practitioners, given the cultural and historical context of the local community of practice (Lave and Wenger 1991)?1 In what follows, I briefly describe some of the historical trends in research on academic literacies and socialisation. I then identify five issues connected with academic discourse socialisation in second-language (L2) contexts specifically that call into question a number of assumptions about both the nature of academic discourse in contemporary secondary and postsecondary settings and about our conceptualisation of linguistic socialisation as well, which has too often been (mis)understood to be highly deterministic, a form of behavioural conditioning that inevitably leads to successful and complete integration within the target community. Because my own research to date has focused more on oral discourse than written discourse, examples will be given from oral academic discourse primarily, across several research sites. However, this focus on oral language use must increasingly also take into account the fact that

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oral discourse is derived from, or supported to a large extent by, a variety of written notes, papers, articles, electronic discussions, as well as graphics and other semiotic systems that are now commonplace in highly intertextual academic discourse environments. Moreover, written communication related to academic work now bears many features of oral discourse as well, in computer-mediated and other digital communications, for example.

HISTORICAL TRENDS IN RESEARCH ON ACADEMIC DISCOURSE Early studies of academic discourse in the 1980s included surveys of what professors expected in their courses across a range of disciplines, based on interviews with them, questionnaires, or analyses of their course syllabi (e.g. Ferris and Tagg 1996a, 1996b; see Braine 2002; and Morita and Kobayashi 2008, for reviews). Discourse or genre analysis studies approached the matter somewhat differently, examining text and move structures in academic writing and sometimes corresponding linguistic structures and discourse markers. A typical form of research would be the comparison of journal article abstracts, introductions, discussion sections, or conclusions (among other components) within or across the sciences and the social sciences (e.g. Brett 1994; Swales 1990). Some systemic functional linguists, furthermore, have studied textbook and classroom discourse common in k–12 schooling, such as the language of cause–effect and the practice of nominalisation in scientific discourse. They have provided elaborate classification systems for different knowledge/rhetorical structures, genres, and registers, typical lexico-syntactic forms associated with these text structures, and the kinds of graphic organisers that tend to cooccur with these forms as well and must therefore also become part of students’ repertoire (e.g. Mohan 1986). Research from more of a psychological processing perspective, on the other hand, has examined cognitive and linguistic strategies for text comprehension and production. In all three types of study referred to above though, surveys, discourse analyses, and studies of information or text processing, the focus of attention has primarily been on written discourse, such as textbooks, writing assignments, and professional journals, within their respective discourse communities, presumably because writing is a high-stakes cognitive activity that many students struggle with. Research in these areas continues, together with contrastive rhetoric studies comparing, for example, grant applications in Finland (in Finnish), and in the United States (in English; Connor 1996). Some critical contrastive rhetoric studies disputing some of the cross-cultural stereotypes of writing styles put forward in early contrastive rhetoric studies (e.g. Kaplan 1966) have been conducted as well (e.g. Kubota and Shi 2005). However, in recent years some of this text-related survey and discourse analytic research has been complemented by in-depth case studies and ethnographies of individual learners and their interlocutors negotiating the textual requirements, and especially their own writing processes and struggles, across courses, or throughout the dissertation writing experience, in some cases longitudinally over one or more years (e.g. Spack 1997; Casanave 1992, 2002). Part of this reported textual negotiation process also involves learning to negotiate requirements with peers and mentors. A number of well known scholars in our field have, furthermore, published their personal reflections on their own multilingual literacy development or socialisation along their academic journeys as graduate students and now professors (e.g. Belcher and Connor 2001) or have described the tensions when scholars

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are trained in one linguistic/discourse community (e.g. in the United States) but return to their home country (e.g. China), where other academic discourse traditions prevail (Shi 2002, 2003). Whereas academic texts might previously have been seen as a rather static set of established rhetorical, generic or discursive conventions, now they are viewed more as a social construction by individuals based on their own histories and social contexts, their learning communities and power relations within them, and their audiences and goals. These social constructions then also evolve as the disciplines, genres, and participants themselves undergo changes. Thus, academic discourse, like many other areas of study in the humanities and social sciences, has taken what is now frequently referred to as a ‘social turn’ (e.g. Block 2003). This conceptual and often methodological shift has encouraged an examination of language, literacy and discourse as everyday social practice, which is neither confined to individuals nor to written texts. The orality, intertextuality, and multivocality of academic discourse (Maybin 2003), as well as its social, cultural, and historical context and evolution, have thus come to the forefront, a trend that some scholars attribute to the New Rhetoricians (e.g. Prior 1995a, 1995b, 1998) and the Sydney school of Systemic-Functional Linguistics (see Belcher 2004; Hyland 2002). A greater interest in oral academic discourse, however, already had a strong precedent in British and American classroom discourse, especially in the analysis of teachers’ routine questioning patterns (e.g. Initiation-Response-Evaluation, or IRE, interaction), which has continued to garner attention in educational linguistics internationally, particularly now with respect to the form, function, and significance of the Evaluation move (e.g. Mehan 1979; Wells 1993).

SOCIOCULTURAL APPROACHES TO ACADEMIC DISCOURSE SOCIALISATION It is within this emerging sociocultural, interactional, and increasingly poststructural paradigm that scholars have begun to apply principles of language socialisation to the study of how newcomers become ‘apprenticed’ into academic discourse(s) (including IRE routines). This process of apprenticeship, to use Rogoff’s (1991) metaphor, is also referred to, more or less interchangeably if not synonymously, as academic discourse socialisation, the development of academic literacies (e.g. Street 1996), language socialisation (Duff and Hornberger 2008; Schieffelin and Ochs 1986), and participation in communities of practice (Lave and Wenger 1991). The seminal early collections of language socialisation studies published in the late 1980s examined oral routines between young children and their caregivers and peers in mostly nonWestern, or non-White middle-class, societies in order to understand the ways in which children learn both the (socio)linguistic practices and expectations associated with such routines and the underlying cultural values embedded in the language and routines (e.g. Schieffelin and Ochs 1986). However, even some of those early studies showed an interest in how well home language and literacy practices would prepare students for academic life at school (e.g. Heath 1986); alternatively, they examined problems when disjunctions exist between the languages, registers, and literacies used in the home and those privileged at school (e.g. Watson-Gegeo 1992; Heath 1986). Recent research on language socialisation in the context of family dinnertime talk has also made links between such seemingly mundane mealtime interactions and the development of scientific reasoning, such as hypothesising or theorising, which is so central to academic literacies (Ochs et al. 1992). Thus, oral everyday practices may be crucially, but inexplicitly, connected with academic discourse socialisation as well, a point to which we will return below.

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A new generation of language socialisation researchers in applied linguists and education have also begun to see the relevance of the original language socialisation research for understanding adolescent and adult socialisation practices in educational, community, and workplace settings (e.g. Zuengler and Cole 2005). However, some academic discourse socialisation research has emerged from other traditions, such as new literacy studies and not from linguistic anthropology at all. The two related fields have simply converged. Academic discourse socialisation, in short, views learning as developing the capability to participate in new discourse communities as a result of social interaction and cognitive experience. It also involves developing one’s voice, identity, and agency in a new language/culture. Learning scientific discourse, in this view, involves learning to think, act, speak and write like a scientist in a scientific community of practice (or a simulation of one). The teacher’s or tutor’s role is to scaffold learning – to provide sufficient challenge, interest, and support to assist learners to complete tasks, often in collaboration with others initially and then independently as they learn to regulate their own learning and task accomplishment (Lantolf 2000). The research methods used in much academic discourse socialisation research involves qualitative – often ethnographic – methods, including participant observation, interviews with participants, an examination of the researcher’s fieldnotes and any journals or logs kept by participants, plus content and discourse analysis of relevant documents, such as course syllabi, artifacts produced by participants (e.g. PowerPoint presentations, reports), and transcripts (e.g. from tutorials, classes, interviews) (see Duff 2006, 2007, and 2008 for a discussion of qualitative research methods and generalisability in this kind of research). The triangulation of data, methods, perspectives, and so on, is also commonplace in order to uncover the various understandings of both new and more experienced members of the discourse community. In addition, some of the most instructive research is longitudinal, with in-depth case studies of learners’ academic socialisation (Duff 2008b). Some research also takes pains to give voice to otherwise seemingly silent actors in these communities to understand their identity negotiation, transitions, dilemmas, and so on, within their academic communities, or to look ‘behind the scenes’ of classrooms to relevant academic interactions outside of classroom settings that prepare students for academic discourse (e.g. Pavlenko and Lantolf 2000; Kobayashi 2003; Morita 2004). In the remainder of this paper, I explore five issues connected with academic discourse socialisation that, in my view, require greater problematisation. These are not ordered according to priority or seriousness but rather as a means of foregrounding particular points.

ACADEMIC DISCOURSE IS INDEED ‘ACADEMIC’ The first point is that academic discourse, especially as it is enacted or co-constructed in many classroom and laboratory contexts, is not a pure variety or genre of language, distinct from other more vernacular varieties of language. On the contrary, my research in high school contentarea classrooms in Canada (Duff 2002, 2004) revealed that students were being socialised into new, multimodal, intertextual, heteroglossic literacies and repartee, a finding that is consistent with our early analyses of postsecondary students’ experiences and challenges as well. Giving an academic presentation, for example, students might first need to begin with a personal introduction expressing their interest or their background with respect to the topic or might include some humour. Indeed, in that work and in other ongoing research, many students report that they

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often find the vernacular discourse in classrooms and extracurricular references and repartee more difficult to comprehend or engage in than strictly ‘academic’ language and topics. What is more, the students might find themselves inundated with references to popular culture texts or icons, such as The Simpsons, Seinfeld, or other American television programs, popular movies, sports programs, or local current affairs and need to make logical connections between these topics and the academic material. Members of academic discourse communities, like other speech communities, might inject these examples or asides as a way of increasing engagement with their subject matter, providing levity, making personal connections with others, displaying their own interests, and/or exemplifying problems by drawing on everyday situations that are familiar to many students from these media. As the erudite Canadian journalist Rex Murphy has described it with respect to his own lectures at universities, ‘the currency of our time is the reference to celebrity. You will not go out and cite John Milton and expect any general group [to respond]. If you want to connect with a group, either by camera or print, the coin is Homer Simpson, the coin is Oprah’ (Wigod 2003). As I have explained elsewhere (Duff 2001, 2004), there are good explanations for this phenomenon of intertextuality, interdiscursivity, and genre mixing (Hyland 2004) and even in attempts to more deliberately foster a highly pop-culture-laden hybrid form of discourse in education (Duff 2004). Proponents cite the wisdom of building on students’ interests and background knowledge and extending that to new, more academic spheres. However, the research has also shown that the students most alienated from such texts and discussions, although simultaneously often intrigued by them, are newcomers who do not have a high level of proficiency in the classroom language or who lack the necessary cultural background knowledge and the ability to process the information online in order to make immediate sense of it, let alone try to contribute to it. Hyland (2002), describing corpus research that has attempted to distinguish between genres, notes that defining their ‘immanent properties’ has not been straightforward. He also identifies new ‘blurred’ genres outside of the academic mainstream, such as ‘infotainment, advertorial, docudrama’ (p. 122), which have now made their way into our common lexicon. Thus, the hybridity of academic genres is not unique in this respect.

NATIVE SPEAKERS ARE ‘EXPERTS’ WHO CAN APPRENTICE AND ACCOMMODATE OTHERS TO BECOME EXPERTS (‘LEGITIMATE PARTICIPANTS’), AND PROVIDE THEM ACCESS TO TARGET PRACTICES In my critical review of language socialisation literature (Duff 2002, 2003), I report that it is too often taken for granted that language learners (and other newcomers) will be fully accommodated and apprenticed within their new communities and will also have ample access to the target discourse practices they are expected to emulate. However, such assumptions of apprenticeship, accommodation and access are problematic in the light of evidence to the contrary. Classroom research at certain Canadian universities, for example, finds that far too few instructors provide explicit and appropriate scaffolding, modeling, or feedback to support students’ performance of oral assignments (e.g. presentations, critiques, projects; e.g. Zappa-Hollman 2007). It is simply expected that most students already know what an academic essay or presentation is and criteria for evaluating them, even though these attributes and criteria may vary greatly from one context to the next. Current research by graduate students at the University of British Columbia also

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reveals that instructors or teaching assistants often provide only minimal feedback on written assignments (sometimes only a grade and a cursory comment) that students have invested significant amounts of time in; similarly, a grade may be assigned to ‘participation’ but students may never know what the grade actually is, how it is determined, how they might improve their participation, or how their participation might be better accommodated by the community. Because whole-class discussions and lectures often pose difficulties for reticent students and newcomers to the discourse community as far as their oral participation is concerned, instructors may provide other forums for discussion such as group work or group projects. However, despite their honourable intentions, the same instructors may be completely unaware of the actual efficacy or implementation of these arrangements (e.g. Leki 2001). Furthermore, it is also expected, by students themselves, their families, their local institutions, or even by immigration authorities in the case of school-aged students, that non-native speakers of English will have ample access to oral English or to people who can proofread their written work outside of their courses. But as Ranta’s (2004) ongoing research with Chinese international students at a Canadian university reveals, students over a six-month period who kept daily computer logs reported having only 10 minutes a day of out-of-class exposure to English conversation. Clearly, this limited L2 socialisation outside of class does little to support students’ in-class comfort level dealing with English or with other English-speaking peers. It is also commonly assumed by students and language teaching institutions, but now vigorously contested by the field of applied linguistics, that ‘native speakers’ of a language, by virtue of having grown up with that language, are somehow inherently superior in their knowledge of academic discourse and in their ability to engage effectively in sophisticated language/literacy practices or to teach about them. This is not to suggest that native speakers cannot be subject experts or highly proficient scholars, of course. Or that, on the contrary, non-native speakers of the language have less inherent potential to become (or already be) expert in aspects of L2 academic discourse. But as Jacoby and Gonzales (1991) demonstrated in an early article on academic discourse socialisation in the context of tertiary physics labs, expertise is also socially and interactionally constructed and is displayed by different people at different moments in time. Unfortunately, some of the ‘expert’ vs. ‘novice’ apprenticeship literature leads people to assume that the mature ‘native’ or indigenous members of the culture (e.g. physics lab directors) are invariably experts in all aspects of their work who in turn socialise their students into such expert knowledge. As we know, not all so-called experts are good socialising agents, however, for a variety of reasons. Connected with this point is a common misconception that native speakers can write or produce oral academic discourse better than non-native speakers purely on the basis of their linguistic proficiency. Again, we know that native speakers vary considerably in their discursive and communicative competence and thus in their ability to write well, to present well, to teach well, or to relate to others well. My research in Hungary (Duff 1993), for example, revealed that many of the international English-speaking teachers imported to teach physics, mathematics, and other subjects in the English-medium dual-language schools did not have their contracts renewed after one year because, although their English was proficient, they might not have been adept at using English with nonnative speakers in the teaching of content and, furthermore, their knowledge of the curriculum (e.g. in physics, mathematics, or history) and their content mastery was found to be inferior to that of local Hungarian-trained teachers.

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To give another example of the potential mismatch in expertise, seniority and native speaker status, with respect to the point that academic discourse may be highly intertextual and a hybrid of genres, the local teachers might be less well-versed in contemporary popular culture or other local events than their students are. And the international students, coming from a different set of world experiences, may have different, better-informed perspectives on topics related to their source countries. Therefore in such cases, the students have greater expertise of such topics, while the teachers likely have a superior grounding in the truly academic content in the curriculum – but this, again, must be established interactionally in an ongoing manner. Duff (1995, 1996) showed how students in bilingual programs tried to socialise their Hungarian teachers into what they considered to be superior English language usage or superior teaching methods. Thus, participants may be positioned by themselves or others in such a way that their (potential) expertise is established/constructed, validated, or undermined through the discourse itself (Duff 2002; Morita 2004), regardless of their real knowledge or potential contributions. Another related fallacy, often held by international graduate students, is that the local nativespeakers in their classes (teachers, students) have an inherent academic and linguistic advantage in fulfilling such course requirements as giving class presentations or writing papers. However, as Morita (2000) revealed, many of the local students, and especially those who have been out of school for some time, may also find these assignments daunting and are also being socialised into the new discursive norms in that setting, not only by the teacher but also by observing others’ performance. Like their international counterparts, the local students may never have done an oral presentation of the sort that is required or may not have used computer-mediated courseware tools for online discussions (e.g. WebCT) and may feel very nervous, regardless of their linguistic proficiency. In addition, the international students often have far better preparation to undertake the academic tasks and have better strategies, such as forming study groups, rehearsing presentations many times before doing them, being experienced users of newer technologies such as PowerPoint, and so on, which their teachers and classmates may not yet have learned. Yet, as Leki (2001) reported, the native-speaker local students in group work situations together with their international counterparts, may underestimate their capability and relegate them to minor roles, such as doing errands (e.g. going to the library) rather than be involved in substantive discussions about the content of projects. Another example is when highly verbal local students freely display their knowledge (‘expertise’) in the oral mode during class discussions but are in fact the weakest in more important areas such as academic writing (Duff 2002). In addition, as academic discourse itself evolves and innovation is introduced into forms of inquiry and ways of representing new knowledge (e.g., through narrative inquiry, multimedia, bricolage, fictionalised accounts, and so on), often by the so-called novices in our universities – our students – the academic discourse socialisation takes place not just bidirectionally but often more unilaterally as the young innovators try to educate their supervisors about valid new forms of research, which may be accepted, rejected, adapted, and evaluated in various ways as the academy tries to keep up with such changing norms and genres. Finally, Li’s (2000) research with immigrant women learning English and clerical skills for work contexts, while not in the academic domain, also shows that in many cases the native speaker co-workers who provided good mentoring advice about how to engage management in discussions about reasonable work demands, failed to provide good leadership in other domains:

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they were often rude, threw work implements in the workspace, and swore, and it was up to the so-called novices to delicately socialise these co-workers into more respectful behaviours. With respect to student legitimacy and ways of multiple forms of participating, Wenger (1998: 101) writes: newcomers must be granted enough legitimacy to be treated as potential members… Only with legitimacy can all their inevitable stumblings and violations become opportunities for learning rather than cause for dismissal, neglect or exclusion.

This legitimacy is often hard to earn, however, and as Morita’s (2004) research shows, variable participation has multiple meanings, sources, and consequences. The six Japanese female international students who participated in her study revealed across time and across courses variability in their in-class participation and how it was very much a social co-construction that defied cultural essentialism as an explanation (e.g. ‘Japanese females don’t like to participate in class discussions’). As one example, she cites Nanako: If someone followed me in all my courses and simply observed me, she would have just thought that I was a quiet person. But my silence had different meanings in different courses. In Course E, the instructor made me feel that I was there even when I was quiet. In the other courses my presence or absence didn’t seem to make any difference… I just sat there like an ornament (p. 587).

Another student reported how the class she was in was clearly delineated along the lines of Ph.D. versus Master’s students, with the Ph.D. students being constructed (by the instructor and themselves) as highly legitimate performers and the silent onlookers as illegitimate. To summarise, then, discourse socialisation is not just for ‘non-native speakers’ but for all ‘novices’ or newcomers and, importantly, it continues for all academics and members of society throughout our careers. Unfortunately, the expert/novice dichotomy tends to overstate and essentialise difference and legitimacy, and does not take into account the multiple competencies of individuals rather than simply their relative degree of expertise in just one area, or one narrow band of experience.

ACADEMIC DISCOURSE CHALLENGES PRIMARILY INVOLVE WRITING TRADITIONAL ‘STANDARD ACADEMIC DISCOURSE’ As should be quite clear from earlier sections of this paper, there is more to academia and to socialisation within academia than just learning to read and write standard academic discourse, which is nevertheless a crucial form of knowledge construction, representation, and assessment. However, it is also a rather Anglo-centric view of what forms and modes of scholarly knowledge are privileged in the academic world at large. For example, in many parts of Europe through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and continuing today in Hungary and elsewhere in Central and Eastern Europe, oral academic discourse and not written forms have been much more highly valued and inculcated than written ones, beginning with primary education and continuing through to tertiary education (Duff 1993). Most in-class and out-of-class assessment and thus everyday and high-stakes academic discourse socialisation takes place orally through interactions

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between the teacher and individual students who are called upon to give recitations in class or who face a panel of oral examiners for their school-leaving/matriculation and university entrance examinations. But even in North American and other settings, oral presentations, group project work, and oral communication skills are now being stressed and assessed to a greater extent than in the past, reflecting, in part, the amount and quality of collaboration and communication (and not just textbook knowledge or theory) that are now required in real-world knowledge-building and knowledge-sharing in a variety of professional and academic fields – from medicine, to engineering, pharmacy, education, social work, clinical psychology, and so on (Duff 2008a). Also, the students themselves in these new discourse communities may be asked to evaluate their own and others’ participation in these highly oral, collaborative activity settings, normally on the basis of their social interaction skills as well as their knowledge of academic discourse. However, although oral academic discourse has not received as much attention in the relevant research in applied linguistics as written discourse to date, new research demonstrates just how socially, cognitively, and discursively complex and variable a standard oral activity such as ‘oral presentation’ can be, whether in the context of a classroom, a thesis/dissertation defense theatre, or a conference (Kobayashi 2003; Morita 2000; Zappa-Hollman 2007). In engineering, an in-class presentation may involve reporting on a final original project or problem solution; in the neurosciences, it may take the form of the presentation and critique of new research; and in French literature, it may entail the discussion of an author or a particular piece of literary work from a theoretical or aesthetic perspective (Zappa-Hollman 2007). The length of time given to the presentation, the number of presenters (and/or discussants) scheduled for one session, the kinds of multimedia, handouts and other mediating ‘tools’ expected, the number of presenters taking part in a single presentation, and the evaluation criteria typically vary considerably across disciplines and even across courses within the same discipline, together with variability in the features of the academic discourse itself (Morita 2000; Zappa-Hollman 2007). A single presentation also will typically involve multiple concurrent forms of discursive representation: the source article(s) or project being presented, a script of some sort (unwritten or written) delivered orally by the presenter which may be different from the longer written version (e.g. a thesis, a conference paper or article, or term paper), a handout, and a PowerPoint presentation or poster. Thus ‘standard academic discourse’ in this context is very multi-layered and involves multiple forms of standard academic discourse, only some of which are written (e.g. Kobayashi 2004). Furthermore, the discourse and attendant socialisation into it typically involves being able to establish one’s epistemic stance (as sufficiently knowledgeable but not arrogant) and credibility, establishing rapport with the audience and collaborators and mentor/instructor, fielding questions and leading a discussion following the presentation itself, handling critique well, and so on (e.g. Morita 2000). In addition to the centrality of oral discourse – in the to-and-fro between instructors and students, in teacher-fronted discussions, peer discussions, and in formal presentations – much academic discourse that takes place in the written mode does not involve standard academic discourse but, rather, includes traces of oral discourse if not simply a written version of the vernacular. With an increasing number of mixed-mode courses offered at universities, involving both face-to-face and online discussion components (or, for that matter, just one or the other mode), as well as other list-serves set up to facilitate out-of-class communication, students and

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teachers must learn to participate in new kinds of discourse communities and new genres mediated by new technologies. In Yim’s (2005) research on computer-mediated communication (CMC) in mixed-mode graduate courses in education, she found that students, both native and nonnative speakers of English, needed to learn the appropriate roles, registers, and technological skills to participate in asynchronous, threaded bulletin-board discussions related to course content. In one course, the instructor insisted on highly academic discourse and carefully formulated responses to course content, which all students struggled with to some extent. In another course, the instructor provided a somewhat more informal forum for discussion and in that discourse community students were socialised into different kinds of language use, pragmatics and roletaking. The CMC speech functions involved conveying knowledge and expressing opinions (initiating and reacting to postings), making requests (e.g. for additional information) and commands, and then using a range of social formulas or speech acts, such as greeting, thanking, acknowledging, and apologising. The students learned how to participate through observation and modeling by the teacher and by others. In the course that required less formal academic discourse, students produced more postings on average and reported feeling more ownership over their writing and also others’ writing. In the more formal environment, on the other hand, there was tension between the instructor’s preferred style of communicating online and that of students, and an attendant lack of social formulas and positive appraisal of one another’s messages. As one local native-speaker of English observed with respect to her own socialisation and evolution in the less formal online community: I noticed in myself, at first my answers were very formal, very similar to term papers, very academic. Now it’s becoming more conversational. Because, I think, I saw other people. Their writing was more conversational. So then I didn’t want to appear unfriendly or cold. And I thought it’s true, because we’re communicating. It’s not live, however it is to your colleagues and everything. So, I think it’s become more casual now (Yim 2005: 87).

In the more formal course, however, students felt unduly constrained by the norms of standard academic discourse applied to that medium. One student lamented: ‘I feel like I can never get into a discussion, because all these ideas in my head, opinions, and you know, I’m DYING to get them out. But [the teacher] says it’s not academic’ (Yim 2005: 99–100). A Korean international student in the more formal CMC reported that [the teacher] told us not to write in colloquial style. She emphasised that we compose in a way that is appropriate for the graduate-level. If we were allowed to write in free style, it would be easier for me, too. Even though I don’t have good English skills, I would’ve been able to compose more often freely (Yim 2005: 98).

The kinds of participant roles assumed by students in CMC (Eggins and Slade 1997), such as information provider, information seeker, facilitator, and evaluator (roles identified by Yim), and the number of responses to an initial posting in addition to the register of the discourse itself, thus varied considerably across the two courses.

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Potts (2005) also examined CMC discourse in mixed-mode graduate courses in language and literacy education and, similarly, reported on the bidirectional or multilateral socialisation taking place as everyone in the discourse community, over time and in response to others’ forms of participation, learned together about how to participate most meaningfully and also how to project their (desired) identities as intelligent, informed graduate students. In that research, as in Yim’s, meaningful participation also involved a major social and pragmatic component, one that increased over time as Potts tracked the number and proportion of postings with ‘social content’ as opposed to purely academic content. Early in the course, the social content peaked as people introduced themselves, then declined in subsequent weeks as more academic content was examined, but by Weeks 9 and 10 of the 13-week term again increased dramatically. One non-native English speaker in the course reflected on her academic discourse socialisation as follows: ‘I try to learn how… other participants post their message, and then I try to cite their postings into my posting, not exactly the expression, I try to imitate their style, their writing style and then I try to imply [apply] the way of writing into my posting’ (Potts 2005: 151). This process of deliberately analysing, borrowing, and imitating certain others’ postings was commonly reported. Finally, written standard academic discourse may be found in textbooks, journal articles, and in assignments, but it does not capture the other forms of social or pragmatic interactions that take place in academia that are also very important: such as, negotiating office hour visits or assignments, sending requests to a potential research supervisor about the possibility of studying or collaborating with her, requesting letters of recommendation and so on, which also are forms of discourse that vary from context to context (and culture to culture) to some extent but which are also potentially high-stakes interactions that students and their mentors must become very adept at doing well (e.g. without being offensive or pushy but without appearing too noncommittal either). Again, socialisation into these forms of discourse related to academia is crucial as well.

ACADEMIC DISCOURSE TASKS ARE TRANSPARENT, STABLE, AND UNIFORM In some earlier work (e.g. Coughlan and Duff 1994), I critiqued the notion that tasks (or assignments) lead to predictable interactions and discursive outcomes and called this the ‘same task, different activity’ phenomenon. A number of others have subsequently examined this disjunction between the tasks that instructors (or researchers, testers) set up for participants and how those tasks are in fact taken up by them, based on their perception of the task demands or specifications, their assessment of the value of the task, who they are assigned to accomplish the task with, and how they end up engaging in the task (e.g. Parks 2000). In addition, instructors are often unaware of these behind-the-scenes aspects of task enactment, students’ misunderstandings or misgivings, the teachers’ (or researchers’ and testers’) own unclear instructions, or of students’ attempts to subvert the instructors’ guidelines or specifications in various ways based on their own sense of agency, entitlement, or even desperation. More research on academic discourse socialisation is therefore looking at the ecology of tasks or assignments differently than before to try to uncover these multiple perspectives and dynamics at play. Some of this work, as in Yim’s (2005) research on CMC activity, draws on Activity Theory, and specifically on Engeström’s (1999) model of activity. That model highlights the various components of activity systems, such as CMC bulletinboard discussions, which interact in a dynamic manner to produce the enactment of activity.

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The systems involve rules for participation, communities, subjects (e.g. instructors, students), mediating tools and artifacts (e.g. language itself, CMC), a division of labor (participant roles), and different objects produced and outcomes. One such study is the analysis by Kobayashi (2003, 2004) of the in-class presentations of a group project by Japanese exchange students at a Canadian university. He traced the life history of the project, in a sense, and its organic in-class and out-of-class development as students became co-agents of socialisation, coaching one another through a variety of meetings and rehearsals and strategies, using both Japanese and English, in order to ultimately deliver an effective English presentation. An example from his study with an out-of-class presentation rehearsal by one group of Japanese students follows (Kobayashi 2004: 203): Tomo: Koyu: Tomo: Koyu: Tomo: Koyu: Tomo: Koyu: Yuji:

so (0.6) you say if you share your experience you may make your own discovery] yeah yeah yeah. and – we are very grateful to Izzat, who gave this opportunity – say something like this] appreciate! yeah. I really appreciate you give me such a good opportunity. such a good opportunity! great! That’s great. and uh – ((jokingly)) thank you Izzat. ‘such a’ – I will write this down. such a – such a great opportunity!

In boldface font, we see how Koyu’s suggestion to use the word appreciate in a planned speech act of (mock) gratitude toward the teacher (Izzat) embedded in the presentation is taken up by Tomo, who then offers the phrase such a good opportunity, which in turn is adopted by an appreciative Koyu and Yuji. They thus pool their collective expertise about not only appropriate English usage but also pragmatic strategies and humour and then Kobayashi shows how these forms are ultimately used and commented upon when the presentation is delivered to the class with the teacher present. Each group’s ways of engaging in the task and then performing it differed, however, much as those in Morita’s (2000) study had. In Kobayashi’s case, some of these variables included the students’ original choices of partners and projects, their negotiation of roles and responsibilities, their definition of the task itself, the intersection and interplay of orality and literacy in their PowerPoint presentations, their L1 scaffolding of L2 learning and use, mechanisms of peer support, negotiation of audience needs and addressivity, and then their final performance, perspectives, and outcomes. Zappa-Hollman (2007) and Morita (2000), described earlier, also examined how the ‘same task’ (individual oral presentations) had different specifications and characteristics across disciplines and that each presentation was not independent of the others. By this I mean that students often chose strategies for their own implementation of the activity based on what they perceived to be successful, unsuccessful, original or unoriginal in previous presentations by themselves and by others in the same courses. A final example in this section is research by Parks (2000), who documented how the ‘same’ task, a short touristic video project of a destination in Quebec, Canada, was taken up very dif-

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ferently by each of three focal participants (and their partners) in her study. The participants were junior-college-aged French learners of English. The paired activity involved the following steps: Identify a tourist site of interest; hand in a proposal for feedback; conduct research for the video (e.g. documentation, permissions); submit a script and storyboard to the teacher; film the video; obtain a technician’s help editing the video; do script revisions; practice and record voiceovers for the video; and then finally present the video to the class. By not only observing these activities and final products but also interviewing students and the teachers, Parks was able to uncover the multiple factors associated with task performance – which resulted in different sorts of cognitive and social task-related activities as well as outcomes. Factors included, for example, students’ general dispositions toward the learning of English and about the project specifically; their attitudes toward working with partners on such assignments; their strategies for making the process more efficient, by skipping steps, delegating tasks that were meant to be done collaboratively, or reducing the number and types of revisions done; their interactions with their partners, which ranged from being highly productive to being rather minimal; and their overall sense of legitimacy and investment as English speakers and how this task might enhance that. Three focal students provided contrasting profiles with respect to these dispositions, although without the in-depth research it is unlikely that the instructor (or others in the class) would have understood the different dynamics at play in the actual enactment of these tasks over time and space. In brief, examining tasks (or projects, speech events, and activities) as highly complex social constructions reveals the different sorts of discourse socialisation affordances of tasks and the multiplicity of experiences and pathways that students encounter when doing them.

THE AFTERLIFE OF DISCOURSE SOCIALISATION FOR ACADEMIC OR PROFESSIONAL PURPOSES The final section highlights one basic point that tends not to be examined sufficiently in research in academic discourse and that is what I will call the ‘afterlife’ of socialisation or how the sorts of cumulative socialisation experiences described above affect subsequent performance and subsequent socialisation in other settings as well – in other courses, other contexts, and in professional fields (Duff 2008a). In particular, we need to continually examine if our ways of socialising students into new discursive practices and the discursive genres themselves actually match the requirements in the fields in which they will ultimately reside or at least will help them become more skilled at adapting to new requirements. Of course, because socialisation is both lifelong and lifewide (Duff 2003), and because research shows that each new context may have different specifications for appropriate forms of discourse (e.g. comparing Yim’s (2005) two CMC course environments), we should not be overly ambitious in this quest. However, some research shows that forms of discourse taught explicitly in ESL composition courses, for example, such as ‘the five-part essay’, are actually contested or rejected as legitimate or valued forms of essays in mainstream composition classes that the same students may migrate to after their writing proficiency is sufficiently developed. Atkinson and Ramanathan (1995) described the mis-match in academic writing cultures between such first-year university composition courses and the havoc it can wreak for students who move from one culture into another unaware of this. Another example comes from Canadian research by Parks (2001) and Parks and Maguire (1999), who documented how the genre of nursing reports which student nurses were being

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trained to produce actually differed from those encountered by the nurses in hospitals, which were truncated or skipped steps that had earlier been absolutely required. A final example of examining the consequences and applicability of earlier discursive socialisation comes from research examining the linguistic socialisation of adult immigrants training to become long-term resident care aides (to work in hospitals and nursing home facilities or to provide home care). That study also revealed the very different expectations and also socialisation experiences for the participants while studying in their program versus while in their practicum or workplace settings (Duff et al. 2000). Their coursework included language courses to develop their proficiency (and fluency) in English as well their knowledge of technical medical terminology, plus their basic nursing knowledge and skills. However, in contrast, in actual practical workplace settings, the participants had to learn to simplify their language to make it more comprehensible, reduce the rate of speech and also reduce or eliminate technical language that would not be well understood by those receiving their care, and learn utterances in other languages to better communicate with those who did not speak English or the caregivers’ own first language. They also needed to learn to communicate using a variety of nonverbal strategies, such as through touch and a careful analysis of body language, in order to attend to the needs of people with degenerative communication disorders, mental illness, or other conditions. Thus, that research describes how in these subsequent work-related settings the program participants and graduates were being socialised into new forms of discourse and communication in quite complex new discourse communities (dealing with medical staff, other caregivers, family members, the residents/patients themselves, etc.). Importantly, it would be wrong to assume that in the examples provided of the ‘after-life’ of socialisation here that the earlier discourse socialisation experiences and efforts were inappropriate or their efforts were misplaced. Rather, often that earlier experience provided a solid foundation on the basis of which students could then adapt their practices and introduce innovation and efficiency as needed. Nevertheless, it is important to understand the future trajectories of learners and the discursive norms they are likely to encounter as well as their current needs and how best to scaffold learning experiences for both present and future purposes.

CONCLUSION A growing body of research examines academic discourse socialisation as a dynamic, situated, social/cultural, multimodal (and often multilingual) process with unpredictable uptake, intentions, behind-the-scenes power-plays, investment on the part of learners, and outcomes – both shortterm and longer-term. In this paper, I have selected five sets of issues that stem from a common lack of understanding of these complexities and have illustrated them with findings from recent research, particularly but not exclusively in recent studies conducted in Canada. Some implications of this overview are that language professionals need to better understand the actual discursive practices and requirements of various fields (and activities) and the experiences of participants who are being socialised through course-related activities, and consider the possibilities of enhancing those experiences as well as students’ potential. Some of those possibilities might include, for example, using new computer-mediated communication to support learning and community building, as it has the potential to provide increased access to participation and to discourse for many learners, but may also lead to blurred and blended genres. Alternatively, using more tradi-

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tional avenues for developing academic discourse through oral and written assignments by individuals and in groups, greater attention must be placed on the process of developing intersubjectivity in tasks (between and among instructors and students) as well as developing new knowledge in these learning communities. The potential for instructors and students to serve one another better as socialising agents and to take on new participant roles also must be realised to an even greater extent, but this also requires an awareness on the part of instructors of how best to create effective discourse communities in which a variety of literacies are inculcated. Finally, universities and other sites for academic discourse socialisation need to increase the meta-discursive support made available to students (and instructors) to enhance the quality of language and literacy (discourse) socialisation in their midst and to accommodate newcomers to these discourse communities more satisfactorily and seamlessly as well.

ENDNOTES 1

An earlier version of this paper was presented at the ‘Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning’ Conference at Monash University, December 8, 2005. The preparation of this paper was supported by a Standard Research Grant from the Social Sciences and Research Council of Canada and by the Faculty of Arts at Monash University, which provided me with a Distinguished Visiting Scholar grant, and for which I am grateful. I also thank Dr. Helen Marriott for her invitation to Monash University and for her editorial work on an earlier draft of this paper.

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Cite this chapter as: Duff, P. A. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1–1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001.

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PART ONE

THE PERILS OF SKILLS TOWARDS A MODEL OF INTEGRATING GRADUATE ATTRIBUTES INTO THE DISCIPLINES Tim Moore, Monash University Tim Moore is an Honorary Research Associate in the School of Language, Cultures and Linguistics, Monash University. His research interests include academic literacy, disciplinary discourses, and assessment in tertiary contexts. Correspondence to Tim Moore: [email protected] Brett Hough, Monash University Brett Hough is a lecturer in anthropology in the School of Political and Social Inquiry, Monash University. Along with his specific diciplinary interests in anthropology, he has broad interests in tertiary teaching and learning, including academic literacy and the integrating of graduate attributes on programs. Correspondence to Brett Hough: [email protected]

The notion of graduate attributes – an enduring idea in Australian higher education over the last decade or so – has been useful as a way of requiring academics and administrators to reflect seriously on the nexus between university learning and the demands that graduates will face in their subsequent professional lives. A potential danger of this movement however, is that increasingly these attributes will be thought of as discrete skills to be developed on courses, with a concomitant downgrading of the role of disciplinary content. Manifestations of such a trend are the emergence in recent years of a variety of extra-disciplinary courses such as ‘professional writing’ and ‘critical thinking’, as well as a lingering interest in the idea of generic skills testing prior to graduation (e.g. Graduate Skills Assessment test). The main argument of this paper is that if the graduate attributes idea is to continue to be a useful one in the framing of university curricula, it is important that effective ways are found to integrate the development of these attributes within the context of the disciplines. We outline one such method – a possible framework for the analysis and creation of assessment tasks – which, we think, has general applicability to learning in any disciplinary setting. The key element of this framework is the notion of ‘role’ – which can be used to explore with students (and also confer on them) a range of academic and professional identities.

INTRODUCTION The graduate attributes idea – which conceives of university education largely in terms of the development of certain, transferable and generic skills – has continued to gather momentum in recent years. As professionals working in the area of academic literacy, we find ourselves increasingly having to engage in some capacity with this initiative, principally because many of the attributes identified by universities as important relate so closely to the work we do with our students – developing their written and spoken communication, their capacity for critical analysis, and the like. But despite the continuing influence of the broad attributes idea, the literature suggests that it has been implemented in institutions in less than comprehensive ways. Sumison and Goodfellow (2004), for example, note limited take-up of the idea at the faculty level – even less so at the

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discipline level – which they attribute mainly to a failure to bring academic staff on board. Many academics, they suggest, have shown a wariness towards this particular episode of educational reform, seeing it manifestly as a ‘top-down’, managerially-driven agenda. Another obstacle is a perception that the ‘generic concept’ does not fit well with the diversity of knowledges and practices found in the disciplines, or that the professional flavour of many of these putative attributes makes the idea more relevant to vocational, as opposed to higher education (Crebert 2002). In this paper, we argue that if the graduate attributes idea is to have any continuing validity, then it is important that effective ways are found to integrate the development of these attributes within the context of academic disciplines. We outline one such method here – a possible framework for the analysis and creation of assessment tasks – which, we think, has general applicability to learning in any disciplinary setting. In proposing such a framework, we hope to demonstrate the specific contribution academic literacy professionals can make in these broader educational debates – one that draws both on the philosophical position that underpins our work, and also on the practical in situ experience we have assisting students to develop these capacities in relation to quite specific academic tasks.

GRADUATE ATTRIBUTES The graduate attibutes idea has been influencial now for a period of about fifteen years. Ballard and Clanchy (1995) locate the origins of the movement within a larger shift in higher education thinking and policy around the early 1990s which saw a move away from ‘inputs’ (efficiency and productivity) to a focus more on ‘outcomes’ (quality). Central to this project has been the imperative ‘to describe the attributes that graduates should acquire if exposed to a high quality education system – including all its processes’ (Australian Higher Education Council 1992). This emphasis on outcomes has come arguably from several sources – an increasing demand from employers for graduates to possess certain abilities, and a more general accountability pressure from the community to have the purposes of university education more clearly articulated (Hager et al. 2002). Thus, in the last decade, universities have applied themselves energetically to analysing their particular teaching and learning ‘processes’, and to coming up with an account of what it is their students will possess (or what it is hoped they will possess) at the end of their degrees. The outcome of many of these efforts at institutions has been the compiling of lists of graduate attributes (usually consisting of up to about 10 items) intended both to summarise extant practices, and to guide processes of curriculum development. For the purpose of illustration only, we provide the most recent list created at our institution:

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

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Effective spoken and written communication skills for proficient interpersonal and professional interactions Enthusiasm and capacity for enquiry and research Capacity to articulate a sound argument Insight to identify a problem and introduce innovative solutions Effective problem solving skills Capacity for critical thought, analysis and synthesis Ability to work collaboratively and to assume appropriate leadership roles

THE PERILS OF SKILLS PART ONE

8. Information literacy 9. Socially responsible and ethical attitudes 10. International outlook, cultural sensitivity and inclusive approach to differences Not surprisingly lists like this one have been the object of a certain amount of critical scrutiny. A number of problems have been identified including the often imprecise and arbitrary nature of the categories they describe – ‘skills’, ‘capacities’, ‘values’, ‘outlooks’ etc. (Ballard and Clanchy 1995); ambiguity about whether they actually specify guaranteed outcomes, or have the status only of objectives, or even just ‘consummations devoutly to be wished’ (Oppy and Moore 2003); and the tendency for them to look rather similar across institutions – leading some to see them as instances of the type of shallow technocratic rhetoric increasingly disdained by many contemporary social critics (e.g. Watson 2003). But to recognise these problems is not to suggest a fundamental deficiency in the attributes idea itself. Such criticisms perhaps point more to certain failings at the institutional level in the way that local educational practices have been investigated and described. Ballard and Clanchy (1995), in defending the broad idea, suggest that ‘a university… really ought to be able to say with reasonable explicitness what its objectives are with respect to its students’ (p. 156).

THE RISE OF SKILLS Our chief concern is not with the content of the lists themselves, but with the tendency they have to emphasise – indeed increasingly to reify – the ‘skills’ component of university education. This is due in part to the increasing accountability pressures exerted on institutions by government and employer agencies, and also to the intense market pressures that faculties face in making their offerings as attractive as possible to prospective students. Inevitably, in this approach, there has been a de-emphasising of the role of disciplinary content. In Arts faculties for example, the continued existence of an area of study often cannot be justified purely on the grounds of its intrinsic academic interest, or as a result of having acquired some ‘heritage’ status. Instead academics are required more and more to justify their disciplinary offerings in terms of the specific ‘skills’ they can guarantee their students will acquire – especially those that will be relevant to students’ future employment. In the skills-oriented approach, content is viewed mainly as the vehicle by which these skills can be taught. In the more extreme versions, the content element of programs is seen as almost incidental (Taylor 2000). We shall give an example of how the skills agenda has increasingly insinuated itself into thinking about academic curricula. Several years ago, the Arts Faculty in which we work hired the services of an outside consultant to investigate ways in which it could make its programs more attractive to international students. In the report that followed, it was concluded that the main obstacle to recruitment was a perception across the community that Arts qualifications generally are not sufficiently vocational, and ‘that the financial returns that will follow from an investment in these degrees are at best uncertain’. Many of the report’s subsequent recommendations were aimed at dealing in some way with this perception difficulty. Central among these was a call for a ‘core curriculum’, to be made up of skill–based units that would have ‘clear vocational relevance’ – including ‘Communication’, ‘Problem-solving’, ‘Critical thinking’ and ‘Teamwork’. The report was insistent that such subject offerings not be thought of as ‘support’,

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but be areas of study ‘in their own right’ designed, as it suggested, ‘to excite, to motivate and to inspire’. At the time, these recommendations were rejected, mainly because it was thought that insufficient ‘market research data’ had been presented to justify the claim that such programs would be attractive to students. A spirited critique also came from another quarter – from some whose interests lay beyond the pragmatic concerns of student recruitment. The view expressed here was that such programs could in fact undermine the very strength of the Faculty, which lay, it was held, in the content-rich nature of its core disciplines – history, literature, politics, anthropology, linguistics and so on. Indeed it was thought that the Faculty’s capacity to attract students was largely contingent on it being able to make this content as ‘exciting’ and ‘inspiring’ as possible. Such a view, it must be said, is in no sense a radical one. Indeed as Langer (1992) points out, both teachers and students are naturally inclined to ‘think about their learning predominantly in terms of discipline knowledge, and not skill development’ (pp. 83–84). But although these ‘extra-disciplinary’ skills offerings were rejected at the time of the tabling of the international student report, more recently the Faculty has shown itself less vigilant in resisting the skills lure. Among its newer subject offerings are units in Professional Writing, and a Graduate Diploma course in Professional Studies – taking in communications, professional ethics, and critical thinking.1 A cursory survey of subject offerings in Arts faculties at other Australian universities suggests a similar trend towards the stand-alone skills program. It would appear that additional impetus for such skills offerings – especially those that deal with the skills of writing and thinking per se – has come from a push from several quarters for a graduate skills assessment (GSA) test to be introduced as a method of measuring the acquisition of key skills. This test, commissioned by DEST, and developed by the Australian Council of Educational Research has been trialled fairly extensively over the last five years, and has been the object of intermittent enthusiasm from various Ministers for Education. With no apparent obvious rationale, the test has opted to focus on four skill areas – ‘Written communication’, ‘Critical thinking’, ‘Problem solving’ and Interpersonal understandings’. Apart from having questionable validity – particularly in relation to its reliance on mainly multiple choice formats to assess the diverse skills, knowledge and techniques acquired by students on their degrees, the GSA has prompted concerns about its potential to have undue influence on university programs. As Chanock et al. (2004) explain: The most serious concern is the negative effect that the test, as a quality assurance instrument, could have ultimately on the quality of university programs. If the test is mandated in the system, universities for reasons of their survival will want to ensure that their students do well on it. In such an arrangement, it is hard not to envisage valuable time being given over in already overcrowded curricula to training students in the ultimately trivial skills of test preparation (p. 24).

Significantly, in the consultant’s report quoted above, the GSA was seen as ‘creating opportunities’ for Arts faculties in the teaching of dedicated skills programs.

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INSIGHTS FROM ACADEMIC LITERACY Despite the recent encroachments of a skills-based pedagogy, the majority position in higher education continues to hold to an integrated approach to the teaching of generic skills. As a recent report on the progress of introducing graduate attributes at one university puts it: A preference for teaching graduate attributes in the context of the disciplines has been mentioned in the literature often… but it cannot be emphasised too strongly (Chapman 2004: 23).

Such statements resonate strongly with the type of conceptions that academic literacy professionals have developed about such matters in the relatively short history of our field. As a group keenly engaged with issues of language, skills, content, and context in the work we do with our students, we are perhaps as well placed as any to understand the relationships that inhere between these different entities, including the impossibility of imagining the acquisition of skills (or attributes) occurring in any meaningful way separate from content. Indeed, Ballard and Clanchy’s (1995) assertion – that ‘such skills cannot be learned in vacuo’ – might be regarded as the closest thing we have to a core belief in the field. Such a notion is rooted in the phenomenological axiom – first advanced by Brentano a century ago – that ‘thinking is always of necessity thinking about something’ (cited in Gardner 1985), a formula that applies to all of the core activities that our students are engaged in – writing, reading, researching. Perhaps the thinker in our field who has done more than anyone else to articulate a theoretical relationship between notions of skill and content in our work is Gordon Taylor. In his paper ‘The notion of skill – a hermeneutic perspective’, Taylor (1990) draws on Aristotle to elaborate on two well-understood types of ‘knowing’: ‘the ‘knowing that’ (episteme), which in the university context refers to disciplinary content; and the ‘knowing how’ (techne), which equates with what are nowadays called generic skills. Taylor suggests it is now accepted in most serious traditions of the study of learning, such as cognitive science or phenomenography, that these two types of knowing are of their nature inextricably related. There is broad agreement, he insists, that ‘there are no generalised transferable skills of any consequence which exist (or can be taught) independent of content’ (p. 8). But this is not the sum of it, Taylor suggests. Any account of learning that takes in only episteme and techne, and which sees learning and scholarship simply as the unproblematic application of generic techniques to particular bodies of knowledge, is for Taylor a limited one. Significantly, in Aristotle’s schema, Taylor explains, there is a further category – phronesis – which translates variously as ‘practical knowledge’, ‘moral knowledge’ or simply ‘understanding’. Phronesis brings in an additional dimension of ‘knowing’ – a kind of executive knowledge (or a ‘knowing what to do’) that comes into play in the quite specific situations in which we find ourselves. As Taylor (1990: 4) explains, phronesis is concerned with: doing what is best in the circumstances – on dealing with content and context of immediate and highly variable practical situations which demand action from us.

It is the ‘content and context’ of practical situations that create the variability – and indeed the great potential for creativity – in the different forms of academic engagement required of students.

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On this issue, Taylor points to a notion that is now well understood in the field of academic literacy, but often less so by students (and staff) working in the disciplines – namely, that the socalled generic academic skills, like essay writing, or being able to think critically, will often assume very different guises in specific learning contexts, whether these be related to level of study, or discipline area, or even specific academic tasks. It is helping students towards this practical understanding (phronesis) – a mediating of the generality of skills (techne) and the particularities of disciplinary knowledge (episteme) – that Taylor believes should be the principal concern of a higher education. In a later paper, Taylor (2000) relates these understandings to the special place he sees academic literacy professionals occupying in the academy: It is my view that the most important function of the [academic literacy] professional in the university is to be a catalyst for reconciling the top-down (deductive) beloved of administrators, and the bottom-up (inductive) which lies at the heart of teaching in the disciplines (160).

ATTRIBUTES AND ASSESSMENT This gap between the ‘top-down’ and ‘bottom-up, that Taylor speaks of, is particularly apparent, we think, when one tries to ‘reconcile’ notional lists of graduate attributes with the realities of student work in the faculties, especially the work they need to complete as assessment requirements on their courses. To take the example again of our own institution, whilst the graduate attributes outlined earlier suggest a broad and diverse range of abilities – ones as relevant to the workplace and community, as to the academy (e.g. the ability to introduce innovative solutions; to work collaboratively, to be socially responsible etc), our experience is that assessment practices continue to be oriented towards the development of quite specific discipline-related skills. This observation is borne out in research one of us was involved in several years ago that looked at assessment practices across a range of courses at two universities (Moore and Morton 2005). In a corpus of approximately 150 tasks collected from both undergraduate and postgraduate coursework programs, it was found that about 80% of writing assessment prescribed distinctly academic genres (literature reviews, research proposals), and of these more than 60% prescribed the traditional academic essay. Whilst one certainly does not want to dismiss the value of these discursive forms – nor indeed to entertain the possibility of making assessment requirements less onerous for students – there is a need to consider how assessment regimes like this might relate to (and be ‘reconciled with’) the broader attributes agenda. On this point, Chanock (2003) notes that traditional academic genres are well-attuned to making students aware of the ‘complexities’ of issues, but that such an outlook may not necessarily be valued in some of the workplaces our students enter – where rhetorical activity is often oriented towards ‘swift decision-making and action’. A benefit of our in situ work is that every so often we come across quite innovative assessment tasks, ones that require students to engage with academic knowledge in interesting, and distinctly non-academic ways. The following from a Women’s Studies subject is a good example. In April this year, the Federal Sex Discrimination Commissioner, Pru Goward, launched a report ‘Valuing Parenthood’, on options for paid maternity leave that is available on-line. (Hint: You can locate their link to this report on the

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unit portal page). On that same site, there is a request for the public to submit responses to the report. Reflecting on your readings this semester on topics such as equality versus difference, heterosexuality, and gender in the workplace, draft a response to the issue and options raised in the report. Work with a partner.

The interest of this task is not just its prescribing of a non-traditional written genre – a ‘submission’. We can see that there is additional variability here, both in the role that the student must assume – not so much a student identity here, but more that of interested citizen; and also in the intended audience for the text – not an academic, but a public governmental one. In putting together a response to a task like this, there would appear to be challenges for the student beyond the usual ones of composing a coherent and well-researched piece of academic writing. We can see that the shift in audience means that students will have to be judicious about the way they make use of extant knowledge – their ‘semester’s readings’. For example, will they need to make explicit reference to theoretical materials, or should they make their pitch at a more practical level? Even the normally straightforward matter of citation is potentially problematic here. How much will they need to cite these readings? And indeed in their writing, would it be more strategic to project an identity of academic authority, or rather to present as an informed citizen only. In short, the student has to exercise a good deal of judgment about how they will apply disciplinary knowledge to a new and possibly unfamiliar context. We are reminded here of Taylor’s account of phronesis quoted above: ‘doing what is best in the circumstances – on dealing with content and context of immediate and highly variable practical situations which demand action from us’ (Taylor 1990: 4). Authentic tasks like this one from the Women’s Studies subject are particularly interesting for the way that they provide a context for the enacting of many of the abilities typically found in graduate attribute inventories – as well as managing to do this without being too self-conscious and pre-determined about the process. In relation to the attributes in the list referred to above, we can see that the task takes in at least some of the following:

• • • • • •

Capacity for critical thought, analysis and synthesis – in evaluating the draft report, based on one’s readings Effective communication skills – in preparing a written submission Capacity to articulate a sound argument – in commenting on options canvassed in the report Information literacy – in accessing the report online Socially responsible and ethical attitudes – in being engaged in an issue of clear social importance Ability to work collaboratively – in the co-authoring of the submission

Tasks like this seem to us particularly useful. The impression one gets however, is that they are usually set for students on a somewhat ad hoc basis – and are motivated mainly by the need to provide ‘novelty’ in assessment practices. The designer of the Women’s Studies assignment, for example, mentioned that she created the task mainly to give students ‘a bit of a break from the usual run of essays in the subject’ (and also interestingly to find formats that would be ‘plagiarism-proof’, as she described it). It seems to us, however, that there is the opportunity to

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subject tasks like this to some systematic analysis, and also to explore ways in which they might be effectively utilised within the graduate attributes framework.

A MODEL OF ASSESSMENT TASKS It is our view that the assessment task is as good a construct as any to use as the focus for the development of graduate attributes. This is for the reason outlined by Crookes (1986) that ‘much if not most of human activity, whether in employment or in education can be seen as a series of tasks – most, although not all, having some communicative aspect to them’. In Figure 1, we outline a possible schema for thinking about variety in assessment tasks in a particular discipline area. The example used is history, but the same analysis can be conducted, we believe, for any discipline area.2 At the top level of the figure we have sought to characterise what continues to be the ‘archetypal task configuration’ in many discipline areas – ‘the individual student essay writer in discipline X writing for the lecturer’. From this, we have generated a number of analytical categories – authorship (ie. individual vs collaborative); role (a range of academic, professional and other identities); genre (a range of possible ‘communicative events’ associated with these identities); mode (written vs spoken); audience (academic, professional, public etc.). The only category that is invariable in our schema is that of discipline, which here refers to the knowledge base of a particular program of study. Having this as an ‘anchoring category’ relates to our belief, stated earlier, in the centrality of ‘content knowledge’ – and the importance of being able to adapt this knowledge for a range of socio-rhetorical purposes and contexts. The schema has clearly been influenced by theoretical work done in the fields of rhetoric and genre studies (e.g. Miller 1984; Swales 1990). But where much of this work takes as its starting point the notion of ‘discourse community’, from which a range of communicative purposes and genres can be derived (Swales 1990), we approach the identification of genres from the perspective of the student, and the range of possible ‘roles’ that may be relevant to them in their present and future lives. The list of roles provided in the table, which includes journalist, teacher, curator etc. is a notional one only, but one that could be validated without too much difficulty through reference to graduate destination surveys, or simply finding out from students what their professional interests and prospects might be. It is important to stress too that all the ‘roles’, ‘genres’ etc. considered need not be exclusively ‘functional’ ones (professional and academic), but can take in more ‘poetic’ and ‘expressive’ forms (Britton 1970) including for example, the preparing of film scripts, or the creating of imaginary historical documents. The rationale for such a clearly discursively based organisation of assessment comes from observations frequently made nowadays about the overwhelmingly linguistic and semiotic nature of contemporary work. For Jean Baudrillard (1980), this is one of the defining characteristics of the condition of postmodernity – a shift, as he explains, from a former ‘age of production’, based on industry labour and accumulation, to one of ‘simulation’, based on media, computerisation, and information processing. Norman Fairclough (2002) makes a similar observation. There is a sense, he suggests: in which language (and more broadly semiosis) is becoming more central in the New Capitalism than in earlier forms of capitalism… implied for instance in descriptions of the New Capitalism as ‘knowledge-’ or ‘information- based’ (p. 163).

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Figure 1 Possible analytical schema for assessment tasks – using history as example

APPLICATIONS AND CAVEATS In setting out this range of possible ‘roles’, ‘genres’ etc in the model, the suggestion is not that an academic program would seek to provide instruction in how each might be successfully enacted by students. Indeed this would amount to just another type of skills learning. The aim instead would be to draw on a select number of task types, as a basis for exploring the variable ways in which written and spoken knowledge needs to be shaped and adapted to circumstances, as well as a consideration of the different discursive processes and forces that will have a bearing on this shaping. Drawing on the history samples, students might be asked to reflect, for example, on how the same field knowledge (e.g. aspects of the Vietnam War – a popular history subject in our faculty) would be realised differently as an essay, as a textbook extract, or as a sequence

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from a documentary. The range of tasks that can be set on a particular unit of study is clearly limited (usually two to three); thus careful selection to target core skills is important. Such an exploration of the genre variability need not be a technical one. It would be inappropriate, for example, to impose on students any theoretical account of text-context relations – for example, the systemic functional linguistic constructs of ‘field’, ‘tenor’ and ‘mode’. Instead one would want to rely on a more organic view of context and circumstance – perhaps of the type suggested by Charles Bazerman. Bazerman (1988) suggests four different contexts – the object under study, the relevant literature, the anticipated audience, and the author’s own self – which can be used as a basis for understanding knowledge-making processes, as well as to recognise how variable textualisations often constitute ‘different moves in quite different games’ (p. 46). Central to the model we have proposed is the idea of students being called on to assume a variety of roles – academic, professional and others. It has to be acknowledged however, that as a pedagogical method, the notion of role-conferral and task simulation in the classroom is not without its problems. Freedman et al. (1994) note the lack of ‘exigency’ (Miller 1984) in the classroom simulation – that is, the absence of specific social purposes, motives, interests and investments that typically inhere authentic communicative situations – which both give them their substance, and shape the way they will proceed. As Bourdieu and Passeron (1977) have noted on this point ‘it is [principally] the speaker’s anticipation of the reception which his/her discourse will receive (its price) which contributes to what is said and how’ (p. 154). Thus, when these roles – both producer (speaker/writer) and receiver (audience) – are not real, but only simulated, it is difficult for students to have a genuine grasp of what the consequences of their rhetorical actions might be, and thus the choices they need to make will seem less compelling. It has also been noted that the learning contexts in universities and workplaces are also different. Freedman and Adam (1996) suggest for example, that the processes of knowledge production that go on at university are best understood as a form of ‘facilitated performance’, wherein the activity is undertaken primarily for the learner, and where performance is assessed mainly in terms of the achievement of certain learning objectives. This contrasts with the workplace, where there is limited facilitation of individual abilities, and where attention is directed almost entirely to ‘the task at hand and its successful completion’ (p. 410). Performance in the workplace context thus is gauged ultimately in relation to the achievement of organisational goals. On this point, Freedman and Adam (1996) suggest that the transition from university to work involves not only learning new genres of discourse, but also learning new ways of learning these genres (p. 420). The important issue of how university and professional discourses may differ is taken up in additional chapters by Pinder and Price (this volume). Clearly there are important differences between university and workplace contexts, and between student and graduate/worker identities, and these point to certain limitations in the approach we have outlined. What needs to be stressed, however, is that the objective of this type of program is not towards the successful enactment of particular roles as they relate to certain prescribed socio-rhetorical situations. Instead, we see the aim more modestly – to help students recognise that they will need to take on a variety of personae and social roles in their future lives, and help them to understand in some basic way how these roles will have a bearing on the approaches and practices they adopt. A challenge for the future would be to map carefully the way that certain generic attributes (of the type discussed earlier) are typically elicited from the variable task types suggested.

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CONCLUSION Ronald Barnett, in an evocatively titled article ‘Learning for an unknown future’, stresses, after Bauman (2000), the ‘fluidity’ and ‘fragility’ of contemporary life, which demands, he says, new pedagogical responses. In a world that has become ‘radically unknowable’, Barnett suggests ‘knowledge and skills can no longer provide a platform for going on with any self-assuredness’. What is needed, he argues, is a focus on ontological qualities – an instilling of the qualities of ‘confidence’ and ‘self-belief’ that will enable our students to ‘go forth into a challenging world’ (p. 254). Such ideas recapitulate our earlier discussion of Taylor’s work (1990) and the priority he thinks should be given to Aristotle’s phronesis, over other forms – episteme and techne. Elsewhere Taylor (2000) describes the desired quality as simply one of judgement: ‘What students stand most in need of’, he suggests, ‘is help to develop… the faculty of judgement… It is only judgement that truly enables people to make appropriate use of the knowledge and skills they have built up in the many different situations’ of their learning (p. 162). Taylor goes on to point out that such a faculty, like Barnett’s ontological qualities, cannot be taught in any systematic way. But what we can do, he explains: is to create the conditions under which judgment in our students is given a chance to flower, to chance their arm or pen… What their education needs to put before them is as wide a variety of experiences, situations, circumstances, and language games as possible (p. 162).

The suggestions outlined in this paper may be one modest way to provide this variety of experience.

ENDNOTES 1 2

With a low uptake rate, the Graduate Diploma program appears to have been short-lived. The table was developed for a professional development session on ‘Assessment and graduate attributes’ run for staff in the School of Historical Studies.

REFERENCES Australian Higher Education Council. 1992. Higher Education: Achieving Quality. Canberra: Australian Government Printing Service. Ballard, B; Clanchy, J. 1995. ‘Generic Skills in the Context of Higher Education’. Higher Education Research and Development 14 (2): 155–166. Barnett, R. 2004. ‘Learning for an unknown future’. Higher Education Research and Development 23 (3): 248–260. Baudrillard, J. 1980. Symbolic Exchange and Death. London: Sage. Bauman, Z. 2000. Liquid Modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Bazerman, C. 1988. Shaping Written Knowledge. Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press. Bourdieu, P; Passeron, J. 1977. Reproduction in Education, Society and Culture. London: Sage. Britton, J. 1970. Language and Learning. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Chapman, L. 2004. Graduate Attributes Resources Guide: Integrating Graduate Attributes into Undergraduate Curricula. Armidale, New South Wales. University of New England.

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Chanock, K. 2003. ‘Challenges of the graduate attributes movement’. Proceedings of Fifth National Language and Academic Skills Conference, edited by Deller-Evans, K; Zeegers, P. Adelaide: FlindersUniversity. Chanock, K; Clerehan, R; Moore, T. 2004. ‘Shaping university teaching towards measurement for accountability: Problems of the Graduate Skills Assessment test’. Australian University Review 47 (1): 22–29. Crookes, G. 1986. ‘Task classification: A cross disciplinary review’. Technical report no. 4. Centre for Second Language Classroom Research. Hawaii, USA: University of Hawaii. Crebert, G. 2002. ‘Institutional research into generic skills and graduate attributes: Constraints’. Paper presented at International Lifelong Learning Conference; Yeppoon Queensland. Fairclough, N. 2002. ‘Language in the new capitalism’. Discourse and Society 13 (2): 163–166. Freedman, A; Adam, C. 1996. ‘Learning to write professionally: Situated learning and the transition from university to professional discourses’. Journal of Business and Technical Communication 10 (4): 395–425. Freedman, A; Adam, C; Smart, G. 1994. ‘Wearing suits to class: Simulating genres and simulations as genre’. Written Communication 11 (2) : 193–226. Gardner, H. 1985. The Minds New Science: A History of the Cognitive Revolution. New York: Basic Books. Hager, P; Holland, S; Beckett, D. 2002. ‘Enhancing the learning and employability of graduates: The role of generic skills’. B-HERT Position Paper No 9. Business/Higher Education Round Table. Melbourne. Available from: http://www.bhert.com/Position%20Paper%20No%209.pdf. Kemp, I; Seagraves, L. 1995. ‘Transferable skills – can higher education deliver?’. Studies in Higher Education 20 (3): 315–328. Langer, J. 1992. ‘Speaking of knowing: Conceptions of understanding in academic disciplines’. In Writing, Teaching and Learning in the Disciplines, edited by Herrington, A; Moran, C. New York: MLA. Moore, T; Morton, J. 2005. ‘Dimensions of difference: Academic writing and IELTS writing’. Journal of English for Academic Purposes 4 (1): 43–66. Miller, C. 1984. ‘Genre as social action’. Quarterly Journal of Speech 70: 151–167. Oppy, G; Moore, T. 2003. ‘Conceptualisation of Graduate Attributes’. Discussion Paper, Graduate Attributes Working Party. Melbourne: Monash University. Pinder, J. 2007. ‘Eliciting Professional Discourse in Assignments’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 3.1–3.12. DOI: 10.2104/ld070003. Price, S. 2007. ‘Role conflation in academic-professional writing: a case study from the discipline of Law’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 4.1–4.11. DOI: 10.2104/ld070004. Sumison, J; Goodfellow, J. 2004. ‘Identifying generic skills through curriculum mapping: a critical evaluation’. Higher Education Research and Development 23 (3): 329–346. Swales, J. 1990. Genre Analysis: English in Academic and Research Settings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Taylor, G. 2000. ‘The generic and the disciplined: Can universal and particular be reconciled’. Proceedings of Third National Language and Academic Skills Conference: The Learning Dimension. Edited by Crosling, G; Moore, T; Vance, S. Melbourne: Monash University. Taylor, G. 1990. ‘The notion of skill: A hermeneutical perspective’. Proceedings of Eighth Australasian Language and Learning conference. Brisbane: Queensland University of Technology. Watson, D. 2003. Death Sentence: The Decay of Public Language. Melbourne: Random House.

Cite this chapter as: Moore, T; Hough, B. 2007. ‘The perils of skills: Towards a model of integrating graduate attributes into the disciplines’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 2.1–2.12. DOI: 10.2104/ld070002.

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PART ONE

ELICITING PROFESSIONAL DISCOURSE IN ASSIGNMENTS Jan Pinder, Monash University Jan Pinder is a Learning Skills Advisor in the Learning Skills Unit of Monash University Library. Her research interests focus on graduate second language writing development, and research writing. Correspondence to Jan Pinder: [email protected]

In university courses which have a vocational orientation, students are often given assignments that require them to relate the theory they are learning to real-life-like situations, in ways that are intended to mirror tasks they may eventually encounter in the workplace. Whatever the limitations imposed by the institutional context on the ability of this kind of exercise to initiate students into professional discourse (Freedman et al. 1994), it continues to be a highly-regarded teaching tool. In this chapter I consider, in the light of the work by Freedman and others on the differences between academic and professional learning and the ways professional discourse is learned, how this kind of asnd rd signment can function. The discussion draws on the analysis of a sample of eleven 2 and 3 year assignment tasks (from Business and Economics subjects) that present a scenario and require the student to adopt a professional role. The tasks examined differed quite widely in degree of explicitness about the role the student writer was to adopt, and how this translated into expectations of genre and audience. There were also varying levels of detail in the contextualisation of the task. I look at the way these assignments create a rhetorical context to elicit professional discourse, and how they deal with issues identified in the literature as potential barriers to learning.

INTRODUCTION Professional textual practices are taught and learnt in many ways. These include methods which have varying degrees of distance from the actual workplace, ranging from on the job training, through work placements and client projects, to simulations and role plays in academic courses. Those university courses which have a vocational orientation, such as Law and Medicine, commonly use simulations to initiate students into the practices and language of the professions they are preparing them for. In Business schools, which sometimes have a less specific professional orientation, there is also a long history of using real-life situations in teaching, going back to the development of the case method (borrowed from university law schools) in the Harvard Business School in the early twentieth century (Di Gaetani 1989). These simulations have the double purposes of applying theory to practical situations and, as Zhu (2004) has noted, socialising students into the business world by making them ‘[assume] business roles, [write] for business audiences, and [adopt] business communication styles’ (p. 125). In other words, one of their purposes seems to be to have students practise the discourse of the business professions. However, some researchers have questioned the degree to which professional discourse can be taught in the classroom, suggesting that it is so shaped by the workplace context that it is only there that it can be fully learnt (Anson and Forsberg 1990; Freedman and Adam 1996; Freedman et al. 1994; Knoblauch 1989; Forman and Rymer 1999). Others are more optimistic, and argue that the professional context can be incorporated into the classroom in various ways

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that at least permit students to begin building an understanding of the ways professional discourse operates (Blakeslee 2001; Pardoe 2000; Russell 1997). My purpose in this chapter is to look at issues of academic and professional discourse, in relation to assignments that try to incorporate the professional context into the classroom by requiring the writer to adopt a professional role. In the process of learning the discourse of a professional community, these assignments occupy a position on the borderline between the academic and professional contexts. In his synthesis of activity theory and genre theory, Russell (1997) argues that the activity system of the university has interpenetrating boundaries with other activity systems, including professional ones, partly as a result of the intertextual links between classroom and other genres. It can be argued that by positing a professional context, these assignments provide a set of conditions to elicit a communicative act, through the production of which the student is expected to move closer to the target community. In my role as an academic skills adviser I often encounter students who have difficulties with these types of ‘professional context’ assignments, suggesting that the learning activities they constitute are not unproblematic. For that reason I decided to examine more closely some examples of such assignments from the final two years of a Bachelor of Business course, to see how they were constructed, and how they might function as prompts for the production of a piece of professional communication. To inform this analysis I will first review some of the extensive research on the learning of professional discourse: what can be learnt in the classroom, and what conditions make this learning most effective.

LEARNING PROFESSIONAL DISCOURSE IN AN ACADEMIC SETTING The use of scenarios to create a context and a prompt for a communicative act is not restricted to vocationally oriented courses. It is a technique that is widely used in the communicative approach in foreign language teaching. Coming closer to academic writing, work in composition studies has suggested that the use of scenarios which specify audience can have a positive impact on writing quality in any situation. Some benefits suggested are increased motivation and more audience-based strategies of persuasion, improved writing by inexperienced writers, and increased audience awareness (Roen and Willey 1988; Redd-Boyd and Slater 1989; Rozumalski and Graves 1995; Scharton 1989). The literature on professional writing has given considerable attention to the learning of professional discourse, and within this to the use of scenarios. However, studies of professional writing emphasise the differences between the academic and professional contexts (Knoblauch 1989; Anson and Forsberg 1990; Freedman et al. 1994). The oft-cited study of Freedman et al. (1994), comparing university and workplace discourse in the same field, underlines the way the institutional context shapes writing, and argues that writing done in a university course, no matter what form it takes, is shaped primarily by the academic institutional context. The characteristics produced by this context are: orientation towards the demonstration of knowledge, fulfilling needs of the writer rather than the reader (acting as a learning process), evaluation as main reader purpose, and texts that have no life beyond their presentation for evaluation. This is in contrast to the professional context, where texts are produced in response to readers’ needs, and continue to be used and referred to in other texts. Forman and Rymer (1999), in their critique of the Harvard case method, also point to the force of the institutional context in shaping dis-

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course. Price (this volume) presents the difficulty for the student as one of making choices between competing discourses (academic and professional). Other comparisons of professional and academic writing in the same discipline, considering judgements of writing quality and sophistication of rhetorical problem-solving, find differences of degree, rather than of quality (Charney et al. 2002; Flower 1989). This is not to say, however, that nothing can be learnt from attempts to recreate a professional context within the classroom, while bearing in mind that the discourse thus produced will still differ in some important ways from professional discourse. Freedman et al. (1994) suggest that class simulations can help to provide students with ‘the intellectual stance, the ideology, and the values necessary for their professional lives’ (p. 221). Something similar seems to be suggested by Thompson and Alford’s (1997) investigation of the genres students must master in an engineering course. The engineering professors they interviewed indicated that the lab report required of students, although it did not superficially resemble a professional engineering report, was ‘a foundational document in the knowledge structures of engineering discourse’ (p. 3). From this we might conclude that writing a simulated professional genre facilitates acquiring the knowledge structures of business discourse. A number of other researchers see a process of guided learning, scaffolding students’ progress towards the professional world (Freedman and Adam 1996; Anson and Forsberg 1990; Blakeslee 2001; Duff, this volume). Others also are optimistic about the possibilities of learning about the workplace in the classroom, but offer some cautions regarding the conditions for its success. Herrington (1985) maintains that a professional context can be created in the classroom, but that there must be no disjunction between the context created by the scenario and the context enacted in classroom. In Herrington’s study, this was done successfully through a course-long simulation, where teachers and students adopted roles in a fictitious company and these roles were maintained consistently in both classroom discussion and written assignments. The effect of context is approached in a slightly different way by Pardoe (2000). He concentrates on the ways students decide which aspects of a learning experience within a vocational course can be regarded as offering an insight into the profession, and which are a consequence of doing it in the classroom. This decision-making he calls ‘attribution’. What students learn from an activity depends on the way they attribute this experience. This can be a source of mismatches between student and teacher representations of the task (see Nelson 1990), for instance if the students attribute an aspect of the assignment to the university context when the lecturer regards it as an attribute of the professional context. Pardoe (2000) illustrates this with an example from a class in which students had to write an environmental impact assessment. The students made stronger statements than were warranted by the data they had been given, assuming that in the ‘real world’ they would have better data. The lecturer, however, assumed that they would learn that real-world data is often imperfect and any conclusions must be provisional. The implication of this is that teachers need to make explicit the significance they attach to a learning activity in order for the students to understand it in the way they intend. This could be seen as helping them to carry out the ‘boundary work’ between the academic and professional activity systems referred to by Russell (1997). Attribution also seems related to the issue of authenticity in the classroom raised by Blakeslee (2001); students’ perception of an assignment as ‘real’ is presumably a matter of their attributing its features to the workplace rather than the classroom.

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From this research a number of points emerge. While it is necessary to remember that the academic and workplace contexts are different, and opinions diverge on the degree to which the workplace context can be made present in the classroom, there is agreement that at least something about professional discourse can be learnt in an academic setting. Activities that contribute to this learning have several features: they create an authentic rhetorical context, and they are aware of and try to manage the inevitable disjunction between the professional and academic context, guiding the appropriate attribution of features to one or the other. These points provide a basis for analysing the sample of assignment questions I have gathered. In particular I was seeking to discover how they create a rhetorical context, and whether they meet the conditions for success outlined above, namely taking into account the interplay of the professional and academic context and making clear how the assignment relates to both.

ASSIGNMENT ANALYSIS The examples analysed here were provided by six lecturers from a large Business and Economics faculty, who responded to a direct email request for samples of assignment questions from second and third year subjects. In the original sample of twenty assignments from ten different subjects, there were eleven that provided some elements of a scenario, and suggested a professional rhetorical context. Assignment 2, quoted below, is a typical example. In this assignment from the discipline of management, the student is assigned a role (international manager of an Australian manufacturing company). A context (expansion into a new market) is briefly sketched, which provides the writer with a rhetorical purpose the task (evaluate the alternatives and make recommendations for this expansion). The genre in which this rhetorical purpose is to be realised is specified (business report), as is the audience (the CEO). You are the international manager of an Australian business that has just invented a revolutionary high technology product that can perform the same functions as existing products but costs only half as much to manufacture. Several patents protect the unique design of your products. Your CEO has asked you to formulate a recommendation for how to expand into Western Europe or the Asia Pacific Rim. Your options are to (a) export from Australia; (b) license a European or Asian firm to manufacture and market the product in Europe or Asia; and (c) to set up a wholly owned subsidiary in Europe or Asia. Evaluate the pros and cons of each alternative and suggest a course of action to your CEO. Consider the impact of the local environment of your host market.

Assignments 1, 3, 6 and 7 follow a similar pattern. The remaining assignments fall into two groups. In assignments 8–11, from a tourism management unit, the students are presented with a detailed scenario which forms the basis of all their work for the semester. For reasons of space, I have omitted some of the detail. A consultancy company has been formed to undertake an analysis of specific aspects of Frankston tourism. This company has undertaken an environmental analysis, in consultation with Tourism Frankston and the Frankston City

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Council, identifying specific strategic needs… This environmental analysis will be provided to your company during our first meeting. There are a number of areas that require further investigation… Your research and advice company has been approached as a subcontractor to undertake specific research for one of these areas… We require the achievement of this contract to proceed in four sequential stages…

The students are thus assigned roles as members of the ‘research and advice company’. The work they are required to do is set out in two pages of detailed instructions. In these, the outcomes of the first three stages mentioned above are specified as reports, with the first two serving as drafts for sections of the third. The audience for this report is not indicated. For the fourth stage, two genres (oral presentation and written summary) and an audience (stakeholders) are specified: The final stage is the presentation to stakeholders of the achievement of the research area by your research and advice company… A summary document is also required for stakeholders to take away.

The remaining group (assignments 4 and 5) are structurally quite different. These assignments from a unit in business data analysis consist of groups of short-answer questions, of which the following is a typical example: A market research consultant hired by the Pepsi-Cola Company is interested in determining who favours the Pepsi-Cola brand over the Coca-Cola brand in a particular urban location. A frame of customers from the market under investigation is given in the file (name supplied). a) Compute the proportion of the customers in the given frame who favour Pepsi. b) Choose a sample of size 30 stratified by gender with proportional sample sizes.

There follow further instructions for tasks to perform on this sample. In these assignment questions, although scenario is supplied, the student is not explicitly identified with an actor in the scenario. Table 1 gives an analysis of the instructions for these eleven assignments according to discipline, writer role, audience, rhetorical purpose and genre. These categories were adapted from the generative framework proposed by Moore and Hough (this volume).

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CREATION OF A RHETORICAL CONTEXT These assignments generally create a rhetorical context by specifying author role, audience and genre. Within this framework, however, there is a range of detail in the scenarios and of explicitness in the instructions regarding each element. On the one hand Assignment 1 sets out, simply and explicitly, the role the writer is to adopt, the audience, the genre (journal article) and the rhetorical purpose (to introduce readers to the use of a software application for a particular accounting technique): You have been approached to write an article of not more than 5,000 words for the Australian CPA – the journal of CPA Australia – giving the readers an introduction to building optimising models using Excel’s ‘Solver’…

On the other hand, assignments 8–11, which are all part of a client project, have a one-page description of the scenario, but the writer role and audience are embedded in the context: that of working for a ‘research and advice company’ contracted by a local council and tourism authority. Another set of assignments (4 and 5) are interesting because they evoke a context without explicitly assigning the student a role within it, or calling for the production of a professional genre. These assignments are discrete problems in business data analysis and, very much in the style of ‘word problems’ in school mathematics textbooks, they present a scenario with actors and then ask the student to solve the problem, without however identifying the student with the actors in the scenario. An example of one of these questions was quoted at the beginning of this section. The distancing of the student from the actors in the scenario is even more striking in the following task from Assignment 4: Auditors of a particular bank are interested in comparing the reported value of customer savings account balances with their own findings regarding the actual value of such assets. Rather than reviewing the records of each savings account at the bank, the auditors decide to examine a representative sample of savings account balances. The frame from which they will sample is given in the file ( name supplied).

The student’s task is then outlined: a) Select a systematic sample of 151 savings accounts. b) Explain how the auditors might use the systematic sample identified in Part (a) to estimate the value of all savings account balances within this bank. (Instructions for further computation tasks follow.)

Here the students are not asked to write as though they are auditors, but to explain how an auditor might proceed. What is being required of them in this assignment is demonstration of knowledge about a professional role in a real-world context, rather than a simulation of that role. Six assignments indicate an audience, either by directly naming the audience or the person who had commissioned the report (2, 3, 7, 11), by or by implication (1, 6). The characteristics of the audience which might have a bearing on the way the assignment was written are not

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elaborated, although sometimes indications are given. In Assignment 2, the students are told: ‘the CEO wants to see a report which is extremely well written and backed up by wide and relevant research, both current and historical’. One of the instructions for Assignment 1 was: ‘Your article must use appropriate language and spreadsheet examples for the intended “readership”’ (my emphasis), but it is left to the students to infer from the journal title who exactly that readership is and what language would be appropriate. In none of the assignments is the student left to decide what genre(s) might be appropriate to the designated writer role and audience: the genre to be produced is always specified, sometimes with detailed instructions on content and/or formatting. These genres are generally congruent with the role and audience where stated: for example, a business report for a CEO, an oral presentation of research findings for project stakeholders, a journal article for readers of a particular journal. The rhetorical purpose is often implicit in the information about genre, writer and audience. However, some assignments make it explicit with directive phrases like ‘Your article should briefly illustrate…’, ‘evaluate the pros and cons of each alternative and suggest a course of action…’, ‘the report is required to demonstrate…’, ‘explicitly provide recommendations…’. THE ACADEMIC CONTEXT The academic institutional context is very present in most of these assignments. Some of the instructions direct students to the lectures where relevant concepts have been discussed and many set out the number and type of information sources to use (for instance, a minimum of five refereed journal articles). The academic institutional context is further made present by accompanying material on formatting and disciplinary matters. Freedman et al. (1994) find that the academic institutional context determines one rhetorical function for student writing, which they identify as the demonstration of learning (with the ultimate goal of being evaluated). They and others suggest that one of the main obstacles to the effectiveness of classroom simulation or scenario assignments is the disjunction between this function and the one posited by the assignment scenario. Such a disjunction is illustrated in Assignment 6, which sets out the following scenario: You have been appointed as a fund manager trainee in Norton Investments (NI). In order to get confirmed as a professional fund manager, your supervisor in the fund management department of NI has asked you to set up a small investment fund and then manage it. Suppose you have received $100 million from investors who are pleased with your investment objectives, which suit their needs. Basically you are in a managed fund environment.

However, in the instruction package for this assignment, the extent and detail of the procedural matter and warnings about penalties for late submission and plagiarism give great prominence to the function of evaluation, and to the need to comply with conditions that bear no relation to the rhetorical function set out in the scenario. One could readily imagine a student, in Pardoe’s (2000) terms, attributing all of the features of this assignment to the academic context, at the expense of the professional features it was trying to elicit.

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In some of the assignments there is an attempt to deal with this potential disjunction by incorporating the disciplinary requirements into the scenario itself: Assignments 8–11 have a number of administrative procedures that are designed to ensure that students complete all tasks, which are presented as stages in the contract. Failure to carry them out results in cancellation of the contract (which in fact means getting no mark for the assignment). Assignment 2 found an ingenious way of connecting the requirements of knowledge demonstration to the scenario by invoking a second rhetorical purpose, that of self-promotion, saying that the report should constitute ‘a solid justification for the recommendation… which would convince the CEO that you are a well-informed business manager, whose services and ideas are extremely valuable’. SOURCES OF KNOWLEDGE From reading these assignment questions, it is not clear from what sources the students are expected to derive the knowledge they need to make appropriate lexico-syntactic and rhetorical choices for the type of discourse they are expected to produce. Assignment 1’s requirement to use appropriate language for the readership of the journal seems to assume that the students’ life experience will enable them to deduce what is appropriate in these circumstances (see also Price, this volume). Studies of the way professional discourse is learnt, both in the classroom and in the workplace, suggest that modelling plays an important role (Anson and Forsberg 1990; Freedman and Adam 1996), and this of course is not something that can be deduced from reading the assignment questions. It may well be that what appears to be assumed knowledge has been presented in some way in class. However, while the source of the disciplinary knowledge students should display is often referred to explicitly (e.g. in Assignment 3: ‘In order to do this you must draw on the concepts and theories introduced in Lectures 4 through 8 and demonstrate your understanding of how HRM can improve employee retention.’), little is said about how the rhetorical context provided should translate into words.

CONCLUSION One way of bringing the professional context into the classroom is through assignments that create a scenario in which the student must adopt a professional role and engage in a professional communicative act. The assignment questions examined here show that one of the challenges in designing this kind of learning activity is managing the balance between the academic and the professional context. The research comparing academic and professional discourse suggests that since the academic rhetorical context exerts such a strong determining force, every effort needs to be made to prevent it from dominating the student’s interpretation of the task. For some the assignments studied here, the requirements of the academic context – marking criteria, submission dates, and disciplinary matters – risked overwhelming the professional context in the framing of the task. Solutions to this problem might include using formatting to achieve a clearer separation between the scenario and the other elements or, as was done in some of the assignments, finding a way of integrating some of these requirements into the scenario itself. Another possible source of difficulty for students is the assumption that they already possess the knowledge they need to make appropriate rhetorical choices. Since this study did not include any classroom observation, it is not possible to say that this knowledge was not presented in some way in the course of lectures and class discussions. However, the fact that it is not signalled

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in the assignment instructions in the same way that disciplinary knowledge is may indicate that it needs to be treated more explicitly. This would be particularly true for classes with a high enrolment of international students, since much knowledge about workplace behaviour and expectations is culture-specific. The insights gained through this analysis of assignment questions need to be developed through further investigation, using classroom observation and analysis of student writing, in order to determine the most effective ways of scaffolding the production of professional discourse through scenario assignments.

REFERENCES Anson, C; Forsberg, L. 1990. ‘Moving beyond the academic community: Transitional stages in professional writing’. Written Communication 7 (2): 200–231. Blakeslee, A. 2001. ‘Bridging the workplace and the academy: Teaching professional genres through classroom-workplace collaborations’. Technical Communication Quarterly 10 (2): 169–192. Charney, D; Rayman, J; Ferreira-Buckley, L. 2002. ‘How writing quality influences readers’ judgements of résumés in business and engineering’. Journal of Business and Technical Communication 6 (1): 38–74. Di Gaetani, J. 1989. ‘Use of the case method in teaching business communication’. In Writing in the Business Professions, edited by Kogen, M. Urbana, Illinois: National Council of Teachers of English. Duff, P. A. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1–1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001. Flower, L. 1989. ‘Rhetorical problem solving: Cognition and professional writing’. In Writing in the Business Professions, edited by Kogen, M. Urbana, Illinois: National Council of Teachers of English. Forman, J; Rymer, J. 1999. ‘The genre system of the Harvard case method’. Journal of Business and Technical Communication 13 (4): 373–400. Freedman, A; Adam, C. 1996. ‘Learning to write professionally: “Situated Learning” and the transition from university to professional discourse’. Journal of Business and Technical Communication 10 (4): 395–427. Freedman, A; Adam, C; Smart, G. 1994. ‘Wearing suits to class: Simulating genres and simulations as genre’. Written Communication 11 (2): 193–226. Herrington, A. 1985. ‘Writing in academic settings: A study of the context for writing in two college chemical engineering courses’. Research in the Teaching of English 19: 331–361. Knoblauch, C. 1989. ‘The teaching and practice of “Professional Writing”’. In Writing in the Business Professions, edited by Kogen, M. Urbana, Illinois: National Council of Teachers of English. Moore, T; Hough, B. 2007. ‘The perils of skills: Towards a model of integrating graduate attributes into the disciplines’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 2.1–2.12. DOI: 10.2104/ld070002. Nelson, J. 1990. ‘This was an easy assignment: Examining how students interpret academic writing tasks’. Research in the Teaching of English 24 (4): 362–396. Pardoe, S. 2000. ‘A question of attribution: The indeterminacy of “learning from experience”’. In Student Writing in Higher Education: New Contexts, edited by Lea, M; Stierer, B. Buckingham: The Society for Research into Higher Education and Open University Press. Price, S. 2007. ‘Role conflation in academic-professional writing: A case study from the discipline of Law’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 4.1–4.11. DOI: 10.2104/ld070004.

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Redd-Boyd, T; Slater, W. 1989. ‘The effects of audience specification on undergraduates’ attitudes, strategies, and writing’. Research in the Teaching of English 23: 77–108. Roen, D; Willey, R. 1988. ‘The effects of audience awareness on drafting and revising’. Research in the Teaching of English 22 (1): 75–88. Rozumalski, L; Graves, M. 1995. ‘Effects of case and traditional writing assignments on writing products and processes’. Journal of Business and Technical Communication 9 (1): 77–102. Russell, D. 1997. ‘Rethinking genre and society: An activity theory analysis’. Written Communication 14 (4): 504–554. Scharton, M. 1989. ‘Models of competence: Responses to a scenario writing assignment’. Research in the Teaching of English 23 (2): 163–180. Zhu, W. 2004. ‘Writing in business courses: An analysis of assignment types, their characteristics, and required skills’. English for Specific Purposes 23: 111–135.

Cite this chapter as: Pinder, J. 2007. ‘Eliciting professional discourse in assignments’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 3.1–3.12. DOI: 10.2104/ld070003.

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PART ONE

ROLE CONFLATION IN ACADEMIC-PROFESSIONAL WRITING A CASE STUDY FROM THE DISCIPLINE OF LAW Steve Price, Monash University Steve Price provides language support in the Faculty of Law, Monash University. His research interests include the acquisition and engagement by learners of English in disciplinary discourses; critical discourse analysis; identity in writing; and legal discourse. Correspondence to Steve Price: [email protected]

Research into student academic writing has increasingly paid attention to the link between identity and writing. Students in professional courses of study such as Law often find themselves engaged in writing tasks that require assumption of more than one identity. For example, students may be presented with the facts of a problem situation and then asked to write a letter providing legal advice to one or more persons involved in that situation. Students, however, are aware that while the assignment attempts to simulate a professional task, the assignment is set within the university and that they are writing for their lecturer as well as for the imaginary client. Demonstrating the heteroglossia Bakhtin recognised in all language use, there is a jostling of the student and professional voices, with the positioning of the writer as student bearing on the text in two ways; not only does it find direct representation in the text in its own right, but it is also the condition necessitating the production of the professional voice. This chapter will outline an instance of such identity conflation in a set student assignment. It will comment briefly on judgments made by one student in an extract from his assignment as he decides in what ways and the extent to which the written assignment should reflect different identities. In particular, it will attempt to identify the constraints that seem most compelling for the student as he makes, often unwittingly, his judgments.

INTRODUCTION In recent years there has been an increasing emphasis in studies of student writing on the relationship between identity and writing (e.g. Ivanic 1997). A major impetus for such an emphasis is the understanding that successful writing does not simply require a student to obtain instrumental mastery over a set of appropriate skills, but that writing is constrained by, and a representation of, social practices. The discourses a writer engages with not only regulate in turn who can write, what sorts of things can be written, and the kinds of positions available to writers within the discourse, but also shape therefore who the writer might be in their texts. To write in a discourse one must assume the dispositions of that discourse. According to Gee (1996), to participate successfully in a discourse one must become acculturated to the values, beliefs and so on associated with it, and this is often difficult when the new discourse one is acquiring conflicts with the discourses of one’s everyday life (Gee 1996: 134–5). Such acculturation goes beyond obtaining a cognitive appreciation of what is entailed. Following Bourdieu, researchers such as Kamler and MacLean (1997) emphasise and demonstrate the embodied nature of the dispositions that such acculturation entails. According to such a position, the production of suitable texts by students requires more than a cognitive grasp of the writing forms and skills entailed; one’s use of language is an expression of a ‘certain kind of person’ (Gee 1996: 136), and thus successful writing involves shifts in the subjectivity of the person writing.

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This interest in identity has led to an ethically aligned mode of critique that seeks to expose the dynamics that privilege certain discourses and speakers and marginalise others. In the context of student writing, this interest has led to studies that seek through such awareness to empower students to make decisions about whether or not to be complicit in the social and power relations set up by the discourses they encounter in their academic study (e.g. the writers in Fairclough 1992b). This approach, however, assumes that students do and will respond to these discourses in predictable ways, and the analysis therefore begins from the presupposition that the students will be positioned by the discourse in quite definitive ways. They do not explore how such positioning is actually taken up. Ivanic (1997: 23) suggests there are four aspects of identity a student can choose to privilege in their text – the ‘autobiographical self’, the ‘discoursal self’, ‘self as author’ and ‘possibilities for self-hood’. I shall suggest that the enactment of identities is more subtle than choice suggests, that the heteroglossic nature of student texts (Bakhtin’s concept, see Vice 1997) point to identities that are less well-bounded and stable than Ivanic’s formulation suggests is possible in the ‘discoursal construction of identity in academic writing’. This paper, therefore, is concerned with those processes whereby students do attempt to take up the subject positionings required of them by the discourses they engage with. In particular, it is concerned with this process when several, often conflicting, discourses are making simultaneous demands on them. This is a typical situation for students writing in professionally oriented academic courses, such as law, where an assignment task may require them to write both as a student for their lecturer, to whom they are expected to demonstrate their academic prowess, and as a professional, for instance writing as an expert for an imaginary client. In this paper I will look at the writing of a particular student. I shall begin by describing the assignment task for which the student produced this piece of writing and relevant aspects of the student’s background.

BACKGROUND AND ASSIGNMENT TASK Undergraduate Law students are presented with a number of tasks in their first year of law study. In addition to the more conventional ‘essay’ type assignment, where they might be asked to engage with policy issues related to specific areas of Law, they might also be asked to produce case notes (of a court case designated by the lecturer), write a letter of advice to a client (based on a hypothetical situation details of which they are provided with), produce a plea in mitigation of penalty (a written form of what is normally presented orally by a lawyer in court on behalf of his/her client) and so on. These tasks not only involve students in producing hybrid texts which draw on a variety of discourse types, from different modes (e.g. speech and writing) and possibly of different semiotic forms (e.g. see Duff, this volume) but also involve students addressing, simultaneously, different addressees (lecturer, imaginary client) and assuming different identities (student; professional expert). The navigation of these multiple discourses and identities requires a decision-making Pardoe refers to as ‘attribution’ (see Pinder, this volume) and a composing of a text that involves multiple processes not always evident in the final text product (see Duff, this volume; Prior 1998). This paper does not explore these processes as such, but rather looks for traces of these processes by examining how the student and professional identities are managed, as evidenced in an extract from the student’s final text, and from discussions with the student.

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The student in this instance was asked to produce a letter of advice for an imaginary client. A letter of advice requires a student to address both lecturer and imaginary client, and to assume the identities of student and lawyer. Both these identities have many uncertainties for the student, and conflict with each other in a number of respects, and therefore it is the constitution of and the dynamic between the ‘lawyer subjectivity’ and ‘student subjectivity’ (Kamler and MacLean 1997: 179) that is the concern of this paper. THE ASSIGNMENT TASK This assignment was set for a subject in Criminal Law and Procedure, and involved students being exposed to an array of related materials: a video of an interview between the defendant/client and the solicitor (performed by actors), an audio recording of a police interview, and written materials which included an outline of the scenario that led to the client being charged by police, a copy of a police brief which detailed the police case, a financial questionnaire that outlined the client’s financial situation, and a seventeen page ‘student guide’ that provided an outline of the course, the assignment and criteria for marking, and explanatory notes on all stages involved from first interviewing a client to representing him/her in court. In the legal scenario presented to students, the defendant had acted aggressively towards a man who had taken the parking space the defendant was hoping to occupy. The defendant had approached the man and threatened him, causing the man to lock himself in his car. The defendant then continued to harass the man, beating on his car and making threatening gestures such as holding up his forefinger and aiming at the defendant in the manner of shooting him. This had been observed by two off-duty policemen who came to the man’s aid and after a struggle arrested the defendant. The police subsequently brought three charges against him:

i. threatening to kill; ii. threatening to inflict serious injury; and iii. resisting arrest. In this chapter I shall refer to the first page (see Figure 1) of a letter of advice written by a student who I shall refer to as ‘Benson’. Benson is an international first year student studying straight Law whose first language is Chinese. He completed years 11 and 12 in a private school in Australia before entering into tertiary study. For this task, Benson was asked to write a letter advising the accused about the charges to be laid against him and how he should plead to each. This typical Law School exercise requires students to demonstrate to their lecturer competency in quite specific legal skills and simulates a task common for many practicing lawyers. Benson sought advice from a language and learning adviser about how to proceed with this task, and the sample in Figure 1 is from a second draft Benson produced. The comments made in this paper on Benson’s text are based on analysis of the text, and on notes made of comments made by Benson during the sessions he had with the language adviser.

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Mr. Jason Bloch 43 Ventnor street, Fitzroy, Vic. 3119 5th May 2005 Police prosecution Dear Mr. Bloch. 1. EVIDENCE RELATING TO THE CHARGES AGAINST YOU Regarding your three criminal charges, the police must prove the following to the court: • threats to kill without appropriate excuse The police will need to prove that you intended to or carelessly caused Mr. van Dreyer to fear that you were going to kill him Based on the evidence supplied, you were not intending to threaten Mr. van Dreyer of killing, and he also agreed that he was not being threatened to be killed. Therefore it is unlikely that you will be guilty of this offence. • Threats to inflict serious injury without appropriate excuse Although you might not be intending to threaten Mr. van Dreyer of serious injury, it would still be enough if the police can prove that you carelessly caused him to fear of serious injury Evidence indicates that you admitted of intimidating Mr. van Dreyer and in result he believed that you were going to seriously injure him. The evidence seems unfavourable to you, and unless you have any appropriate excuse for your conduct, such as urgent necessity or self-defence, otherwise you will probably be guilty of carelessly threatened Mr. van Dreyer. • Resisting arrest The police will need to prove that you resisted arrest when they were executing their duties. However, as they were off-duty when arresting you, they were not executing their duties, hence it is unlikely that you will be guilty of this offence. Even if the police officers were exercising their duties in the arrest, as you honestly believed that they were not police officers until you saw their ID, your genuine mistake is a legitimate defence to this charge. Figure 1

SUBJECT WRITING POSITIONS OF STUDENTS The conflation of roles and discourses that student tasks entail creates a ‘hybrid’ discursive space (see Allen 2000: 25). Students write simultaneously as lawyer and student, and to satisfactorily address both client and lecturer the student writer needs to draw on relevant law-specific skills. Consequently, both lawyer and student roles are disciplined in part by the discourses of law. However, the interpersonal relationships for both roles are very different, in some respects contradictory, and this can have implications for choices the writer makes about language and text development. Swales (1990) argues that ‘the principle criteria feature that turns a collection of communication events into a genre is some shared set of communicative purposes’ (p. 46) but in the case this paper examines there are at least two distinct communities involved (academic, and law-

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professional) with quite different purposes, and the relative weighting given to either one (or others) can vary, having implications at least for the form such a text will take. Anecdotal evidence suggests that lecturers are not always clear about which role to privilege and whether the text should be organised around addressing the client, or around demonstrating the student’s understanding of legal skills to the lecturer. Yet this has considerable implications for the writing of the text. A text primarily addressing the lecturer would explicitly track research carried out, show the skill entailed in that, cite sources in support of the substance or direction of one’s close detailed analyses of cases, provide detailed demonstration of one’s reasoning, and so on, but these would not be made explicit to a client. A text primarily addressing the client would in contrast not display detailed analyses of cases, nor show the exhaustive legal analysis and reasoning that has shaped the advice given to the client. The text written for the client would also avoid legal jargon, and be written in clear ‘layman’s’ English. Thus content, register and text structure would vary according to who is being addressed. Contradictions also exist in the relationship the writer assumes with respect to legal authority. Both lawyer and student defer to the legal authority of legal texts such as Law Reports and statutes. However, a lawyer is expected to deal with such material in an authoritative manner, whereas the student will typically be far more tentative as s/he defers to the expertise and authority of the lecturer for whom s/he writes. This assumption of or deferral to authority will mark texts differently, for instance in mood at the level of the interpersonal function. Although managing identity and mood variations at different points in the text might seem easily achievable, when both identities converge in the same utterance or word (the heteroglossia Bakhtin speaks of – see Vice 1997) in a contradictory way, the student writer is faced with a dilemma, as we shall see. To conclude this section, I shall present a brief outline of positions often entailed by the identities students bring to the writing task. This is an intuitive list but I think it fairly represents some of the positions these identities involve, even though they vary in intensity and extent from context to context and person to person. It needs to be pointed out that student responses to positioning by discourses, and the way they take up and enact such positions, will depend upon their understanding of the discourses and of what those positions (such as student or lawyer) entail, and the resources they have available to enact the position. If the identities of ‘lawyer’ and of ‘student’ are formed in an ongoing process, it is plausible that students, still at the stage of trying to understand and assume such identities, will draw on discourses they have engaged with in the past, or from everyday life, to facilitate this process. Thus the way a student performs respective roles and enacts these identities will vary, and each one may well bear the traces of collusions and collisions with others. Students therefore are engaged in the kind of judgments Moore and Hough (this volume) suggest are crucial to the application of ‘disciplinary knowledge to a new and possibly unfamiliar context’, judgments that involve a ‘practical understanding [phronesis]’ which they argue involves more than simply the mastery of relevant disciplinary skills, an understanding that they further argue, following Taylor, ‘should be the principal concern of a higher education’. Positions entailed in the ‘student’ and ‘lawyer’ identities include the following: As students:

•

Recognition that they are writing primarily for their lecturer

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•

Deferral to the authority of the institution and in particular its representative for them, the lecturer who sets and marks their assignment Deferral to the legal authority of texts such as statutes, court reports, legally binding resolutions and other texts that constitute the law as such A deferral to and reliance on the interpretations of legal matters found in secondary sources, and a general unwillingness to challenge such interpretations

• •

As lawyer:

• •

Recognition they are writing primarily for a client Assumption of an expert and authoritative position towards the client for whom one is writing Acknowledgement of and respect for the legal authority/force that certain documents possess, such as statutes, court reports, legally binding Resolutions, and so on Respect for the legal interpretations and commentary offered by secondary sources but a willingness to question such interpretations where called for

• •

I shall now present a fairly brief commentary on the first page of the letter of advice written by Benson, before proceeding to a more general discussion of issues raised.

STUDENT TEXT A preliminary point that needs to be made is that in tasks such as this one the client presented is a rather attenuated entity. Only facts relevant for the purposes of the task are usually presented, and as such only a very partial sense of the client as a person is presented. In professional life, the interview with the client during which the client’s account of the facts is established, police interviews at which the lawyer is present, and other biographical information that becomes known will inevitably broaden and deepen a sense of who the client is and who the lawyer is addressing. Because the context of writing provides only an attenuated sense of who one is addressing, one can suppose that the sense of the relationship with the client will be similarly diminished, which will impact on the interpersonal and rhetorical functions enacted in the letter of advice and which are central to generic structure (see Threadgold 1997: 96). Indications of such impacts can be found in Benson’s text. Immediately noticeable on the first page (extract Figure 1) is the absence of any introductory or explanatory paragraph typical of a letter. Benson opens immediately with the heading: Evidence relating to the charges against you

and then continues: regarding your three criminal charges…

Benson’s reason for omitting such a paragraph was that the client would know why he was writing. Students frequently state, when explaining why they do not provide full details in assignments, that ‘the lecturer knows this and I feel it is insulting to tell them something they so clearly know’. Yet conventions in business letter writing (and this student admitted knowledge of such

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conventions) involve an opening paragraph stating the purpose or subject matter of the letter. In the example in Figure 1, something like the following would typically open such a letter: Dear Jason, Subsequent to my discussion with you on (such and such a date) I am writing to inform you of the nature of the charges being brought against you and to provide advice on how you might plead.

It would seem that in this case neither the weight of convention in letter writing nor the need for the common gambit of establishing a new or a previously existing link with one’s interlocutor before moving onto substantive issues is felt by Benson in this context, and this could be because the sense of the client who he is writing for is weak. Moore and Hough (this volume), point out that ‘the lack of exigency in the classroom stimulation’ can mean the choices a student needs to make ‘will seem less compelling’. Benson’s reason for beginning his letter in this way does not suggest a cultural explanation, but rather points to a practice (not necessarily a good one) associated with writing for a lecturer. If this is what is at stake, the student appears at this point to be engaging with this task primarily as a student, rather than an advising lawyer. The move made at this point of the text appears to be dominated not by the interpersonal relationship with the client but by the institutional demand placed on the student and this positioning has led to change in at least one move typical of such a text. A further interesting aspect of this student’s letter of advice concerns the three criminal charges outlined. It is generally accepted that when providing advice to a client, one does not instruct the client what to do, but one outlines ‘issues of evidence that must be proved by the police, including an analysis of the elements of the relevant offences and the evidence required to prove each element’ (quoted from the instructions given to students for this task) and provides advice on the basis of that analysis. That is, the client him/herself is provided with sufficient information to understand what is at stake, and consequently to make, with advice from the lawyer, an informed decision about whether, for example, a plea of ‘not guilty’ to a charge is likely to succeed. However, if we look at Benson’s discussion of what the police must prove for the charges to stick, his account of whether they could succeed or not seems rather sketchy and as such inadequate. For example, in his discussion of the ‘resisting arrest’ charge, no explanation is given as to why the jury/judge would believe the client’s account of events rather than that of the police, or of what circumstantial evidence might incline the jury to believe Jason against the police officers, or why, for example, under rules of evidence the police would be unable to adequately justify their claim, and why therefore Jason should be able to confidently plead ‘not guilty’ to that charge. These are reasons both the client needs to know to make an informed decision, and also reasons the lecturer wants the student to demonstrate an understanding of. In this instance then, there is a coincidence between the demands placed on the student as student, and as lawyer, yet this student fails on both counts. Why might this be? The reason Benson gave was that he wanted to ‘keep things simple’. The instruction ‘to keep things simple’ is commonly given to students, partly in line with the ‘plain English’ movement that urges legal documents be written in English more accessible to the lay reader, but more importantly to guard students against transferring legalese into communication with their clients who have no legal training. Benson has followed that instruction but provided an everyday

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‘lifeworld’ (Fairclough 1992a) interpretation of ‘keep it simple’, rather than a law ‘disciplined’ interpretation that would have included, in ‘simple English’, an explanation of the kinds of things that the instruction sheet informed students were necessary. One way of explaining the direction Benson followed here is that Benson occupies the ‘lawyer subject positioning’ in that he attempts to do what he understands a lawyer does (keep it simple) but does not enact the ‘lawyer subjectivity’ (Kamler and MacLean 1997) that such a position normally entails. We have as it were a projection of lawyer subjectivity from the position of student but with the everyday lifeworld being drawn on to give substance to that projected subjectivity. In this we see a jostling between student, lawyer and everyday identities and associated voices (Bakhtin, see Vice 1997) as the student engages with his situation to produce a particular textual feature that can be described therefore as heteroglossic. Lea and Street (1998) have argued that literacy problems evident in tertiary student writing arise not because students have a deficiency in literacy per se, but because the forms of literacy particular to disciplines and their discourses are unfamiliar to them. Proficiency in a specific academic literacy requires that students have an understanding of the disciplinary contexts and practices that give meaning to such terms as ‘keep it simple’. However, I suggest that in Benson’s case there is more at stake than lack of such understanding. The student had in this case been provided with an explanation of what was required and in other tasks had demonstrated considerable legal skills. It doesn’t seem to be his lack of understanding of relevant disciplinary practices that dominates here. The ‘keep it simple’ is an imperative imposed by an authority (lecturer, institution) to be submitted to (as student) and this positioning as (a non-authoritative) student dominates over the nascent lawyer subjectivity to which, when fully developed, the incorporated legally disciplined interpretation would be second nature. It seems reasonable therefore to distinguish between lawyer subjectivity and student subjectivity, and this is a distinction made by Kamler and MacLean (1997: 179) in their study of the development of legal ‘habitus’ by first year students. Following Bourdieu (1990), they argue that discursive practices ‘are accomplished not only through language, but also through bodies, through ways of moving, dressing and talking, and through ingrained bodily dispositions or habitus’ (Kamler and MacLean 1997: 178). The lawyer subjectivity is therefore a function not only of cognitive understanding, but primarily of a way of being and of practices, from which forms of cognition follow. However, I am suggesting here that the discourse produced, and the subject producing it, is hybrid and heteroglossic (see Allen 2000: 25, on Bakhtin’s understanding of these concepts). While I would concur with Kamler and MacLean that the development of such skills and understanding involve the development of relevant practices, and of the subjectivity (e.g. lawyer subjectivity) that enacts such practices, the jostling between the different identities and voices at play, and the relative force they have on the enacting subject also needs to be accounted for as s/he produces discourse. Appeal to ‘lawyer subjectivity’ alone does not explain the relative force exerted by the various discourses that bear on the moment of discourse enactment and the hybrid nature of the discourse resulting from that. There is one further observation to make concerning this text. Benson states categorically with respect to the charge of ‘threats to kill without appropriate excuse’ that ‘Based on the evidence supplied, you were not intending to threaten Mr. van Dreyer of killing, and he also agreed that he was not being threatened to be killed’. Benson thus asserts that the evidence the police would need to draw upon to support this charge simply does not exist, creating the logical

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implication that he could not be found guilty of such a charge. He does not suggest other possible grounds on which this charge could be made. However, he then adds that ‘Therefore it is unlikely that you will be (found) guilty of this offence’. This ‘unlikely’ is rather interesting after Benson has stated quite forcefully that according to the evidence no such threat was made. Several explanations for the choice of this word are possible. First, Benson may have felt uneasy as a student about assuming the authority to make a categorical prediction about a court decision, even though inferential logic would support such a prediction being made. Secondly, it may be that he felt (although not in a way he could have articulated clearly) caught between the force of logic that would have led him to be categorical and a feature typical of legal discourse, that it speaks in terms of likelihood and probability or possibility, and with good reason. Phrases qualifying the degree of likelihood are common because on matters such as interpretation of legal documents or principle, or on matters concerning admissibility of evidence, or the force of specific circumstantial evidence and so on, defence and prosecution will often take up and argue contrasting points of view, and the judge is required to rule on how to proceed in light of such arguments. As such, a lawyer is unable often, on such matters, to anticipate with certainty how they will be decided, although s/he is, of course, expected to indicate in which direction s/he thinks things will go, in light of his/her expert reading. However, where the facts are established and agreed on, what logically follows from such facts can be stated with confidence. The reasons for Benson’s uncertainty are not evident. I suspect Benson is imitating the kind of qualification typically found in legal discussion, but has failed to understand the reasons for it and therefore where it is called for, and where not. Through imitation he attempts to project himself into the position of being a lawyer and assume ‘lawyer subjectivity’. But imitation fails because the perception of what is to be imitated is not disciplined by the discourses of law. This raises questions about the extent to which imitation can be a means of discourse acquisition because one must already be disciplined by the discourse to apprehend what is to be imitated. This of course would make the need for imitation redundant. We do, nevertheless, see here I believe an instance of a student who feels compelled as a student to attempt to engage with the disciplinary discourses, but unable as yet as a disciplined subject to respond to the positions the discipline typically constructs for subjects engaging with it. This engagement therefore is sustained and consequently shaped in important ways by the institutional discourses, and not by legal discourses alone.

DISCUSSION A question that so far I have not addressed is whether the example I have presented of a first year international student from a non-English speaking background, as he struggles with the discourses of Law with which he is presented and must engage, provides any general insight into the production of legal discourse by all students as they become more law-literate. I referred earlier to a dilemma the student faced when deferral to (institutional-lecturer) authority and assertion of (lawyer-professional) authority coalesce in the one utterance. I have suggested that to the extent multiple discourses are present in the production of any text, these sorts of dilemmas are likely to be present, and there is little reason to suppose discourse is ever free of such interdiscursive processes. Ivanic (1997: 49) suggests academic writing is inherently intertextual, although this does not prevent her from arguing that a singular discoursal identity can be produced

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in academic writing through choices individuals make. In contrast, I would suggest that not only the text, but the subject also is positioned by interdiscursive dynamics (see Fairclough 1992a: 104 for a distinction between intertextuality and interdiscursivity), and this reduces for students the availability of the kind of choice Ivanic advocates, and also shapes the variations on a generic theme that emerge. By emphasising the significance of the relative force discourses have, and not simply their presence on any given occasion, I have also emphasised the hybrid nature of the enacting subject and the discourse produced. Thus genre too under these circumstances is better viewed not as product, but as process (Threadgold 1997: 97). I suggested above that Benson’s use of ‘unlikely’ may have arisen from an attempt to imitate something he had noticed in legal discourse. Bourdieu argues that habitus and the practical and embodied dispositions that regulate the production of discourse are not formed through imitation, but through a practical mimesis (see Butler 1999: 116). Butler points out that imitation requires an already formed subject that is capable of perceiving the object or action to be imitated. That is, we could add, the subject perceiving must already be ‘disciplined’ so that it ‘sees’ in an appropriate (discipline specific) way. Benson shows how undisciplined imitation can be. In contrast, mimetic identification forms the subject. However, if this is so, then the subject being formed, I have suggested, is never a purely legal one (a ‘lawyer subjectivity’), for other discourses such as the institutional one which compels the student as student to engage with the discourses presented to him is indispensably present, and thus what is acquired, and the subject formed, are hybrid. The habitus formed at law school is not the habitus constraining professional activity, even though relevant skills are developed. Once again, I am suggesting that it is the relative force discursive elements have at any given moment that is most significant in shaping discursive product, and it is this force that constrains the judgments made by a subject, rather than the autonomous choice Ivanic (1997) suggests informed awareness makes possible, or the disciplining imposed by acquired habits and practices that strictly correlate to, and automatically dominate in, particular contexts.

CONCLUSION I have suggested that the texts students produce are hybrid and heteroglossic and I have attempted to show some of the ways in which this is so. I have suggested that on occasions the convergence between different voices is unproblematic; on other occasions incompatibility or contradiction may exist, and on such occasions judgments must be made. However, I have also suggested that such judgments may be unwitting, and one way of accounting for them is to appeal to habitus, where judgments are consequent upon embodied dispositions. As such, Kamler and MacLean argue, acquiring a discourse is a matter of acquiring relevant dispositions. However, I have also suggested this too is not sufficient to account for what goes on, since such habitus presupposes a relatively stable discourse and context to which it belongs, but I have argued these are rather more dynamic than such a view supposes. An alternative way of understanding the dynamic that operates and positions subjects is in terms of the relative force of discourses, not solely their substance.

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REFERENCES Allen, G. 2000. Intertextuality. London: Routledge. Bourdieu, P. 1990. The Logic of Practice. Cambridge: Polity Press. Butler, J. 1999. ‘Performativity’s social magic’. In Bourdieu: A Critical Reader, edited by Shusterman, R. Oxford: Blackwell. Duff, P. A. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1–1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001. Fairclough, N. 1992a. Discourse and Social Change. Cambridge: Polity Press. Fairclough, N., ed. 1992b. Critical Language Awareness. London: Longman. Freedman, A. 1993. ‘Show and tell? The role of explicit teaching in the learning of new genres’. Research in the Teaching of English 27 (3): 222–251. Gee, J. P. 1996. Social Linguistics and Literacies. London: Taylor and Francis. Ivanic, R. 1997. Writing and Identity: the Discoursal Construction of Identity in Academic Writing. Amsterdam: John Benjamin Publishing. Kamler, B; MacLean, R. 1997. ‘You can’t just go to court and move your body: First-year students learn to write and speak the Law’. Law Text Culture 3: 176–209. Lea, M; Street, B. 1998. ‘Student writing in higher education: An academic literacies approach’. Studies in Higher Education 23 (2): 157–172. Moore, T; Hough, B. 2007. ‘The perils of skills: Towards a model of integrating graduate attributes into the disciplines’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 2.1–2.12. DOI: 10.2104/ld070002. Pinder, J. 2007. ‘Eliciting professional discourse in assignments’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriot, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University e-press. pp. 3.1–3.12. DOI: 10.2104/ld070003. Prior, P. 1998. Writing/Disciplinarity. New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Swales, J. 1990. Genre Analysis: English in Academic Research Settings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Threadgold, T. 1997. Feminist Poetics: Poiesis, Performance, Histories. London: Routledge. Vice, S. 1997. Introducing Bakhtin. Manchester: Manchester University Press.

Cite this chapter as: Price, S. 2007. ‘Role conflation in academic-professional writing: A case study from the discipline of Law’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 4.1 to 4.11. DOI: 10.2104/ld070004.

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PART ONE

THE SOCIO-COGNITIVE COMPLEXITY OF LEARNING TO ARGUE IN DISCIPLINARY (CON)TEXTS Kara M. Gilbert, Monash University Kara Gilbert works in the Centre for the Advancement of Learning and Teaching, Monash University. Her research interests include argumentation and rhetoric, communication and culture, bioethics, and quality assurance in higher education. Correspondence to Kara M. Gilbert: [email protected]

The ability to argue is integral to academic competency and facilitates participation in local and international discourse communities. Yet, undergraduate students do not always receive explicit instruction on how to use and incorporate arguments in their academic texts. More often, through their engagement with genres, students implicitly learn the conventions of academic argument as they acquire skills of academic literacy. In fact, the acquisition of academic literacy has special significance in modern teaching institutions where increasing numbers of students from various linguistic, cultural and educational backgrounds bring to their learning contexts diverse experiences of genres and discourse communities of writing. In a qualitative case study investigation of writing in a naturally occurring academic context, argumentation and linguistic theories were integrated in a systemic functional linguistic model of text structure to analyse and compare the arguments in the academic texts constructed by an Australian native and a Japanese non-native speaker of English. The analysis was supplemented by semi-structured, text-based interviews with the two students while they were writing their essays to determine the social and cognitive processes that drove their construction of arguments and to validate the identification, interpretation and reconstruction of the arguments in their written discourse. Drawing on the findings, the socio-cognitive complexity of argument construction in disciplinary contexts and the significance of schemata and knowledge structures in text production are discussed.

INTRODUCTION The ability to argue is integral to academic competency and facilitates participation in local and international discourse communities. Yet, undergraduate students do not always receive explicit instruction on how to use and incorporate arguments in their academic texts. More often, through their engagement with genres, students implicitly learn the conventions of academic argument as they acquire skills of academic literacy. In fact, the acquisition of academic literacy has special significance in modern teaching institutions, as increasing numbers of students from various linguistic, cultural and educational backgrounds bring to their learning contexts diverse experiences of genres and discourse communities of writing. In much of the research of second language writing, though, emphasis on discerning cross-cultural differences in the types of logical patterns employed in written texts has too often resulted in a tendency to stereotype the rhetorical patterns of particular cultural groups while ignoring the varieties of rhetorical structures that exist within particular groups of writers (Kubota 1997). Today, contrastive rhetoric and second language writing researchers are extending beyond purely linguistic frameworks to accommodate not only linguistic variables of text but also cognitive and socio-cultural variables of writing. Consequently, approaches to discourse analysis are becoming more entrenched in pragmatics as texts are inter-

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preted not in isolation but in terms of their situational contexts and purposes. Such approaches have led to discrepancies among researchers in definitions concerned with the nature, forms and functions of arguments in written texts, with empirical descriptions emphasising the cultural and contextual specificity of argument practices and de-emphasising normative standards (Siegel 1999). Obviously, accommodating diversity in discursive practices is necessary in both research and pedagogical designs that seek to further understanding of acceptable skills and strategies of academic argument in contemporary educational settings.1 In this chapter, argumentation, linguistic and socio-cognitive theories of writing are incorporated into a model of academic argument and the similarities and differences in the academic arguments of two first and second language writers of English are then discussed. In examining the influence of socio-cognitive interactions on text macrostructures, the significance of schemata and knowledge structures on text production emerges to support the thesis that contextually grounded cultural and content familiarity plays an important role in shaping and interpreting written discourse (Stapleton 2001; Malcolm and Sharifian 2005).

THE STUDY BACKGROUND In the project discussed in this chapter, the use of arguments in the essays written as part of the normal course requirements by a Japanese native speaker and an Australian English native speaker enrolled in an Australian tertiary undergraduate humanities program were investigated. Mika, a Japanese student, and Sabrina, an Australian student, were both enrolled in a first year media studies subject and writing on the same coursework essay topic. Semi-structured, textbased interviews with the two students while they were writing their essays helped determine the social and cognitive processes that drove argument construction and validate the identification, interpretation and reconstruction of the arguments in their written discourse. Interviews were conducted with the students on a weekly basis from the time of commencement to completion of their coursework essays. In addition, interviews conducted at the end of the semester with the tutor of the students helped to further inform the analysis by accommodating the tutor’s perspectives on the subject and writing task as well as his perceptions of the students’ academic writing. Using triangulation of data, various written documents (including course outlines and assessment requirements, notes and drafts associated with the essay task, tutor’s written feedback and formal assessments of the essays) were also used to support the analysis. In effect, the study is a qualitative case study investigation of writing in naturally occurring academic contexts. In support of Candlin (1998), therefore, the findings demonstrate how the application of research methodology that blends linguistic description of text with ethnographic interpretations of participants and processes in sociologically grounded accounts of writing practices is a valid and useful approach for providing sound explanations of textual form. THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK In modern composition research, notions of argument are predominantly grounded in rhetorical theories that promote the persuasive character and communicative purposes of language. Toulmin’s (1958) model of informal reasoning and the ‘new rhetoric’ of Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca (1969) and Perelman (1982) have become particularly influential in the teaching and evaluation

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of argumentative writing in composition courses for native English speakers at U.S. colleges and universities, which has seen argumentation become almost synonymous with persuasion in contemporary writing pedagogy and research. Rhetorical theory has also significantly influenced developments in applied linguistic research. A revival of persuasion in discourse classification systems (Kinneavy 1971) and the emergence of contrastive rhetorical research in the 1960s (Kaplan 1966) stimulated research of persuasive discourse and cross-cultural research of argumentative and persuasive writing. Consequently, a variety of text analysis systems developed by linguists has been applied in many contemporary argument studies (Halliday and Hasan 1976; Aston 1977; Martin 1985; Lautamatti 1987; Tirkkonen-Condit 1984; Crismore et al. 1993; Connor 1996). Distinctions between argument and persuasion are now, however, challenging the over reliance on rhetorical approaches to the analysis of argument in extended discourse and promoting enquiry into the relationships between logic, rhetoric and dialectic and their influence on the interpretations of argument structures and functions (Rescher 1998). Moving beyond existing analytic frameworks, which depict argumentation as merely persuasion, and designing frameworks that accommodate diversity in argumentative practices appears essential for generating meaningful descriptions of authentic arguments in academic contexts. In the present study, therefore, a model of argument was derived from key elements of argumentation theory and a systemic functional linguistic framework of text argument structure. The model of argument, depicted in Figure 1, draws principally on Coffin’s (2004) systemic functional linguistic frameworks of text argument structures previously identified in students’ academic writing, Meiland’s (1989) views on argument as inquiry, and Blair’s (2004) categorisation of the uses of argument. Four primary functions of academic argument – inquiry, justification, persuasion and explanation – are specified in the argument model, which was used to investigate the organisation and properties of argument in the students’ written academic texts. The functions of academic argument specified in the model are defined, below (more information about the classification system of argument may be found in Gilbert 2005):

• •

•

•

Persuasion is the use of arguments to make a reader believe a certain position and so adopt some attitude or decision to do something; Justification is the use of arguments to show grounds for knowledge claims, especially when they are questionable or challengeable (without necessarily seeking from the audience a change of attitude or move to action); Inquiry is the use of arguments to determine the merits of arguments identified as being relevant to a hypothesis or position on an issue (without necessarily establishing and adhering to any particular claim) ; and Explanation is the use of arguments to make clear why a state of affairs or events exists or happens by providing reasons based on the interpretation of facts.

Furthermore, the text macrostructures outlined in Figure 1 accommodate Toulmin’s (1958) model of argument structure. Toulmin’s model constitutes a Claim-Data (aka conclusion-premise) complex, which, importantly, includes a Warrant that provides the grounds for supporting the step from premise to conclusion. The concept of Toulmin’s warrant becomes particularly relevant

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Figure 1 A schema of four kinds of argumentation in students’ academic writing Adapted from Coffin 2004: 236.

to an interpretation of text macrostructure in students’ essays. According to Toulmin (1958: 91), the warrant serves: … [not] to strengthen the ground on which our argument is constructed, but is rather to show that, taking these data (premises) as a starting point, the step to the original claim or conclusion is an appropriate and legitimate one. At this point, therefore, what is needed are general, hypothetical statements, which can act as bridges, and authorize the sort of step to which our particular argument commits us.

In fact, the Premise and Conclusion of the principal argument in students’ academic discourse may often be linked by what is better described as a Knowledge Base, in lieu of the Warrant,

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which confers epistemological orientation on a student’s interpretation of disciplinary knowledge (to be discussed in more detail in the Discussion section). Indeed, the concept of Warrant as Knowledge Base emerges in the analysis of the principal arguments generated in the texts by the two students that are discussed in this paper. Consequently, the relationship between Data, Claim, Warrant and Knowledge Base is depicted in Figure 2.

Figure 2 Based on Toulmin’s (1958) model of argument

THE CASE STUDIES: PARTICIPANTS AND CONTEXTS As mentioned previously, both students participating in the study were enrolled in an Australian tertiary undergraduate humanities program. Japanese students comprise a small but significant number of students in the faculty where the research was conducted. At the time of research, Mika (a pseudonym) was a 22 year-old Japanese university student undertaking a one-year study exchange program in Australia. Mika was studying first-year subjects in English writing, media, and international relations. On returning to Japan, she was intending to study for another year to complete her degree in international relations and was expecting to transfer credit to her home degree for the courses she was undertaking at the Australian institution. Sabrina (also a pseudonym) was an 18 year-old Australian student who had completed her final year of Australian secondary school in the year preceding her participation in the study. She was taking first-year subjects in sociology, psychology and media. Both Mika and Sabrina were working on the same coursework essay topic in their first year media studies subject. Sabrina achieved a Distinction grade for her essay and Mika, a Credit grade. The essay topic was outlined in their course guide, as follows: Only a critical political economy approach can adequately explain how the media work today. Discuss this statement with references to two of the following: news and current affairs; television; radio; newspapers; or magazines.

According to the tutor (who was also the course unit coordinator), the concept of a political critical economy approach towards analysing the media required juxtaposition with various other approaches that accommodated perspectives on culture, audience, semiotics and American imperialism. The students grappled with the concept of a critical political economy approach – analysing the media with an emphasis on media distribution and power – and endeavoured to

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understand the concept by seeking culturally situated examples of media events; thus, in elaborating and supporting their arguments, Sabrina drew on her knowledge of Australian culture and politics while Mika located examples in Japanese media sources. The implications of background knowledge for argument construction will become evident in the Discussion section. THE AIMS For the purposes of this chapter, the key aims of the investigation were to discern the:

1. 2. 3.

Types of argument generated by the students in their academic texts and the extent to which arguments contributed to the structure and function of their texts; Factors that influenced the students’ decisions during the writing process to impact on text organisation and argument structures; and Similarities and/or differences between the academic arguments used by the non-native speaker of English, Mika, and the native speaker of English, Sabrina.

RESULTS TEXT MACROSTRUCTURES The argument macrostructures of the students’ essays were mapped (based on Johnson and Blair 1994) and are represented diagrammatically in Figures 3 and 4. It is not within the scope of this chapter to elaborate at length on the specific arguments generated by the students in their texts. Instead, the key arguments are summarised in Figures 3 and 4 (the Premise and Conclusion of the principal arguments are stated and the sub-arguments in the Knowledge Bases are thematised) and essential elements of the arguments generated in the students’ texts are discussed in the subsequent sections of this chapter. Figure 3 depicts the argument macrostructure of Mika’s essay. Referring to the diagram, the principal argument is shown on the left of the page. The principal argument consists of a Premise, P(C), in support of the central claim, or Conclusion, C. The argument is supported by two pieces of Evidence, E, which in Figure 3, are incorporated into the line pointing downwards from the Premise to the Conclusion (the arrow indicates that the Premise and Evidence are in direct support of the claim). Mika’s central claim, or Conclusion, is that, compared with a cultural studies (CS) approach, a critical political economy (CPE) approach is more useful for explaining how the media work today. Her reason for making the claim is given in the Premise that a CPE approach allows for greater scope than a CS approach in analysis of the media. What is interesting to note is that Mika does not build up or extensively elaborate on this principal argument. Instead, the majority of her essay is spent on the justification of a secondary, or subsidiary, claim to her main argument, referred to in the diagram as the Warrant, or Knowledge Base. The subsidiary claim asserts that a CPE approach is a very successful, or useful, way to explain how the media work today. The relationship between the Knowledge Base and Toulmin’s (1958) notion of Warrant will be specified, shortly. There are three sub-arguments, each referred to as a Justification, lending support to the subsidiary claim. Consequently, it is evident that for the major part of her essay, Mika elaborates an argument that consists of, primarily, a justificatory function.

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Figure 3 Diagram of the argument macrostructure in Mika’s essay

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Figure 4 Diagram of the argument macrostructure in Sabrina’s essay

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Figure 4 depicts the argument macrostructure of Sabrina’s essay. As in Figure 3, the principal argument is shown on the left of the page. Sabrina’s central claim, or Conclusion, is that a CPE approach is probably the best approach to studying and understanding how the media works in Australia. Her reason for making the claim is given in the Premise that a CPE approach combines political, social and economic approaches in studying media. Like Mika, Sabrina does not build up or extensively elaborate on her principal argument. Instead, most of Sabrina’s essay comprises Description and Evidence that support a statement in the introductory section of her essay which states that a CPE approach can explain how media works in relation to television and advertising within Australia. The series of statements of Description with supporting Evidence may, therefore, be distinguished from the sub-arguments, or justifications, employed by Mika. In fact, Sabrina’s essay contains, on the whole, less argument than Mika’s essay. In summary, according to the diagrams representing the macrostructures of Mika and Sabrina’s essays, each essay consists of a principal argument that can be classified in terms of the argument model depicted in Figure 1 as Justification. The principal argument in each essay has only a minimal degree of elaboration, though, suggesting that the principal arguments are relatively weak. In other words, in each case, the principal argument is not extended to include supporting sub-arguments or oppositional arguments that would, ideally, strengthen the argument’s conclusion. Instead, most of the text in each essay is occupied by discourse that does not strengthen the principal argument. In the case of Mika, this discourse is designed to justify a subsidiary claim, and is referred to as Justification. In the case of Sabrina, this discourse is designed to explain a statement of fact (although it is not consistent with what we would consider to be a well-formed Explanation in the proposed argument model, albeit beyond the scope of this chapter to discuss this issue in detail and I shall refer to it as Explanation for the purposes of the discussion herein). Given the limited complexity of principal argument structure in both students’ essays, one may be led to ask if the essays of the first year students do, indeed, have a primary function of argument. It is easier to discern an over-arching function of argument in Mika’s text than in Sabrina’s, given the elaboration of arguments in what can be referred to as the subsidiary part of her essay. Yet, on examination, a primary function of argument can also be discerned in Sabrina’s essay; the use of Description in her text represents, in fact, an attempt at Explanation, for she is endeavoring to substantiate the Knowledge Base central to her principal argument. The broad definitions of argument that have been proposed by some theorists support the notion that both texts emphatically hold a primary function of argument: argumentative discourse refers both to discourse designed to explain (i.e. to make clear or tell why a particular state of affairs or occurrence exists or happens) and discourse designed to justify (i.e. to give grounds, evidence or reasons of any sort in order to convince or persuade others as to the truth of a claim or assertion). (Thomas 1986; cited in Crammond 1997: 5)

Furthermore, in support of the case that each text serves a primary function of argument is the fact that the text macrostructures support Toulmin’s (1958) model of argument structure. As outlined earlier, Toulmin’s model constitutes a Claim-Data (aka conclusion-premise) complex which, importantly, includes a Warrant that provides the grounds for supporting the step from premise to conclusion. In Figures 3 and 4, the Premise and Conclusion of the principal argument

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are linked by the Knowledge Base constituted by the justificatory discourse in Mika’s essay and by the descriptive-explanatory discourse in Sabrina’s essay. A reconceptualisation of Toulmin’s Warrant, the Knowledge Base may be defined as the discourse that legitimises a learner’s disciplinary interpretations and/or stance and makes evident to the readers their epistemological interpretation of a discipline. Mika and Sabrina, in grappling with the need to legitimise their opinions with disciplinary knowledge, expend considerable effort in making explicit the grounds for their opinions or assertions; hence, the Knowledge Base occupies a substantial portion of their texts. Yet, according to Toulmin (1958), the warrant is often implicit, or deleted, in everyday or naturally occurring arguments, a fact that is supported by previous research (Crammond 1998). Therefore, it appears necessary to further reconceptualise Toulmin’s notion of warrant by suggesting that, for novice writers learning disciplinary conventions of shaping discourse and knowledge, the Warrant assumes an important function in legitimising a writer’s disciplinary interpretations and/or stance and so is unlikely to be deleted but, rather, foregrounded. Thus, in referring to the portion of a text as the Knowledge Base, it is distinguished from Toulmin’s notion of Warrant. The different employment of terminology is significant because the Knowledge Base that students bring to their writing task, although representing their efforts to legitimise their claims, may not be the appropriate authority, as students are still learning disciplinary content and conventions. Making a distinction between the legitimacy of authority in Toulmin’s concept of warrant and the legitimacy of authority in the Knowledge Base of students’ learning disciplinary conventions is, therefore, also pertinent. SOCIO-COGNITIVE CONSTRUCTIONS It became evident in the interviews with the two students that the socio-cognitive complexity of constructing arguments was driving the text macrostructures, outlined above. Indeed, the argument structures depicted in Figures 3 and 4 were not discerned from a text analysis alone but through discussions with the students and their tutor, which touched on issues of task conceptualisation. Both students shared common socio-cognitive experiences; they both set goals to make their tasks feasible, they both planned and monitored their tasks in the contexts of their other learning (and, sometimes, social) commitments, they both engaged with peers to negotiate interpretations of the topic, and so forth. While these activities, to some extent, exerted an influence on their text structures, it was their perception of their tasks and their cognitive strategies of task composing that exerted significant influences on their text organisation and structures, as supported by the interview data. Mika struggled with understanding the concept of CPE: … tutor said that we have to understand this reading in order to understand the topic… so I try to understand this reading, but it’s too difficult for me. Some technical term, I don’t understand well, maybe it’s because of my lack of understanding of the basic concept of media studies… a little feature of this approach, I can understand, but not so exactly as I can write the essay for this. (J1-1210404)

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Initially, she focused on defining the term, CPE, using dictionaries and reference texts. This strategy wasn’t working, though. She realised that finding useful examples from television or media was integral to the task: And, [the tutor] said for this essay, the good example will be the important thing. (J1-1-210404)

Consequently, Mika decided to focus on finding examples of media, hoping they might assist her in making sense of the concept. This was also problematic for a couple of reasons. Firstly, Mika was aware that she lacked an appropriate level of content familiarity: I found it’s difficult because this focus on Australian scandal about Australian politicians or something. And, it’s so unfamiliar and it’s hard to understand because I didn’t know the case. So, here, I realize that maybe it’s hard to use Australian media because some incident or scandal is very familiar to Australian people but I’m not aware of it. So, it’s hard to discuss in essay of that scandal, that news. (J1-4-130504)

Secondly, Mika was not familiar with the subtle cultural nuances of Australian media contexts: … in lecture, I can learn some feature or characteristic of Australian media [but] I know only very superficial fact, like Murdoch owns this company. And, I’m not understanding how content related to that ownership or how the political line which newspaper would have, which kind of political line, I don’t know that. (J1-4-260504)

Mika realised that using examples from the Japanese media might be a useful strategy to overcome her lack of content and cultural familiarity with the Australian media: … because I have basic knowledge about Japanese newspaper company, TV company, so it’s easier to find examples. If I see website of one Japanese TV company, I already know which company is connected to which newspaper. So, it’s much easier to use Japanese media… how to explain by political economy approach, it’s easier for me to use this example. (J1-5-260504)

When Mika attempted to source news items from the Japanese media, however, the task proved to be problematic: … and I want to discuss Japanese media but there is not enough material about Japanese media, and for TV programmes, it’s almost impossible to get the transcript or primary source in Australia for Japanese programme. (J1-4-130504)

Consequently, Mika found it difficult to formulate a clear concept of CPE and, without recourse to a range of embedded cultural experiences and examples, was limited to defining CPE from theoretical perspectives in recommended reading materials prior to locating relevant examples. Her sensitivity to the need to link theory and practice was, however, evident:

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… it is very difficult to connect the theory of political economy to one example. But, this is, maybe, the important thing that we have to do in this essay, the demonstration of news. (J1-4-130504)

Like Mika, Sabrina also struggled to understand the concept of CPE: It’s just a way of looking at the media, yeah, I hated it! It’s to do with culture. Like, I just don’t understand it. And, I’m still not really one hundred percent. (A1-1-110504)

Yet, unlike Mika, Sabrina was able to draw on numerous examples from the Australian media to develop her understanding of the CPE concept: After looking at those books, though, I started to think – because I remember in one of my tutes the teacher said he wanted us to use real-life examples – so, I decided, I just looked on the internet, really. Because the political economy relates to the culture and who owns it, and so I started looking up news scandals and things like that. And, I just found a site to that Kerry Packer and, oh, about the radio incident with advertising, just Allen Jones and how he… (A1-2250504)

In fact, in contrast to Mika, who focused on only a couple of media examples, Sabrina saw incorporating numerous examples from the Australian media into her essay as an important strategy for constructing her discourse: I wanted to use a number of examples but I dunno (don’t know) that I really did that many, at all. But, that was my initial thought, that I should use as many examples as I possibly can. (A1-2-250504)

Sabrina was also more readily able to apply her background knowledge as well as her experience of the Australian context to help her make sense of the CPE concept: But, I think this is from previous knowledge about this topic that it is a really good way to look how the media works because it combines a lot of the other ways. (A1-1-110504)

Interestingly, Sabrina’s membership of the Australian cultural group provided her with an advantage in negotiating meanings of concepts relevant to the essay topic, as she was able to seek clarification on issues with her kinfolk: … I remember it was in the lecture… so I asked my mum if she knew about it. She told me about how, was it Rupert Murdoch? No, Kerry Packer, sorry, cut one of his shows, Naughtiest Home Videos, mid-episode because he just thought it would be too rude, he wasn’t happy with it. And he rang them up and just said, ‘cut it’, in the middle of an episode, and it was never viewed again. That was just an example of how his power can influence what we see. (A1-2-250504)

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It is, therefore, evident that the students’ socio-cognitive strategies reflected their relative degrees of cultural and content familiarity with the essay writing task, which significantly influenced the type of arguments they generated in their texts.

DISCUSSION The two students in the study perceived their academic writing tasks to demand that they employ argument in their texts, as shown by the text macrostructures that were generated. The text macrostructures accommodate Toulmin’s (1958) model of argument. Yet, when analysing the arguments of the novice academic writers, the notion of Warrant put forth by Toulmin seems to be better replaced with the concept of Knowledge Base. The Knowledge Base represents the discourse that legitimises a learner’s epistemological interpretation of a discipline and, is, therefore, a subtle variation of Toulmin’s notion of Warrant. Furthermore, in their texts, the students applied strategies of justification and explanation instead of mere persuasion to generate their academic arguments. Such strategies of argument support the notion that academic writers rely more on exhibiting acceptable standards of knowledge and understanding of disciplinary theory and practice in their written texts than with challenging and swaying the opinion of an audience (Peters 1986: 170). Writers, too, when generating discourse, are more inclined to use a blend of text types (Reynolds 2000). The model of academic argument proposed for this study (refer to Figure 1) accommodated the discourse structures that the students employed in their texts. Application of the model to the analysis of the texts showed the students’ preferences for employing, predominantly, strategies of justification in their academic discourse, probably influenced as much by the essay topic as the academic context. Derived from the argument schemes outlined in Figure 1, previously, the macrostructures of the students’ essays are represented in Figure 5. As shown, the Principal argument in each text was one of Justification although the sub-arguments in the Knowledge Base comprised Justification in Mika’s but Explanation in Sabrina’s.

Figure 5 Outline of argument schema in the two essays

Apparent from the findings of this study is that contextually grounded cultural and content familiarity appears to play an important role in the text organisation and argument structure of

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written academic discourse. In relating socio-cognitive constructions to text structures, it is evident that Sabrina’s ability to employ a range of explanations and evidence lent strength to the Knowledge Base that supported her principal argument. Importantly, the scope of her explanations, which incorporated description with numerous examples from the Australian media, permitted her to convey the sense of a broader Knowledge Base than Mika, who limited her discussion to two specific cases in the Japanese media. In fact, the development of a broad Knowledge Base appeared to have compensated for the lesser integration of argument in her text. Mika, on the other hand, overcame her limited use of media examples by employing a strategy that saw her generating arguments within her Knowledge Base to justify her use and/or application (i.e. apparent relevance) of evidence. The more overt integration of argument throughout her text appears to have compensated for her less extensive Knowledge Base. Evidently, the interplay between socio-cognitive strategies and text construction was integral in developing the organisation of academic discourse and the structures of academic argument in the students’ written discourse. In fact, according to Stapleton (2001), content familiarity powerfully shapes both the range and depth of argumentation, consistent with theories on schemata and knowledge structures. Schema are conceptualisations of knowledge, the cognitive units or mental models of one’s experience, beliefs or practices that permit one to encode and make sense of cultural and social experiences and to infer semantic and pragmatic associations in discourse (Allan 2001; Sharifian et al. 2004; Malcolm and Sharifian 2005). Researchers have previously related language and cultural schemas to knowledge construction (Sharifian 2003 and forthcoming; Malcolm and Sharifian 2005). In acquiring knowledge of the conventions of disciplinary discourse, and, consequently, of the conventions of argument, researchers suggest that learners must acquire not only appropriate language schemas but also cultural schemas to inform the strategies for presenting their knowledge (Sharifian 2003; Malcolm and Sharifian 2005; Sharifian forthcoming). Furthermore, according to Hancock and Onsman (2005), students will learn new concepts more quickly if they can reference appropriate existing schema, as ‘students with more schemas are more likely to be able to refer to an existing schema for an appropriate blueprint for the new schema’. Obviously, this bears significance for non-native speakers of English studying in Australian contexts, as learners lacking familiarity with cultural and linguistic norms are probably at greater risk of experiencing problems with learning new disciplinary concepts. Lacking the cultural and linguistic resources to access existing schema on a topic, which is necessary for internalising new information, appears especially significant. Indeed, Mika invested more time than Sabrina in trying to understand the concept of CPE. Mika recognised, though, the importance of generating arguments in her essay, employing a predominantly justificatory discourse throughout her text. Sabrina, on the other hand, employed a predominantly explanatory discourse (in her attempt at explanation), probably a manifestation of her employment of more facts (evidence/examples from the media). Given the significance of schemata and knowledge structures in text production, the socio-cognitive influences on text structure may be appreciated. Mika sought to work with concrete definitions of CPE before locating specific objects in the media to help her understand the notion of the term. Sabrina, on the other hand, was able to draw connections between examples in the media and concepts of CPE, without having to work with literal/explicit interpretations because she could quite readily infer connections between evidence or examples in the media and the applications to theoretical perspectives. Sabrina, therefore, had the advantage of not only content knowledge but also, in

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view of work by Glaser (1984), knowledge about the application of what she knew. In other words, in their particular learning context, Sabrina demonstrated more elaborated schemata than Mika. Interestingly, Sabrina’s membership of the Australian cultural community assisted her development of understanding of key concepts, such as CPE. By referring to her mother for confirmation of social events, Sabrina was participating in a process of cultural sense-making, which provided her with the appropriate cultural schema to interpret new concepts. According to Malcolm and Sharifian (2005: 517), cultural schemas are: … emergent phenomena that are constantly ‘negotiated’ and ‘renegotiated’ by the members of a cultural group across time and space. These schemas are passed on from generation to generation and set out the motivation for grouplevel ‘appropriate’ thought and action.

Furthermore, it appears that sharing a common set of cultural assumptions facilitated knowledge construction in the classroom as well as the interpretation of literary texts. Consequently, Sabrina’s ability to tune into the talk of the tutorials and lectures combined with her background knowledge of the topic helped her to discern issues relevant to the topic, even if she could not completely understand the CPE concept. Furthermore, sharing common background knowledge of cultural experiences, the tutor probably assumed the connections between her examples and theoretical concepts and so was able to infer the implicit arguments that linked her explanations and evidence. Mika’s attempts to use examples from the Japanese media were, on the other hand, were confounded by her tutor’s lack of familiarity with the topics. As mentioned earlier, data from interviews with the tutor helped to elaborate the analysis. The tutor’s comments on Mika’s essay and in the interview with him suggested he would have preferred Mika to attempt more detailed explanation of the relevance of her examples to the essay topic, despite her explicit recourse to justificatory strategies throughout her essay. Interestingly, he sought no such explanation from Sabrina. A lack of shared assumptions between teachers and their students may, in fact, influence the assessment of students who come from different cultural and ethnic backgrounds to their tutors, and, in particular, influence tutors’ perceptions of their students’ critical thinking skills (Stapleton 2001: 530). From the findings of this study, argument appears to be an inherent component of successful writing in academic contexts. Furthermore, the findings suggest that second language writers must develop not only linguistic skills but also the appropriate cultural and content schemas for generating academic text structures fitting for their disciplinary contexts. Indeed, in this case study, it was probably Mika’s recourse to using justificatory arguments in her text that compensated for her limited Knowledge Base. Building up her Knowledge Base might be a useful strategy for Mika to improve the quality of her writing. Conversely, one might infer that integrating explicit strategies of justification throughout her text would be a useful strategy for Sabrina to improve the quality of her writing. Differences in the texts of the two writers were not merely aberrations of linguistic or educational background but, instead, a complex interplay between the students’ contextually situated social, cultural and cognitive experiences. Understanding the influence of cognitive, social as well as linguistic factors on schemata and knowledge structures in situated contexts of learning, appears, therefore, to be essential when supporting both native and non-native speakers develop skills of academic literacy.

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CONCLUSION Adopting a model of academic argument that integrated argumentation and linguistic theories with a socio-cognitive framework of inquiry provided a useful mechanism for analysing the text structures in students’ written academic discourse. The findings of this study support the notion that argument is an important component of academic discourse in undergraduate contexts yet it assumes a distinctive purpose for exhibiting acceptable standards of knowledge and understanding of disciplinary theory and practice (Peters 1986: 170). Justification and explanation were primary goals of the students when writing their texts, which are distinguished from the goal of persuasion traditionally associated with discursive argumentative practices. The academic text structures of the novice writers were marked by the incorporation in their discourse of extensive Knowledge Bases, which served to legitimise their disciplinary interpretations and/or stance. Data collection techniques that permitted a qualitative analysis of natural discourse proved invaluable for eliciting information on a range of factors that influenced the development of the students’ text structures. Significant was the finding that social, cultural and cognitive experiences are influential in shaping disciplinary discourse in situated contexts of learning. Understanding the content and cultural schemas of knowledge that students apply to interpreting and responding to their learning tasks appears crucial for facilitating their acquisition of academic literacy skills.

ENDNOTES 1

Kara M. Gilbert was a postgraduate student at Monash University at the time of writing this chapter.

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Glaser, R. 1984. ‘Education and thinking: The role of knowledge’. American Psychologist 39: 93–104. Halliday, M; Hasan, R. 1976. Cohesion in English. London: Longman Press. Hancock, Y; Onsman, A. 2005. ‘Using analogy to teach complex concepts in science: The true story of “Ellie the Electron”’. Refereed paper delivered at the 2005 AARE conference. November 2005; University of Western Sydney. Accessed 1 April 2007. Available from: http://www.aare.edu.au/05pap/han05274.pdf. Johnson, R; Blair, J. 1994. Logical Self-Defense (US edition). New York: McGraw-Hill. Kaplan, R. 1966. ‘Cultural thought patterns in intercultural education’. Language Learning 16: 1–20. Kinneavy, J. 1971. A Theory of Discourse. Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall. Kubota, R. 1997. ‘A reevaluation of the uniqueness of Japanese written discourse’. Written Communication 14: 460–480. Lautamatti, L. 1987. ‘Observations on the development of the topic of simplified discourse’. In Writing Across Languages: Analysis of L2 Text, edited by Connor, U; Kaplan, R. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. pp. 87–114. Malcolm, I; Sharifian, F. 2005. ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue: Australian aboriginal students’ schematic repertoire’. Journal of Multicultural and Multilingual Development 26 (6): 512–521. Martin, J. 1985. Factual Writing: Exploring and Challenging Social Reality. Melbourne: Deakin University Press. Meiland, J. 1989. ‘Argument as inquiry and argument as persuasion’. Argumentation 3: 185–196. Perelman, C. 1982. The Realm of Rhetoric. Translated by Kluback, W. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. Perelman, C; Olbrechts-Tyteca, L. 1969. The New Rhetoric: A Treatise on Argumentation. Translated by Wilkinson, J; Weaver, P. (from French, 1958). Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. Peters, P. 1986. ‘Getting the theme across: A study of dominant function in the academic writing of university students’. In Functional Approaches to Writing: Research Perspectives, edited by Couture, B. London: Frances Pinter. pp. 169–185. Rescher, N. 1998. ‘The role of rhetoric in rational argumentation’. Argumentation 12: 315–323. Reynolds, M. 2000. ‘The blending of narrative and argument in the generic texture of newspaper editorials’. International Journal of Applied Linguistics 10 (1): 25–39. Riazi, A. 1997. ‘Acquiring disciplinary literacy: A social-cognitive analysis of text production and learning among Iranian graduate students of education’. Journal of Second Language Writing 6 (2): 105–137. Sharifian, F. (Forthcoming). ‘Distributed, emergent cultural cognition, conceptualisation, and language’. In Body, Language, and Mind (Vol 2): Sociocultural Situatedness, edited by Frank, R; Dirven, R; Ziemke, T; Bernardez, E. Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Sharifian, F. 2003. ‘On cultural conceptualisations’. Journal of Cognition and Culture 3 (3): 188–207. Sharifian, F; Rochecouste, J; Malcolm, I; Konigsberg, P; Collard, G. 2004. Improving Understanding of Aboriginal Literacy: Factors in Text Comprehension. Perth: Department of Education and Training. Siegel, H. 1999. ‘Argument quality and cultural difference’. Argumentation 13: 183–201. Stapleton, P. 2001. ‘Assessing critical thinking in the writing of Japanese university students: Insights about assumptions and content familiarity’. Written Communication 18 (4): 506–548. Tirkkonen-Condit, S. 1984. ‘Towards a description of argumentative text structure’. In Proceedings from the Second Nordic Conference for English Studies, edited by Ringbom, H; Rissanen, M. Abo: Meddelanden fran Stiftelsens for Abo Akademi Forskningsinstitut nr. 92, 221–233. Toulmin, S. 1958. The Uses of Argument. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Cite this chapter as: Gilbert, K. 2007. ‘The sociocognitive complexity of learning to argue in disciplinary (con)texts’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 5.1 to 5.17. DOI: 10.2104/ld070005.

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PART TWO

MICRO LANGUAGE PLANNING FOR THE SUPPORT OF INTERNATIONAL STUDENTS IN HEALTH SCIENCE FACULTIES Helen Marriott, Monash University Helen Marriott is Associate Professor in the School of Languages, Cultures and Linguistics at Monash University. Her research interests include language planning, intercultural communication, academic discourse socialisation, and contact situations. Correspondence to Helen Marriott: [email protected]

This chapter applies a language planning framework to examine the ways in which support is given to students from non-English speaking backgrounds in two health science faculties at an Australian university. As such, it constitutes an example of micro language planning, rather than dealing with the more common macro-level phenomena that characterises most language planning studies. Here, the framework of language planning is used to cover not only language – in the sense of broad communication – but other aspects of academic participation as well. The analysis identifies the types of institutional policies that have been, or are in the process of being formulated, the agents responsible for supporting students’ needs, and the targets of such support. The study is based upon data from interviews with participants involved in the language planning processes, digital recordings of two planning sessions, and other documents integral to these professional training contexts. Baldauf (2004) has recently suggested that the exploration and development of micro language planning as a genre provides a propitious way to analyse and solve small scale language problems. Whereas most of the language policy and language planning undertaken to date has been of a macro nature, dealing with the macro-structural environment, typically at the national and supernational levels, micro language planning occurs in micro-structural environments such as particular sectors of economic or social activity (Kaplan and Baldauf 1997: 117; Baldauf 2006). More specifically, Baldauf (2004: 229) defines micro planning as referring ‘to cases where businesses, institutions, groups or individuals create what can be recognized as a language policy and plan to utilize and develop their language resources’. Accordingly, such planning occurs as a response to ‘their own needs, their own ‘language problems’, their own requirement for language management’ (Baldauf 2004: 29). While the school domain in various countries has frequently been given attention as an important context for language planning, albeit one of the most complex (Spolsky 2007), universities have also been identified as important sites where the development of language policy and language planning is particularly pertinent. Kaplan and Baldauf (1997: 258–259) suggest that tertiary language, literacy and communication policies are needed by Australian universities to serve the needs of various kinds of students, including many secondary graduates, indigenous, mature age, deaf and blind, as well as overseas students or those from culturally and linguistically different backgrounds. They conclude, however, that Australian universities have been negligent in developing such planning. Clyne (2001) exemplifies the difficulties in developing and implementing a university-wide language policy at one university, and identified obstacles as including the changing of personnel at the highest central administrative level, competition between the central administrative level and the individual faculties, in addition to broader social and political trends.

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In addition to Clyne’s attempt within the university setting, a few other instances of ‘topdown’ language planning and policy making covering a variety of issues have been observed in a small number of Australian universities during the 1990s (Clyne 2001: 214–215), at least partly due to the efforts of various linguists throughout the country. Nevertheless, some on-going policy making and planning has been inevitable at most, if not all, universities, in view of the growing numbers of students from non-English-speaking backgrounds, especially overseas students, enrolled as undergraduate or graduate students. Such policy or planning may be very formal or overt, as contained in language planning documents and pronouncements, or on the other hand, may be of a less formalised or more covert nature. Alternatively, the planning may stand somewhere between these two ends of the continuum and be planning that is reflected in informal statements of intent (cf. Baldauf 2004: 228). This chapter consists of an analysis of micro-level language planning in relation to non-Englishspeaking background (NESB) students, generally, but not necessarily international students (see below), where the setting is two health science-related Faculties (Medicine and Pharmacy) at an Australian university (hereafter referred to as AU). The study constitutes an application of the principles of language policy and language planning to a micro situation but in fact deals with much more than just language (here intended to encompass communication in a broad sense). In this situation, the policy and planning concern, in addition to language issues, the academic and clinical skills which are necessary for tertiary students to participate effectively within their academic community. While it is unusual for language planning studies to encompass non-language issues, the framework is an effective one for investigating these areas which, in any case, are intimately interrelated. Although the language planning approach has been used in relation to a multitude of language-related issues in the past (cf. Kaplan and Baldauf 1997; Spolsky 2007), its application to the planning at university level of support for students’ language and academic skills constitutes a new approach (cf. Marriott 2006). Amongst other things, it allows us to see the kinds of institutional policies in place at various levels and also the kinds of processes involved in the formation of such policies. Furthermore, since the majority of studies that deal with academic discourse socialisation typically focus upon the student (cf. Duff, this volume), application of the language planning framework enables us to examine other major participants in these contexts.

FACULTY SETTING Although there are major differences in the multilingual and multicultural background characteristics of the students across the two faculties, the growth of newly-arrived international students is a new phenomenon in both faculties and given the expectation of the continuation of this trend, language planning activity is currently being accelerated in both faculties. For the purpose of enrolment at the university, students are categorised as either local or international, but from the perspective of home language or cultural background, this categorisation is unsatisfactory, given the variety of backgrounds found among local students themselves (cf. Yoshimitsu 2004; Wakimoto, this volume). However, the majority of international students are from non-Englishspeaking backgrounds (NESB), even though a few may have English-speaking home backgrounds, and they have resided in Australia for 10 years or less.

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The investigation aims to identify some of the micro planning processes that are being undertaken at the faculty level, including policy decisions and their implementation, in relation to students’ language and academic skills. The few studies undertaken to date on micro language planning have largely been evaluative examples of policy and planning, rather than studies that focus upon the planning process, including the development of micro policies or their implementation (Baldauf 2004: 233). Athough Clyne’s (2001) study represents an exception to the claim, my study also aims to contribute to the development of the genre of micro language planning. The specific purpose of the study, therefore, is to examine the type of language planning that occurs in relation to the support for overseas students in the two university faculties, and, at the same time, to consider the nature of the language planning process. Until approximately three or four years ago, the Medical Faculty1 at AU was characterised by a very high proportion of local students, the large majority – but not all – having Englishspeaking home backgrounds, but since that time, a growing number of international students from non-English-speaking home backgrounds have entered the degree course. Many of these international students belong to one of three main (plus several smaller) cohorts of overseas students who are sponsored by their own governments (or other organisations). Another cohort of students is currently at AU for two to three years while a new medical faculty is being established in their home country. In contrast, the Pharmacy Faculty has for a considerable time had a majority of students of non-Anglo backgrounds, with a 2004 survey of fourth-year students in one course revealing that 55% of them were not born in Australia and that 53% spoke a language other than English at home. However, here too, the number of international students has increased dramatically over the past couple of years, with most of them having come to AU as individual students. As with medicine, most of the international students are concentrated in one particular course, and total approximately 25% of the 2005 intake. The two faculty sites of medicine and pharmacy thus provide an important opportunity to observe the development and implementation of language policy and planning at the outset of growth in international students. As is commonly the case with Australian medical training, the educational settings themselves involve not only the main university site, but include an amalgam of other clinical (hospital) sites where students undertake further training in their later years. Pharmacy students are sent out on placements to pharmacies during their third and fourth years, and upon graduation they will undergo a pre-registration year that is run by the Pharmacy Board. Finally they need to take an examination at the end of that year to become registered. The overseas students may take this pharmacy internship in Australia or else return to their own country for this purpose. As result, students require advanced levels of English communicative competence (in its broadest sense) in their specific fields not only for their degree study but also for their following internship or preregistration year and final examinations.

CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK Kaplan and Baldauf (1997) and Baldauf (2004) inform this study through their exploratory considerations of the notion – possibly a new genre, as suggested by Baldauf (2004: 227) – of micro language policy and planning. In the limited number of micro language planning studies to date, models designed for macro language policy and planning have been frequently applied. Among the diverse number of macro language planning models or frameworks in existence, I

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will draw upon Cooper’s (1989: 98) basic accounting scheme for the study of language planning, shown in Table 1. In brief, as Table 1 depicts, the eight components of Cooper’s framework cover (1) What actors (2) attempt to include what behaviours (3) of which people (4) for what ends (5) under what conditions (6) by what means (7) through what decision-making process, and (8) with what effect? In addition to macro and micro level language policy and planning, the concept of meso planning is also in current use, referring to some level between macro and micro. Given the lack of clarity between these boundaries, I will apply the concept of micro planning for this current study.

1. What actors (e.g. formal elites, influentials, counterelites, non-elite policy implementers) 2. attempt to influence what behaviours A. structural (linguistic) properties of planned behaviour (e.g. homogeneity, similarity) B. purposes/functions for which planned behaviour is to be used C. desired level of adoption (awareness, evaluation, proficiency, usage) 3. of which people A. type of target (e.g. individuals v. organisations, primary v. intermediary) B. opportunity of target to learn planned behaviour C. incentives of target to learn/used planned behaviour D. incentives of target to reject planned behaviour 4. for what ends A. overt ( language related behaviours) B. latent (non-language related behaviours, the satisfaction of interests) 5. under what conditions A. situational (events, transient conditions) B. structural 1. political 2. economic 3. social/demographic/ecological C. cultural 1. regime norms 2. cultural norms 3. socialisation of authorities D. environmental (influences from outside the system) E. informational (data required for a good decision) 6. by what means (e.g. authority, force, promotion, persuasion) 7. through what decision making process (decision rules) 8. with what effect. Table 1: Cooper’s (1989) language planning framework

METHODOLOGY The data used in this study come from interviews undertaken by myself in 2005 with two administrative personnel (including one senior faculty manager), two teachers (including one senior departmental head), and five language advisors and support staff, one of whom also provided

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some written comments to my general questions. It is customary for language advisors to have an ESL or linguistics background and in this sample, one of them had also previously studied five years of a medical course. In addition, I digitally recorded two planning meetings held between academic staff and a language advisor. University course documents from the internet and other materials resources provided by a language advisor were also collected. I had intended to include a sample of international and local students in my study, as well as more teaching staff, but insufficient time and difficulties in recruiting volunteers limited the sample obtained in 2005. In order to provide anonymity to the informants of this study, generalisations will sometimes be used and particular individuals will not be identified. The interviews took the format of semistructured to open interviews, where some of the topics of discussion were advanced by the interviewer. In my role as interviewer, I was aware of the delicate and confidential nature of some of the content of the interviews, including what was said, and I perceived that there was also the omission of other content. The interviewees, as employees of the university, are important stakeholders, not only in various planning activities but also in their implementation. Their want or need to have their own work seen in a positive light may have also influenced some of the discourse of the interviews (cf. Block 1995). My participation in this project as an outsider has reinforced my understanding of the difficulty of fieldwork, especially when undertaken on a cross-sectional basis as here, and with only very partial knowledge of many aspects of the whole social situation. In addition, the amount of data to date has been inadequate to allow a comprehensive analysis of the context. In order to verify the draft, I invited three informants to read it and have tried to incorporate their comments or suggestions where possible.

TYPES OF LANGUAGE POLICIES SITE ONE: FACULTY OF MEDICINE The medical faculty at AU offers numerous degree courses, but one main course in particular is the predominant object of considerable explicit language policy and language planning, even though NESB international students are not restricted to this course. The content and teaching approach of this particular degree course was re-planned in recent years and accordingly, reference to the ‘new curricula’ is a common theme in the discourse of all the faculty staff – managerial, teaching/clinical, and administrative and language advisors. Students undertake their first two years on the university’s campus, followed by a further three years at clinical sites which are teaching hospitals. A number of types of micro level policy making and planning implementation are evident in the medical faculty. Firstly, one senior faculty executive seems to have assumed the overall responsibility for the expansion and management of international students in the course. In turn, various faculty committees assume responsibility for certain aspects of policy formulation and implementation and, ultimately, report to this senior executive. As a part of its broader student support subcommittee, the faculty has formalised its support for international students through the establishment in 2003 of an International Student Support Service (ISSS). This service is described on the faculty’s webpage as follows:

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Extract 1 The aim of the support service is to assist international students in making the transition to study and life in Australia and in dealing with the ongoing academic and cultural demands placed on them as they progress through their degrees. The service, then, has two main aims: that is, to provide English language, learning and cultural support, as well as pastoral care and ongoing orientation for international students.

The recruitment of international students has been developed in recent years to parallel the recruitment of local students in that, apart from an academic score (such as an International Baccalaureate) an interview schedule has been devised which is implemented by AU staff in the overseas students’ main countries of origin and for which an oral discourse component is designed to reflect local cultural content. Such a policy is operable because relationships have been developed with appropriate institutions in specific countries where the recruitment takes place. Furthermore, as mentioned above, the successful cohorts of students also receive scholarships (which also cover university fees) from their respective governments or from other organisations to study at AU. Another policy developed by the faculty was the implementation of a three-month transition program for international scholarship cohorts, commencing in 2000. While one of its functions is to provide a transition to medical education in Australia taught through the medium of English, the annual program which commences in early October was also planned to accommodate those students from overseas countries where the academic calendar does not correspond with the Australian one. Although an academic staff member officially coordinates the program under the direction of a faculty committee, the part-time support staff who was appointed to assist in the program and to teach one of the three subjects within it appears to manage a lot of the administrative tasks as well as provide pastoral care to these students during the remainder of the year as well. One of the early policies developed by the faculty to support the international students while in the medical course was the appointment of expert language staff (advisors) whose primary responsibility was to provide support to these students. With the enrolment of approximately 46 international students in 2000, mainly made up of one cohort of students holding scholarships, one advisor was engaged by the faculty on a part-time basis, increasing to full-time in the following year as the numbers of international students increased. With the establishment of ISSS in 2003, this advisor assumed the role of co-ordinator of the support service. The faculty’s website reports that the co-ordinator has been extensively involved in the collaboration and consultation with academic and administrative staff on teaching and support initiatives as well as on issues relating to international and local students. Such work ‘includes active participation in several curriculum implementation committees and collaboration with academic staff on the development of teaching programs and support materials for the Year 1 and Year 2 cohorts’. A further two academic support staff were appointed in 2003, at first on a part-time basis. Continuing annual growth in two of the international student cohorts, in particular, reaching about 130 (in the new intake) in 2005 (equalling about one-third of the total first year intake), have seen advisor staff numbers increase to four (three full-time and one part-time), with two

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situated at the main campus and another two staff at the clinical sites. One of these four advisors also provides support to students in other health sciences area, apart from those in the main medical course. Interestingly, the Faculty of Medicine had not previously drawn upon the university’s language and academic skills unit up until this period of growth in international students, having felt no need for such services for their predominantly local students. In other words, the appointment of advisors was a direct policy decision and is one which is central to the strategy of providing support for the new groups of international students. Furthermore, contrary to most of the rest of the university, the faculty employs a specially designated label for these staff, International Student Advisor (ISA), which describes their function in relation to this particular category of students. (In contrast, in other faculties throughout the university, ‘international student advisor’ is the title for staff holding administrative positions and who manage administrative matters concerning the international students.) One ISA explained his/her role as follows: Extract 2 … in a traditional (X language and academic skills X) role, it's strictly academic support, and um, ah – it can be one-to-one consultations, on particular academic topics, or there may be general courses that are running, study skills, and quite often, we like to work with staff within the faculties on particular disciplinespecific programs, and they can run as either adjunct programs, that's outside the curriculum time, but using the content to address language and academic skills, or it actually may become a part of the curriculum, so we may go in and do some guest lectures, so we may do some tutorials as part of the curriculum, so, the med positions were a bit different, in that it was meant to encompass not only the language and academic support, but to also have a more… I suppose caretaker's probably too strong a word – pastoral sounds a little bit too, um, ministerial (both laugh). … basically, we would be the first port of call if they had any issues, and we can… refer them on to counselling, or to financial support, or to ah, um, visa experts. … It's not just language, it's sort of a much more of an over-arching role keeping track, and because there's smaller numbers of students, it was possible to do this, so I would have individual interviews with each student at the beginning of the year, and keep track, and so… So it's very different. In the other faculties, ah, with the numbers involved, it's simply not possible to have that kind of close contact. … It's starting to get to be a bit of a stretch now ((laughs)), but yes, we definitely have more of a ah – relationship, I suppose, with the students, ah, over a period of time.

As the above extract indicates, an expanded role was attached to the role of the ISAs in the medical faculty in contrast with the role given to language and academic skills advisors in most

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other areas of the university. This informant confirmed that the expanded role of the advisor was due to the original faculty planning, advancing two reasons for design of this expansive role in her on-going narrative: Extract 3 Int:

and who planned that originally? Do you know?

X:

That was originally the faculty. And I think the way that the roles have

developed even further, and I think that there’s probably two reasons for that, one is that internal ethos of the Faculty itself, because initially, the program was just for medical students, and a lot of doctors involved that were teaching, and as part of that, they’re of course interested in the whole person, so they take a very active interest in the welfare of their students, it’s quite different from other faculties ((laughs)) … but (they’re) quite prepared to, to put resources back into the students, so… it’s partly that at the management level there was a strong commitment to um, international um, student welfare, but also, it was also (gratuitous), in terms of history, in that the time I started, the faculty was moving into a new curriculum, and so as a result of that, there have been a number of, I suppose, planning and curriculum committees, um, that I’ve been involved in, so… we’ve been able to take a much more – um, systemic approach to things…

For this informant, the low student-advisor ratio in medicine is a very positive design feature and arose as a result of the faculty’s planning and funding. Further mention was made of a recent faculty initiative to provide funding to the ISSS co-ordinator to hire some individual ‘content’ tutors for certain students who were categorised as being ‘at-risk’ of failing a component of their course due to language problems or other causes. As with various other planning in the faculty, this scheme is not targeted only at international NESB students but covers both local and international, ESB and NESB students (even though the scheme is funded through international student fees). This initiative provides an important example of the growing trend to plan complementary support; these ‘content’ tutors were employed to complement the work undertaken by the ISAs on language and approaches to study and the like. Similarly, a new pilot program will commence next year in which a clinician has been hired to work with the ISAs on a joint teaching program. These examples thus reveal the dynamic nature of the planning processes in this context. The placement of ISAs in the faculty and the broad role accorded to them is viewed from a slightly different perspective by another informant who suggested that much importance was placed upon the provision of support for international students since poor performance could lead to the withdrawal of the students’ scholarship which, in turn, would result in the loss of fees for the faculty. Economic and political motivations may thus also constitute other important factors behind the faculty’s support policy, though interestingly, support schemes do not seem to have been developed as extensively in other faculties, despite a similar growing reliance upon external income in the light of decreasing federal funding. The co-ordinator of ISSS is responsible to the above-mentioned senior faculty manager who appears to maintain an on-going active interest in the problems of students and the support

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provided to them, amongst many other issues. In turn, the other advisors are coordinated by this senior advisor, in line with the managerial reporting system currently in place within the university. In contrast with some other faculties, these expert advisors participate in some of the main committees of the medical faculty and thus have ongoing involvement in certain policy-making and planning of curricula and related academic/clinical matters, and accordingly, are also involved in the dissemination networks. For instance, as a member of the curriculum committees, one ISA has had involvement in assessment-related issues. He/she has had input on policy and also reviews the examination papers for Years one and two before students sit the examinations in order to assess any potential language or cultural issues that might affect international and local NESB students unfairly. It is likely that this practice will extend to latter years as the roles of the ISAs in the clinical years increase. In addition, the ISA analyses the results and looks for trends in how international students perform on certain questions. In turn, this information is referred back to those who are involved in designing the assessment. Other involvement of the ISAs in the faculty includes their participation in the Faculty Planning Retreats and the individual year level planning days where they may be asked to comment upon language and cultural issues for students. This level of involvement and cooperation with faculty staff on issues affecting international students through committees and other practices of the faculty is rare for the language and academic skills advisors in other faculties of the university. Although this depth of participation does not yet characterise the work of the of the ISAs in the clinical sites, it must be acknowledged that elaborate support planning has been undertaken for students’ earlier years. While the positioning of ISAs within the faculty was clearly a result of faculty level planning, the actual development of policy in relation to how the ISAs support students is an important topic for further inquiry on the basis of more in-depth data. It appears that considerable discussion and planning about the support roles of the ISAs occurs at the various committees in which the ISAs participate, and sometimes new unplanned practices may emerge in various situations which are then taken back to committees for further discussion and formalisation. It was suggested by an informant that the formulation of policy may be preceded by a developmental stage which constitutes a response to new and often not previously foreseen events and issues. Given that support to international students in the clinical areas is relatively new, some interim policy may arise in response to a specific situation which subsequently is reviewed and formalised later. SITE TWO: FACULTY OF PHARMACY Reliance upon a language advisor in its provision of meeting the needs of international and other NESB students is also a main policy at the pharmacy faculty. Although the position of a parttime individual expert advisor has been in place for some time, a new replacement advisor was appointed in 2003, at a time which corresponded with a sizeable increase in enrolments from international students. Commencing on the basis of one day a week, this advisor has since increased to two to three days per week, depending upon the time of the year, and some involvement in academic planning committees is also starting to occur. The formal description of this appointment included the ‘ability to identify students’ language and learning needs and develop appropriate programs and course materials’, to have a ‘rapport with students and sensitivity to needs of different groups, particularly international and NESB students’ and the ‘capacity to liaise with faculty staff in the development of appropriate programs’. The policy here, therefore, was broader in that the support role was for all students with language and learning needs.

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Recently, a series of new policies have been designed as a means of developing the communicative competence of the linguistically and culturally diverse pharmacy students in that faculty. In 2005, after discussions at the faculty level, a special Health Sciences Screening Test was administered to all first year students in two courses, with the purpose of early identifying students who might experience communication difficulties. The results of this process were planned to provide feedback to individual students as well as inform the faculty’s language support programme, principally run by the language advisor. Third- and fourth-year students also receive communication skills assessments as a part of their work experience placements. Raising staff’s awareness of communications skills teaching and assessment issues, and strategies for identifying students with communication problems are also being incorporated into professional development programs for the teaching staff. A major faculty project on communication skills mapping is also bringing to the fore the centrality of communication in the curricula, and a drive to promote innovative teaching methods that integrate the teaching of communications skills with course content delivery is being promoted by the language advisor and others.

LANGUAGE PLANNING ISSUES Here I wish to consider three issues, two of which relate to the basic components of the language planning framework introduced above, and the other which concerns the nature of the language planning process itself. THE ACTORS OR AGENTS RESPONSIBLE FOR SUPPORTING OVERSEAS STUDENTS In an interview, the departmental head in pharmacy emphasised the centrality of the role of the language advisor in helping students with their communication problems, as seen in Extract 4. Extract 4 … we continue to, like, in my department, I continue to reinforce to staff the importance of all of us being vigilant, even if we’re in a prac class, with students, on a one-on-one basis, and if it’s obvious that they have some communication difficulties, to just have a quiet chat to the student about the need to try to do something about that. In other words, you know, we can’t force the student to go and see X, but, you know, we can certainly strongly encourage the student to seek assistance… … Not only myself, but other people, other staff in this department, you know, you might come across a student who, as part of a requirement in a subject is doing an oral presentation, it may be up in the prac lab, upstairs, it becomes obvious that there is some language problem, and so most of the staff in this department would be well aware of the need to identify that student and have a chat to them and encourage them to see X, I usually say to the student after the discussion, that please think about going to see X, would you like me to make contact with X on your behalf, coz I can’t really do that, for privacy reasons, unless I’ve got their approval, and some of them do, I’ve actually sat here and sent an email to X, saying I’d be grateful if you’d have a chat to Mary, or whatever the name of the student is, he or she is with me at the moment,

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and I’d be grateful if you would catch up with them, so, yes, so that’s usually the way it’s done.

The evidence here suggests that the principal overt departmental as well as individual policy is to have the language advisor provide support to students experiencing communication problems. Whether and how this teacher or others adjust their teaching behaviours in the academic contact situations could not be ascertained from the single interview. What is evident in Extract 4 above is a policy where maximum responsibility for supporting overseas students lies with the language advisor, and not with the academic/clinical staff who teach the students. The justification mentioned by this particular informant was that the requisite expertise for assisting students was possessed by such specialists, as seen in Extract 5. Extract 5 Int:

Um, do you sort of have any input with X, about what [he/she] should

be doing, overall, to help the students, or – ? Y:

Um, no, because I take the view that um, I’m not – I’m not an expert in

language and communication, so one of the things that I say to students is, you know, when I’ve had this gentle chat with them, is, you know, please go and see X, he/she can assess you and see what sort of assistance he/she thinks you need…

The language advisors for medicine who were located on the university campus did not report on themselves being positioned in such a manner by the teaching staff. In fact, one contrasted her current role with how she was positioned when in another faculty in earlier years. Extract 6 … when I was at XXX, often it was seen as the role, send them to X, and (X he/she X) will fix them up.

When describing certain difficulties in developing contacts with teaching/clinical staff at the hospitals, one advisor actually mentioned wanting to have staff refer students to him/her, since in these contexts the presence and visibility of the advisors remains low at the clinical sites (in comparison with the campus situation). One advisor explained the reason for advisors not being well-known at the clinical sites involved at least four main factors: the role of the ISA was only extended to the hospital sites in 2004 and thus constituted a relatively new position; the diversity of locations; the very large number of teaching staff; and the part-time nature of one of the ISA appointments. In these situations, it is thought to be more likely that senior staff such as the Clinical Deans, the Clinical supervisors and the year level convenors / rotation co-ordinators would refer students to the advisors rather than to receive referrals from other staff. The view expressed in extracts 4 and 5 above seems to imply a separation between communication and the content of that communication, in this case, the disciplinary content of the students’ courses. It is possible that the perceptions by teaching staff concerning their lack of expertise in language or communicative matters may be somewhat accurate, but whether this justification is sufficient to mitigate their responsibilities to novice learners without adjustments of their own

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teaching styles (or other aspects of their teaching behaviour) deserves consideration. The important recognition by Neustupný (2004) and others of the complexity of academic contact situations and the necessity for the various participants to make adjustments in their interaction with each other seems to be largely unrecognised. Other chapters here, including those by Yoshimitsu (this volume), Imafuku (this volume), and Nemoto (this volume) make reference to the necessity for participants in social interactive contexts, including the classroom, to make necessary adjustments in the face of the multiple communicative and cultural norms possessed by participants in the various communities of practice in which they participate. The separation of disciplinary content and communication, as presented above, however, is not consistent with the discourse of the language advisors themselves. In fact, the language advisors frequently commented on the strategies they employed to familiarise themselves with the students’ study content in order to provide support to the latter. For example, a language advisor working at a clinical site stated: Extract 7 … I’m not a content lecturer, I can’t be a content lecturer in medicine… so we’re looking at ways of supporting the language and learning issues of students, running ongoing weekly tutorials, for (weak) students, I've called them a (broad) umbrella, of communication skills, and OSCE (Objective Structured Clinical Examinations) practice, so we're practicing interviewing patients, simulating patients – well, each other as simulated patients, sometimes we go in a ward and practice interviewing patients, practice examination skills, perhaps of the neck and upper chest area, (the leg), usually things that are easy to examine in a classroom, looking at sensitive communication, like talking about sexual history, taking, an alcohol history, dealing with an overly talkative patient.

The complex connection between communication and content is further revealed: Extract 8 … sometimes I'll help them individually too, by going with them onto a ward, and giving feedback on their, interviewing skills, sometimes that also entails a level of clinical knowledge, medical knowledge, which I don’t have– I can give a certain amount of feedback, and I tend to gain that knowledge as I work with the students, and if they're seeing a patient where I know quite a bit about that kind of case, because I've actually been in those lectures, I can be quite helpful.

The above example in extracts 7 and 8 reveal some of the ways in which the ISA through his/her own participation with, or for, the students in the clinical situations develop sufficient skills in order to be able to provide meaningful training to students, when required. The difficulties facing language advisors who need to develop their own support program emerged; how to establish and build up contact with teachers and how to identify the students’ needs were not easily accomplished for some of them when they first started in their appointments, as reported by the following medical ISA:

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Extract 9 I think the things that I've found really useful… is where we're able to develop – what I find hardest is that I'm – took me a long time with the (XXX), to find out who I should be talking to… where do I start, it wasn't clear to me, who I could talk to, or finding out what the students were doing and things, some things were just, not that easy to gain, I think the thing that when you're able to develop a bit of a communication with the staff, it makes what you do with the students much more effective, if I – the more that we're able to get feedback from the staff on what they're finding… so, it's partly the people in the Faculty letting us know what difficulties or challenges they're having in relation to all students, but in particular, to international students, so we can be more responsive, I suppose, to the needs, rather than trying to guess what the needs are, and then sometimes meeting them or not meeting them, depending.

Over time, however, it seems that the ISAs do become successful in establishing links with staff and as a result, faculty staff may refer students to them and also consult them on language-related matters. An advisor reported on the difficulty of designing and implementing a support plan at the clinical sites, at least partly because many of the clinicians involved in teaching or training the students were unfamiliar with the role that the advisor played or even of the person’s existence, as shown in the following extract: Extract 10 At this stage, it’s really just breaking the ground to it, getting people to I think, touching base with tutors, informing tutors, and making sure that we connect okay with the clinical sites… there’s actually a lot of clinical tutors (who) did not even know we existed, I could be quite blunt and say I am sure there are a lot out there who would not even know we exist still, and if they did know we existed, they wouldn’t have a clue what we did…

In continuation of this theme in Extract 10, the same advisor wished for ‘more credibility associated with our work’. Partly as a means of fulfilling an informative purpose, several advisors have prepared research or conference papers which describe certain aspects of their work. In earlier years, it appears that administrative staff, including senior academic managers at the clinical sites performed a pastoral role in terms of managing students’ problems and counselling them. In recent times, the power relations between the various participants in the clinical sites, especially between the established clinicians and the newcomer language advisors, may be relevant in how the various relationships are negotiated but this issue was outside the scope of the present study. In both faculties, language advisors reported on a growing number of collaborative arrangements where they might be called upon to advise teaching staff on how to better manage the international students in their classes or where teaching staff may have some input into the design of support programs run by the advisors, or even instances where both teaching staff/clinicians and language advisors run design and implement special training programs.

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THE TARGET OF SUPPORT In the medical faculty, the official overt policy is that the language advisors are appointed to provide support to the international students across the faculty. In reality, however, it seems that they are expected mostly – but not exclusively – to assist students in one particular course. Moreover, it appears to be the NESB international scholarship holders who receive the most attention, and no doubt this policy is economically motivated, as mentioned above. The policy is also exemplified by the special pre-course bridging program for two main groups of international scholarship holders; there was also a faculty plan to offer a similar but shorter bridging program to another scholarship cohort in 2004, but the plan was not implemented due to difficulties in coordinating students’ arrival on the program. In 2005, however, a bridging program was provided to this other group. Although the official policy of the faculty is to focus support on its international students, such a position varies with the policy throughout the rest of the university where the language advisors, who are mostly appointed to a central university unit and positioned in a faculty context, are employed to provide language and academic skills support to any student – international or local and irrespective of the home background (NESB or ESB) – typically through the form of short courses and workshops, individual sessions or small group works (as described in the unit’s website). In practice, the ISAs interact with all students in the medical faculty who either come to them individually or who are referred to them, or who attend any training session they might organise. The language advisors reported as follows: Extract 11 Int:

You only see the international students, is that right?

Y:

No, no actually we’re able – we see all students, but we – I mean, because

my title’s like international student advisor um, I think what we see all students, but we probably focus more of our energy on international students, but, for example, if any student wants to make an appointment, like I see – we see quite a lot of, um, Australian students from non-English-speaking backgrounds…

In estimating the proportion of students he/she supports, this advisor estimated that about 5% are Australian students, 20–25% (from) are local students of non-English speaking background and the remainder, internationals students. The target of the language advisors’ support was also described by another informant: Extract 12 It’s a dedicated role for international students, in particular to look after a group of MARA scholarship students, and then also to support other international students, and then that can get extended to also including local students who’d like some help, or are referred for help.

In current times, the provision of support for international students is sometimes regarded negatively by certain university personnel who employ the justification of ‘equality’. As one of the informants claimed:

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Extract 13 On a less positive note, those tutors who are very anti-international student seem to view the presence of the international student advisor as confirming their view that international students need extra help or someone who is creating an unfair playing field in favour of international fee paying students.

The attitude reported above reveals a disregard by such university personnel of the wide variety of students’ backgrounds (with similarities as well as dissimilarities) – in terms of their background disciplinary knowledge, learning styles, and communicative competence in a second/foreign language. THE NATURE OF THE PLANNING The existence of multiple levels of policy development and planning seems to emerge from this study. In other words, in the context examined here, language planning seems to be a reiterative process. Designation of expert language advisors at the faculty unit level covers the personnel component of a language planning policy, but at this level there is no commensurate design of the content of the policy or means of implementation, apart from the broad specification of providing ‘English language, learning and cultural support, as well as pastoral care and ongoing orientation for international students’, as described above. Consequently, the task of the design of the policy support content as well as its implementation plan becomes the responsibility of these language advisors. The planning process undertaken by the language advisors involves the typical language planning process – identification of problems, the devising of a plan, and implementation of the plan. This planning process can be undertaken by an individual advisor, by a group of advisors, or by advisors in conjunction with a faculty committee and/or university staff. However, because the advisors are not necessarily familiar with the content of the students’ course or actually involved in them, and because they are not usually disciplinary/clinical specialists, the identification of students’ problems and the design of appropriate courses of action are not easy tasks for these staff. The central issue of problem identification in the language planning process, corresponding to noting in the language management framework (cf. Neustupný 2004) is the focus of other ongoing research (Marriott 2004, 2006). How problems are identified and by whom, and how these are communicated between participants (such as students, teachers, language advisors, course planners, administrative staff) are important aspects of the planning process.

CONCLUSION The principal aim of this paper has been to explore a situation of micro language policy and planning within a university context. Much of the research to date on overseas students’ participation in new academic communities of practice has focused upon the student participants themselves, but there is a need to examine participants other than the students, not the least being teachers, who, in the case of this medical faculty are frequently part-time or sessional clinicians and who are not readily accessible for research interviews. Nevertheless, the ways in which such teachers accommodate or adjust their teaching practices to classes of overseas students, or more commonly, to mixed classes, is an important topic for empirical enquiry (cf. Imafuku, this volume).

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The first stage of my analysis has highlighted the role of the expert language advisors almost by accident, since this group of participants made themselves available for interview, although I could only learn about a small portion of their extensive roles. The complexity of the social role and obligations of these advisors both towards their employing body and to the students themselves was perceived during the research process. What the study has revealed is the important role performed by these staff, in addition to the difficulties faced by them in supporting students in specialised health science disciplines, especially in the setting of the clinical sites. The evolving nature of their roles within the faculties and increasing integration of language and academic skills support into the main curricula, even if in different ways across different locations, is identifiable. In this way then, the language planning that has been taking place seems to be evolving and changing in response to various situational factors.

ENDNOTES 1

The term ‘faculty’ is used here in a generic sense because in this case study, various managerial, academic and administrative matters are handled by several major administrative units within the umbrella of the faculty.

REFERENCES Baldauf, R. 2006. ‘Rearticulating the case for micro language planning in a language ecology context’. Current Issues in Language Planning 7 (2&3): 147–170. Baldauf, R. 2004. ‘Micro language planning’. In Directions in Applied Linguistics: English for Academic Purposes, Discourse Analysis, and Language Policy and Planning, edited by Atkinson, D; Bruthiaux P; Grabe W; Ramanathan, V. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Block, D. 1995. ‘Social constraints on interviews’. Prospect 10 (3): 37–47. Clyne, M. 2001. ‘Micro language policy as a barometer of change’. In New Perspectives and Issues in Educational Language Policy, edited by Cooper, R; Shohamy, E; Walters. J. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Cooper, R. 1989. Language Planning and Social Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Duff, P. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1 to 1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001. Imafuku, R. 2007. ‘A case study of a medical PBL tutorial: Tutor and student participation’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 11.1 to 11.17. DOI: 10.2104/ld070011. Kaplan, R; Baldauf, R. 1997. Language Planning: From Practice to Theory. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Marriott, H. 2006. ‘Micro language planning for student support in a Pharmacy Faculty’. Current Issues in Language Planning 7 (2&3): 328–340. Marriott, H. 2004. ‘A programmatic exploration of issues in the academic interaction of Japanese students overseas’. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication 14 (1): 33–54. Nemoto, H. 2007. ‘Incomplete participation in academic contact situations: Japanese exchange students at an Australian university’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 9.1 to 9.16. DOI: 10.2104/ld070009. Neustupný, J. 2004. ‘A theory of contact situations and the study of academic interaction’. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication 14 (1): 3–31.

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Spolsky, B. 2007. ‘Towards a theory of language policy’. Working Papers in Educational Linguistics 22 (1): 1–14. Wakimoto, A. 2007. ‘Peer networks of international medical students in an Australian academic community’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 10.1 to 10.16. DOI: 10.2104/ld070010. Yoshimitsu, K. 2007. ‘Study management of a Japanese international student in an Australian academic community’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 8.1 to 8.15. DOI: 10.2104/ld070008. Yoshimitsu, K. 2004. ‘Japanese home-background students at an Australian university: Who they are and how they manage in university learning situations’. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication 14 (1): 137–151.

Cite this chapter as: Marriott, H. 2007. ‘Micro language planning for the support of international students in health science faculties’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 6.1 to 6.17. DOI: 10.2104/ld070006.

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PART TWO

‘DON’T BE SO LOUD – AND SPEAK ENGLISH’ SCHOOL LANGUAGE POLICIES TOWARDS CHINESE INTERNATIONAL STUDENTS Louisa Willoughby, Monash University Louisa Willoughby is a research assistant in the School of Languages, Cultures and Linguistics at Monash University. Her research interests include the role of social networks in language maintenance and language learning; the linguistic situation of deaf migrants; and the role of schools in shaping students’ linguistic practices. Correspondence to Louisa Willoughby: [email protected]

Within the area of language policy, relatively little has been written about the design and implementation of language policy in schools serving multilingual populations. Few schools develop formal language policies, however as this chapter shows, a range of school policies and practices can be seen to shape student’s language use while at school. Focusing on the linguistic situation Chinese international students find themselves in at one Melbourne high school with large numbers of international students, this chapter explores how official school policies, unofficial practices and friendship group composition combine to shape students’ use of Mandarin and English at school. It finds that these (sometimes well-planned, sometimes ad hoc) policies and practices have evolved out of the school’s broad aims on entering the international student market, but that they often interact in unexpected ways to bring about language practices quite different to those they sort to promote. The chapter closes by reflecting on the positive role first language use can play in international student education. To date relatively little has been written about the experiences of international students studying in Australian high schools. The majority of international students in Australia are studying in the higher education sector (164,000 in 2005 as against 25,500 in secondary education, AEI 2006a) so it is unsurprising that research on international student education in Australia has so far focused overwhelmingly on the sector (e.g. Deumert et al. 2005; Nemoto, this volume; Wakimoto, this volume; Yoshimitsu, this volume). Many of the findings from this research are transferable to the secondary sector, however differences in student maturity, autonomy and number of contact hours means that international students studying in the secondary sector experience a very different institutional environment than those in the higher education sector. This chapter provides a case study of international students’ language use at one Melbourne high school – Ferndale Secondary College1 – where Chinese international students make up approximately one-third of students at VCE level (Years 11 and 12). Drawing on interviews with staff and students and intensive ethnographic observation over the 2004 and 2005 school years, it explores how official school policies and unofficial practices shape students’ use of Mandarin and English at school, and how these (sometimes well-planned, sometimes ad hoc) policies and practices have themselves evolved out of the school’s broad aims on entering the international student market. On a practical level, the chapter documents the situation at one school as a reference for others and in order to outline the cumulative effect of a number of small measures on language practice and international student (academic and social) well-being. On a more theoretical level, the chapter also adds to our understanding of how official school policies, unofficial norms and the composition of students’ own friendship groups work together to shape linguistics practices in multi-ethnic schools.2

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LEARNING DISCOURSES AND THE DISCOURSES OF LEARNING (2007) MONASH UNIVERSITY EPRESS

INTERNATIONAL STUDENTS IN AUSTRALIAN SCHOOLS While Australian private schools have for many years accepted occasional enrolments from international students, it is only in the last 15 years that a number of Australian (government and private) schools have begun to market themselves heavily to international students (Leung 2006). While the rise has not been as dramatic as in the higher education sector, the international student numbers in the secondary sector have seen strong growth in recent years, more than doubling from 12,780 in 1994 to 27,820 in 2004 (AEI 2005). In line with flattening demand in the tertiary sector, international student numbers in secondary schools decreased by 10% between 2004 and 2006 to 24,717 students. As with the higher education sector, most international school students elect to study in either New South Wales (31%) or Victoria (29%), though Queensland has been steadily increasing its market share and took 18% of all students in 2005 (AEI 2006a). Australian schools accept international students from all nations; however China is indubitably the most important source country, providing 39% of students in 2006 (AEI 2006b). Table 1 provides an overview of the numbers of school and higher education students sent by the overall top 10 source countries for international students studying in Australia. As we see, school students overwhelmingly come from Asian or South East Asian nations, reflecting the areas in which Australian schools have been marketed most heavily. While many of these countries are also important source countries for international students in higher education, Table 1 shows a dramatic rise in the number of Indians studying at a tertiary level compared to the secondary level, while the reverse effect occurs for South Korea. We also see that in general terms the higher education sector is less dependent on these top ten nations for students.

Table 1 International students in Australian education, 2006 (based on AEI 2006b)

While international students may enrol in Australian schools in any year level, the vast majority elect to undertake Years 10, 11 and 12 in Australia. This is in line with the high value

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placed on gaining an English-language high school diploma3 and the fact that around half of all international secondary students use their study in Australian high schools as a stepping stone to tertiary education in Australia (Leung 2006). In Victoria at least, it is also partly an artefact of government regulations that require students under the age of 15 to live at boarding schools or with close relatives during their time in Australia. Those over 15, by contrast, may take up the most popular options of living with family friends or with a homestay family selected for them by their school. In deciding to accept international students, schools must weigh up a number of costs and benefits. Obviously, international students bring in extra revenue and can help boost enrolments for schools struggling to attract enough students to offer a wide variety of subjects in the senior high school years. With prudent administration, most schools succeed in running their international student programs at a profit, however the cost of marketing and providing support services (such as an international student coordinator based at the school and translating reports into the students’ home languages) means that the surplus is not necessarily high. Government schools in particular must manage their finances carefully when entering the international student market, as fees are set by the state government, rather than the school itself. Thus government schools in Victoria must charge a flat fee of between $8,000 and $11,500 per annum (dependent on year level), regardless of the costs of delivering their program. The international student market is much more lucrative for private schools, as they are free to set their own fees and many prestigious schools charge in excess of $20,000 per annum (Leung 2006). As well as financial considerations, schools must also consider the likely effects on their teaching and learning cultures when taking on international students. As Love and Arkoudis (2004) note, even teachers with wide experience of international student education still often struggle to make Australian courses accessible to international students and report that they must invest a great deal of extra time and effort in order to bring international students up to a standard where they can perform well in Year 12 exams. This effort not only involves teachers adjusting their own teaching style to take into account language difficulties faced by international students, but also developing strategies to deal with gaps in students’ background knowledge and their lack of familiarity with Australian modes of assessment. While enrolling international students thus generally creates more work for teaching staff, the payoff for the school is that international students often achieve strong results in their high school diploma and are stereotyped as committed learners who are particularly good at maths and science subjects (Love and Arkoudis 2004). As one principal remarked in a recent newspaper article (Leung 2006), enrolling international students can thus help create a more academic culture within less academic schools and encourage a spirit of healthy competition between international students and talented local students who might otherwise have been tempted to put little effort into their work and underperform academically. When international student perform well in their high school diploma results or gain entrance to prestigious tertiary courses, their performances can also be used to market the school to the local community, with anecdotal evidence suggesting that many underperforming government schools thus see accepting international students as an integral part of the school’s overall strategy for attracting and retaining academically strong local students. The different, and often multifaceted, reasons schools have for entering the international student market profoundly shapes the ways in which they respond to international students once

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they arrive. While schools with low international student numbers or prestigious reputations overseas often see it as incumbent on the international students to adapt to the teaching style and mores of the school, those with a greater investment in the international student market are likely to try and adapt their school to better serve the needs of international students, and thus increase their own marketability as a provider of international student education (cf. Edwards and Tudball 2002, White 2004, Leung 2006). Additionally, those who see accepting international students as a way of changing their own school culture and performance are likely to monitor the integration and academic progress of international students more closely than those whose motivation for accepting international students is more clearly financial. In order to better illustrate how motives shape institutional policy and practice, the following section presents a case study of the situation ‘on the ground’ at Ferndale Secondary College.

THE SCHOOL CONTEXT Ferndale Secondary College is a highly multiethnic school in Melbourne where over 90% of students speak a language other than English (LOTE) at home. According to the 2004 enrolment census, students at Ferndale speak over 25 different home languages. Vietnamese (spoken by 27% of students), Khmer (14%) Cantonese (8%) and Mandarin (5%) and other Chinese languages (18% when taken together) are the main languages of the school community, reflecting the fact that a clear majority of students come from Asian backgrounds. Since the school is located in one of Melbourne’s major immigrant reception suburbs, it follows that many of its students come from families with quite low socio-economic status in Australia. Importantly however, many of these families have strong aspirations for success (and many parents in fact held professional positions in their country of origin but have been unable to continue their professional work in Australia because of language or other difficulties) and see achieving at school as a clear pathway to a better future for their children. Ferndale is thus a school with a strong academic orientation which has developed a reputation over the years for getting the best out of students coming from disadvantaged backgrounds, particularly those with limited English skills on entering the school. Despite these successes, Ferndale has experienced a rapid decline in student numbers in recent years. While student numbers hovered around 700 students for most of the 1990s, by 1999 the school had less than 500 students and numbers furthered decreased to just 273 in 2004. According to an independent review commissioned by the school, the aging population and growing popularity of private secondary education in the schools’ catchment area have partially contributed to student drop-off, however the main cause has been the stigma brought about by (essentially unfounded) tabloid media coverage in 1997 linking the school with the heroin problem on the suburb’s main street. In a political climate where small schools are frequently closed or merged, Ferndale has had to fight hard to boost (or at least stabilise) enrolments and entering the international student market has formed a cornerstone of the school’s survival strategy. Ferndale has achieved some success in attracting international students: in 2004 they comprised around one-third of the VCE cohort, with the vast majority of students (around 90%) coming from Mainland China. Accepting international students does not of course solve long-term problems of decline, but helps make the school more viable in two main ways. The increase in student numbers allows the school to offer a wider variety of subjects (and particularly higher level maths and sciences) at VCE level, helping to minimise the number of local students who

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transfer to other schools because of limited choice in VCE subjects at Ferndale. Secondly, since international students often perform quite well in VCE, their results also help lift the school’s averages, and can be used to market the school in the local community. Ferndale is strongly committed to investing back into its international student program in the hope of realising the long-term goals of increasing local and international student enrolments and, as a result, the program runs at a small loss most years. This lack of interest in profiting from international student enrolments is somewhat unusual among Australian schools, however there is indirect profit insofar as the school uses monies from fees to finance teachers for very small VCE classes (many year 12 subjects in 2005 had less than 10 students enrolled), to the benefit of both local and international students. Because international students play such a crucial role in the school’s long-term survival strategy, teachers at Ferndale are particularly keen to ensure that their international students do well (thus enhancing their chances of recruiting more international and local students) and have put a great deal of thought into how best to educate these students. As we shall see in the following sections however, the result of this careful planning is not necessarily one coherent policy towards international student education, but rather a number of distinct but interrelated measures. As school policy and practice have arisen somewhat organically, we shall see that in attempting to mitigate different problems some measures end up contradicting each other. Teachers at the school are not generally aware of these inherent contradictions, so part of the role of this analysis is to shed light on the way school language policies and practices work together and help schools better understand the likely consequences (and barriers to success) when implementing new language policies.

THE ENGLISH ONLY POLICY THAT NEVER WAS A primary concern of Ferndale teachers is how best to assist Chinese international students to improve their English during their time in Australia. Knowing that parents frequently spend in excess of $25,000 per annum to finance their children’s education in Australia, many teachers feel a strong personal obligation to make sure parents get ‘value for money’ by ensuring their children learn and practice as much English as possible. As long-term teachers of a heavily English as a Second Language (ESL) school population, they are also acutely aware of the need for students to have a reasonable grasp of English in order to succeed in VCE. The drive to improve international students’ English is thus directly linked to the school’s local and international marketing strategies, and the hope that the English skills of its international graduates, as well as their final year 12 results, will act as an advertisement for the school. While teachers are in agreement about the desirability of international students using English as much as possible while in Australia, there is disagreement within the school about the best way to achieve this end. The international student manager (who is responsible for marketing the program overseas and also providing pastoral care for students once in Australia) is a wellknown advocate for banning students from speaking Chinese languages while at school, however other teachers have opposed this move on both moral and practical grounds. These teachers have argued that banning Chinese languages works against the schools’ efforts to portray itself as multicultural and tolerant of differences, and begs the questions of whether Chinese international students should be subject to different rules to local students, or whether all languages other than

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English should be banned from classrooms, hallways and the playground. A large number of Ferndale’s staff (many of whom themselves come from non English-speaking backgrounds) also object to banning any language on principle and have lobbied heavily against such measures in staff meetings. The school’s response to these competing positions has been to forge an unusual compromise: an English only policy that does not, in fact, preclude the use of other languages. Officially, all of Ferndale’s classrooms are English only spaces; though this has never been taken to limit the use of classroom interpreters for students who have recently migrated and still qualify for funding for a language aide (Ferndale employs approximately four full time equivalent language aides covering Arabic, various Chinese languages, Khmer and Vietnamese). The policy is used by some teachers, however, to ensure that all classroom discussions between students occur in English. Still other staff report that they disagree with this edict and continue to allow students to use whatever language they are most comfortable in as long as they continue to work productively and present a final product in English. Outside the classroom, Ferndale has deliberately shied away from making any statements about language use in the halls or playground. Instead, individual teachers are welcome to try and cajole students into speaking English if they hear Chinese international students speaking Chinese languages, but unlike true breeches of school rules they cannot hand out punishment to students caught speaking other languages. As such, teachers’ requests for students to ‘speak English please’ largely fall on deaf ears. The status of the plea as part of the ‘background noise’ of the school is further reinforced by the manner in which it is almost always delivered – as part of a more general rebuke (particularly ‘don’t be so loud – and speak English’) by teachers who are quite clearly resigned to being ignored. In this way, being asked to speak English often effectively becomes the punishment for some other (generally very minor) rule infringement that has caught the teacher’s attention, rather than a request asked of students who are otherwise minding their own business.

UNINTENTIONAL SUPPORT FOR MANDARIN While the school strives to encourage Chinese international students to speak English, a number of features of the schools’ organisation unintentionally support students’ continued use of Mandarin. The first feature concerns the degree to which the school structurally segregates international students from their local student peers, and thus fosters the development of internationalinternational friendship groups, where Mandarin or other Chinese languages are the natural languages of choice. Since Ferndale has its own ELICOS Centre, where international students generally study for between one to three school terms4 before entering mainstream classes, international students commencing at the school meet and study intensively with other international students for several months before having classes with their local student peers. As Miller (2003) remarks, such centres often result in ESL students forming (where possible first language based) peer groups with each other and being content to retain these peer groups once they move into mainstream classes (cf. Olsen 1997, Daoud 2003 for US perspectives on this issue). This should not be read as a disendorsement of ESL reception classes – both Miller and myself see them as playing a very important role in preparing students for mainstream education – however it is important that educators are aware of the impact of such classes on social network formation

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and attempt to foster relations between new arrivals and more established students (presuming at least that our goal is an integrated school community). At Ferndale the boundary between international and local students is further strengthened by the fact that they tend to cluster in different subjects. Most notably, local students who are not themselves recent migrants by definition do not take ESL or First Language Mandarin, two subjects taken by virtually every international student. International students also cluster in maths subjects and accounting and are conspicuously absent from humanities subjects and the school’s vocational education program. While it would be a gross over-simplification to say that local and international students never have classes together, on average international students have more classes with each other than they do with local students. This, in turn, helps strengthen friendships between international students as they share a range of common classroom experiences – with their associated in jokes and concerns about understanding and completing coursework – that they do not share with the majority of local students. Structural segregation is further strengthened by the fact that many subject teachers run compulsory after-school or lunchtime revision classes for international students, which local students enrolled in these subjects are not required to attend. Such classes are certainly valuable in terms of allowing teachers to go over course content and discuss the conventions of Australian academic discourse and assessment in a way they cannot do in regular VCE classes (Love and Arkoudis 2004; see Duff, this volume, for more on discourse socialisation issues), however they again add to the feeling that international students are different to local students. Despite concerns about students speaking Mandarin in the halls it is important to note that Mandarin has a much higher status than other migrant languages in the school community. Most notably, it is the only LOTE taught across all year levels in the school (French is also offered in years 7 and 8), and is offered at beginner, background speaker and native(like) levels. The literature on minority language education consistently stresses the legitimating effect that teaching a language can have; showing as it does that this language is seen to be something worth knowing (cf. Fishman 1991, Skutnabb-Kangas 2000, Freeland and Patrick 2004). The fact that Ferndale offers Mandarin, but does not offer Vietnamese, Khmer or other major languages of the school community thus – intentionally or not – singles out Mandarin as more important or useful than other LOTEs. It also places the school in an awkward position vis-à-vis Chinese international students’ use of Mandarin in the halls, as it would seem very strange to ban students from speaking a language in the halls that many of them learn in the classroom. While official school activities are conducted almost universally in English, Mandarin has made a small in-road in that the international student coordinator now conducts separate (parallel) year level assemblies in Mandarin for years 11 and 12. These 10 minute meetings were initially instigated as efficiency measures – as they allow content to be tailored to the international students and transmitted much more quickly than in English – but they also serve to legitimise Mandarin as a language of official school communication. A similar effect occurs when the international student coordinator – an English-Mandarin-Cantonese trilingual – conducts welfare interviews with students and their families in Cantonese or Mandarin. Although Ms. Chung is a firm advocate for banning students from speaking Chinese languages at school, her willingness to engage with students in Chinese languages when they are facing real difficulties highlights the tensions and ambivalence in the school’s approach to language policy and Chinese international students and sends the message that while the school might prefer international students to speak

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English while at school, it acknowledges that sometimes the need to express oneself quickly, freely and clearly overrides the need to practise English.

THE EVOLUTION OF CHINESE-BASED PEER GROUPS – PROBLEM OR ASSET? Walking into the VCE study centre at lunch, one is immediately struck by the fact that the lefthand side of the space is occupied almost entirely by Chinese international students speaking Mandarin. This part of the VCE centre is clearly the centre of Chinese social circles in the school, and while students tend to sit in small (generally gender-segregated) groups at individual tables, there is much talk and exchange between groups, and a strong sense that everyone is ultimately part of the same crowd. Many Chinese students in the VCE centre spend much of the lunch break half-heartedly doing homework, but with all the chatter and distractions they seem to get little done and those seeking serious study time withdraw to the library instead. A large number of boys from this crowd regularly play basketball together in fine weather, however importantly they do not play with the local students, but commandeer their own court and play against each other using Mandarin as the main language of communication. We have already explored some of the structural factors that support Mandarin-based friendship groups among Chinese international students, however it is worth considering what reasons students themselves give to explain why Chinese and local students tend not to mix socially. Most local students see the divide as being primarily an issue of English competence: either that Chinese international students do not know enough English to participate in local students’ conversations or friendship networks or simply that they are ‘just more confident with their own language’ (as one local student put it) and thus prefer to form Mandarin-speaking friendship groups. Chinese international students themselves however tend to assign more importance to a feeling of ‘being in the same boat’, when explaining why they generally befriend each other rather than local students. As John succinctly put it, Chinese international students befriend each other because ‘we [sic] situation is similar’, in reference to a range of issues, extending from language difficulties, to the experience of living away from family and friends, and cultural and economic differences from local students. From the local student perspective, Mark also highlights the role of perceived cultural differences leading to students tip-toeing around each other and establishing cordial, but somewhat distant relations: Extract 1 Mark:

surprisingly I’d say [the internationals are] in their own group, well

not actually surprisingly because, ah here we’ve maintained our own culture if you like, its sort of like ethics – not ethnic but ethics groups – we have different morals and different ways of communicating. Like here if we go out to get lunch we’ll bring our lunch which is sort of like wrapped up, whereas these guys [the international students] will fight like vultures to get into that microwave to heat up their rice. So they hang out in their own group and we hang back and we watch them and we don’t want to offend them by jumping in and taking the microwave and we have to be careful because these are these groups we don’t exactly understand them so it’s slightly like having xenophobia.

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Thus it seems that even though the majority of students at the school are from an Asian background (and many are in fact ethnically Chinese) there is still a strong feeling of cultural difference between Chinese international students and local students, grounded in different mores, interaction norms and ultimately different ways of balancing the influences of Asian and Australian cultures. Clearly then, there are a number of factors encouraging Chinese students to establish Mandarin-speaking peer groups. However, it is worth questioning the school’s taken-for-granted assumption that such groups ultimately harm English acquisition and academic performance. The present study most certainly does not have the data to conclusively prove or disprove this assumption, however it can provide some counter-examples of ways in which Mandarin-speaking peer groups serve international students well. Most importantly, they provide a valuable peer support network for adolescents who are after all encountering a fairly stressful and challenging situation. Considering loneliness, social isolation and homesickness are common problems faced by international students (Love and Arkoudis 2004, Arkoudis and Love 2005, Kijima 2005), first language peer groups not only give international students a sense of belonging to a group, but allow them to discuss problems they might be having with others in a similar situation, and without the added difficulty of a language barrier. In this way, Mandarin-speaking groups seem to serve a valuable function in supporting international student mental health; which might in turn have positive benefits on their education performance although it is of course very difficult to quantify the precise nature of these benefits. Mandarin-based groups can also be important resources for helping students understand their schoolwork. Goldstein (2003) outlines in detail how recently-arrived Chinese migrants to Canada use Mandarin as a resource throughout a maths summer school; using the language to discuss and explain their understanding of concepts, ask each other the meaning of unfamiliar English words and as a group advise one student on the best way to formulate a complaint in English to his teacher about the grading of his work (see also Liang 2006). Similar conversations were regularly in evidence among Ferndale’s Chinese international students, with frequent codeswitching between English and Mandarin a hallmark of their discussions while doing homework together. Several local students who spoke some Mandarin also reported that Chinese international students occasionally asked them questions about schoolwork in Mandarin. This suggests that it is not only within the international student social network that Mandarin can facilitate learning, however as Mei-Yee reports, such questions were often the site of linguistic brokerage: Extract 2 Mei-Yee:

yeah they [Chinese international students] like to come and ask

questions [in Mandarin] and yeah I don’t speak it but I understand it and I help them but when they speak Chinese I’ll speak English back.

Mandarin-based peer groups provide valuable support for learning, but it cannot be denied that they do limit students’ opportunities to practice English, and particularly to build their conversational fluency. Various writers on ESL education have commented on the predicament many ESL students find themselves in: if they choose to seek out English-based peer groups at school they not only risk rejection from fluent English speakers who may be reluctant to accommodate the needs of an ESL speaker, but they also risk rejection by their fellow immigrants who may see them as ‘thinking they’re too good for us’. As such, attempting to have more contact with native

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speakers can see students cut off from the support and acceptance of their first language group with only a shaky chance that similar support will be offered by native speakers (cf. Olsen 1997, Goldstein 2003, Daoud 2003, Miller 2003). As a group, Ferndale’s Chinese international student cohort seem to be caught in this conundrum (although it is rarely explicitly articulated), however in each year level there are generally one or two students who take their chances and attempt to join English-based peer groups. These students do appear to experience at least some rejection from their Chinese peers, but often receive substantial academic rewards for their efforts – with the dux of the school in 2003 and 2004 fitting this profile. It is beyond the scope of this chapter to examine the precise nature of this causality,5 and indeed the personal costs such students might pay in achieving academic success, however it is interesting to note the different options available to Ferndale students in this area and to consider how one might best balance the benefits from both Mandarin and English-based peer groups.

CONCLUSION Ferndale’s international students face a myriad of challenges during their time in Australia which cannot be addressed through broad-sweeping institutional language policies such as banning Mandarin outside the classroom. Although most teachers subscribe to the ideology that Chinese international students would be better off speaking English more often, they also seem aware of at least some of the psychological and educational benefits that can come from using the first language with friends and thus the school does not fight the use of Mandarin in social settings too heavily. Indeed, as this chapter has shown, at times the school actively supports Mandarin, such as through offering it as an official school subject and using it as a medium of communication with Chinese international students and their families. Above all this study has demonstrated that numerous structural and social factors encourage the development of Mandarin-based peer groups within the school. Ultimately, it is these elements of the school – which have not previously been thought of as relevant to the situation at hand – that must change if Chinese internationals are to consistently form integrated peer groups with local students.

ENDNOTES 1 2

3

4 5

The name of the school, its students and staff have been changed to protect participant anonymity. Louisa Willoughby was a postgraduate student at Monash University at the time of writing this chapter. She would like to acknowledge the support of a Monash University Postgraduate Publication Award for financial support while completing this chapter. Each state in Australia has a different name for the certificate one gains on completing Year 12, so for ease of reference the umbrella term high school diploma will be used instead. Regardless of the name, Australian high school diplomas run over the final two years of school, necessitating that international students enroll in at least Year 11 and Year 12 in order to graduate with an Australian diploma. Victorian terms run for approximately ten weeks. Particularly what level of English proficiency and relevant cultural knowledge they brought to the school, and whether that left them better placed than the average Chinese international student to form English-based peer groups.

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REFERENCES AEI (Australian Education International). 2006a. ‘Year 2006 market indicator data; Table G: International student enrolments in Australia by State/Territory and major sector 2002 to 2006’. Accessed 17 May 2007. Available from: http://aei.dest.gov.au/AEI/MIP/Statistics/StudentEnrolmentAndVisaStatisti cs/2006/2006_TableG_pdf.pdf. AEI (Australian Education International). 2006b. ‘Year 2006 market indicator data; Table F: International student enrolments in Australia by country and major sector 2005 to 2006’. Accessed 17 May 2007. Available from: http://aei.dest.gov.au/AEI/MIP/Statistics/StudentEnrolmentAndVisaStatistics/2006/200 6_TableF_pdf.pdf. AEI (Australian Education International). 2005. ‘Time series – International student enrolments in Australia 1994–2005’. Accessed 11 July 2006. Available from: http://aei.dest.gov.au/AEI/MIP/Statistics/StudentEnrolmentAndVisaStatistics/RecentData_pdf.pdf. Arkoudis, S; Love, K. 2005. ‘International students in English-medium education’. Paper presented at the Applied Linguistics Association of Australia 30th Annual Congress. The University of Melbourne, 25–28 September. Daoud, A. 2003. ‘“The ESL kids are over there”: Opportunities for social interactions between immigrant Latino and White high school students’. Journal of Hispanic Higher Education 2: 292–314. Deumert, A; Marginson, S; Nyland, C; Ramia, G; Sawir, E. 2005. ‘Global migration and social protection rights: The social and economic security of cross-border students in Australia’. Global Social Policy 5 (3): 329–352. Duff, P. A. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1–1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001. Edwards, J; Tudball, L. 2002. ‘“It must be a two-way street”: Understanding the process of internationalising the curriculum in Australian schools’. Paper presented at the Association for Active Educational Researchers Annual Conference. Accessed 2 July 2006. Available from: http://www.aare.edu.au/02pap/edw02289.htm. Fishman, J. 1991. Reversing Language Shift: Theoretical and Empirical Foundations of Assistance to Threatened Languages. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Freeland, J; Patrick, D. 2004. Language Rights and Language Survival: Sociolinguistic and Sociocultural Perspectives. Manchester: St. Jerome Publishing. Goldstein, T. 2003. Teaching and Learning in a Multilingual School: Choices, Risks, and Dilemmas. Mahwah, New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Kijima, M. 2005. ‘Schooling, multiculturalism and cultural identity: Case study of Japanese senior school students in a secondary school in South Australia’. International Education Journal 5 (5): 129–136. Leung, C. 2006. ‘So where the bloody hell are you?’ The Age. Melbourne 27/3/2006. Liang, X. 2006. ‘Identity and language functions: High school Chinese immigrant students’ code–switching dilemmas in ESL classes’. Journal of Language, Identity and Education 5 (2): 143–167. Love, K; Arkoudis, S. 2004. ‘Sinking or swimming? Chinese international students and high stakes school exams’. Australian Review of Applied Linguistics 27: 58–71. Miller, J. 2003. Audible Difference: ESL and Social Identity in Schools. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Nemoto, H. 2007. ‘Incomplete participation in academic contact situations: Japanese exchange students at an Australian university’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spencer-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 9.1 to 9.16. DOI: 10.2104/ld070009. Olsen, L. 1997. Made in America: Immigrant Students in our Public Schools. New York: New Press. Skutnabb-Kangas, T. 2000. Linguistic Genocide in Education, or Worldwide Diversity and Human Rights? Mahwah, New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.

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Wakimoto, A. 2007. ‘Peer networks of international medical students in an Australian academic community’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 10.1 to 10.16. DOI: 10.2104/ld070010. Yoshimitsu, K. 2007. ‘Intercultural academic participation processes: The case of a Japanese international student at an Australian university’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 8.1 to 8.15. DOI: 10.2104/ld070008. White, M. 2004. ‘An Australian co-educational boarding school: A sociological study of Anglo-Australian and overseas students’ attitudes from their own memoirs’. International Education Journal 5 (1): 65–78.

Cite this chapter as: Willoughby, L. 2007. ‘“Don’t be so loud – and speak English”: School language policies towards Chinese international students’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 7.1 to 7.12. DOI: 10.2104/ld070007.

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PART TWO

INTERCULTURAL ACADEMIC PARTICIPATION PROCESSES THE CASE OF A JAPANESE INTERNATIONAL STUDENT AT AN AUSTRALIAN UNIVERSITY Kuniko Yoshimitsu, Monash University Kuniko Yoshimitsu lectures in the Japanese Studies Program at Monash University. Her research interests include L1 maintenance and shift, study management of L2 students, and the negotiation of bilingual and bicultural identity. Correspondence to Kuniko Yoshimitsu: [email protected]

This chapter presents a qualitative case study which examines Japanese students’ learning behaviour at an Australian university, with a particular focus on how an international student planned and then adjusted her study program and, while doing so, how she developed her involvement and competence in academic contact situations. The study employed a process-oriented approach and its analytical framework is grounded on the language management model (Neustupný 1985; Jernudd and Neustupný 1987) and the theory of academic contact situations (Neustupný 2004). Through the close observation of a student’s academic participation processes over an extended period, this study illustrates how micro-level study management was carried out and also describes specific features of academic contact situations. The study also draws on the notion of community of practice (Lave and Wenger 1991) to analyse how a newcomer became part of a community and was gradually moving toward fuller participation in the Australian academic community. The data was gathered through a student questionnaire followed by a semi-structured interview, collection of the student’s study journals and follow-up interviews with the student. By focusing on the student’s study management behaviour, this study aims to depict an international student’s intercultural academic participation processes.

INTRODUCTION Australia has been experiencing a rapid and continuous growth of international student enrolments, and figures confirm that the student numbers in the higher education sector increased by 488% between 1994 and 2006, from 35,290 to 172,297 (AEI 2007). It was acknowledged that this increase has contributed significantly to Australia’s economy through students’ payment of tuition fees and expenditure on goods and services over the period of their stay (AEI 2005 survey report). It is also noted that Australia is a popular destination for Japanese international students, and Japan was ranked seventh (with a total number of enrolment, 17,804) in Australia’s Top 10 Source Countries from 2002 to 2006 (AEI Market Indicator Data 2006). The growth in student numbers and its positive impact on the Australian economy are closely monitored at both governmental and institutional levels. However, the indicators of overall success or failure, in other words, satisfaction or dissatisfaction of these students with regard to their educational experience, are not. Much of the international student’s academic life in Australia remains unclear. To date, I have become familiar with a number of Japanese international students in the undergraduate course at the university where I teach. They have shared with me their perspectives and experiences of their new academic life in Australia. University study is quite challenging for those who have been brought up in the Australian education system, so needless to say, it is even

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more so for those who were educated elsewhere. Frequently, these students seem determined to cope with difficult situations and force themselves to struggle on, often with little institutional support. Even if such support was available to them, their limited competence in L2 (to seek assistance) is sometimes a hindrance to their receiving such support. Undertaking a degree course at an overseas university requires a long term commitment from the students and their families. In the case of Australia, it is a common practice for Japanese international students to enrol in an Australian high school (usually from Year 10 to 12) in order to meet the university entry requirements; otherwise they often undertake a university Foundation studies course, an English course, or both, which may take six months to two years (Yoshimitsu 2004). Therefore, it is natural for them to feel that they could not possibly fail in the university course, after going through the lengthy preparation to be admitted, not to mention the high expectations from their parents. It is an interest in these students that led me to undertake this microlevel study of academic contact. Marriott’s empirical studies on micro-level study management of Japanese international students at an Australian university (Marriott 1999, 2000; Marriott and Miyazaki 2000; Marriott and Tse 2001) triggered a number of case studies (for example, Marriott 2003; Gilbert 2004; Allen 2004; Yasuda 2004). These studies examined students’ participation behaviour in a new academic community, primarily focusing on their writing activities and highlighted how little teachers and researchers knew about these students’ actual writing processes and the nature of the difficulties involved in acquiring new knowledge and skills in L2, usually in a limited time frame. Drawing on the study experiences of the Japanese exchange students (a sub-group of Japanese international students) at the same university, Nemoto (2005, this volume) examines how these students developed their participation in the host academic context throughout their oneacademic year study and demonstrated both complete and incomplete participation cases and outlined the factors contributing to differential participation. From the academic discourse socialisation perspective, Duff (this volume) views learning as developing the capability to participate in new discourse communities as a result of social interaction and cognitive experience, also involving the development of one’s voice, identity, and agency in a new language/culture. She argues that language professionals need to better understand the actual discursive practices and requirements of various fields (and activities) and the experiences of participants who are being socialised through course-related activities. In the current climate where contact between varying academic systems is increasingly intensified, Neustupný (2004) argues for more empirical studies focusing on how participants in the academic contact situations in fact deviate (from the base norm), note and evaluate the deviations and how they adjust the deviations in the process of learning. Similarly, Marriott (2004) argues that in order to extend the boundaries of the research on academic contact undertaken to date, more detailed investigations into the processes and outcomes of academic interaction in naturally occurring situations, not just the written texts that students produce, are needed.

OBJECTIVES OF THE STUDY The objectives of this study are to understand how Japanese international students (newcomers to Australian academic culture) participate in it and how their interaction with peers and teachers facilitates or constrains the processes of such participation. In order to achieve these objectives,

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I conducted an in-depth case study which examined how an international student planned her study program at an Australian university, (hereafter referred to as AU), and how she managed in the subsequent academic contact situations, which eventually led her to move towards completion of an undergraduate degree in Arts (i.e. humanities). Planning a study program in a new academic community is an important part of the study management process for Japanese international students. It is not an easy task for newcomers to the community, and this process needs to be examined carefully. What subject students take, on what grounds or for what purposes, and how they accomplish the program or why they make changes to the program, are all crucial aspects for understanding their study management behaviours. It is not surprising that some international students change their discipline or major after experiencing some difficulties. These students are often said to be unprepared for study demands, and their insufficient academic literacy development in L2 inevitably leads them to struggle in learning. Based on her study of a Japanese student’s acquisition of academic literacy in a second language, a US academic in ESL, Spack (1997) draws our attention to an emerging situation where many or even most international students end up majoring in quantitatively based disciplines and in some cases, this may have less to do with their interests and more to do with their inadequate preparation for social science/humanity courses before they enter college and the kind of support subsequently offered to them in these courses. Much more detail is needed before forming a stereotypical image of international students. For a start, we need to know how these students actually plan their study programs and how they behave in the planned program. This study presents a case study of one of the Japanese international students at AU.

THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK The study employed a process-oriented approach and the data analysis and interpretation of findings were made from two perspectives: one focuses on the learner’s study management processes in academic contact, and the other focuses on the learner’s increasing participation in the Australian academic community. The former perspective is grounded on the language management model (Neustupný 1985; Jernudd and Neustupný 1987) and the theory of academic contact situations (Neustupný 2004) and the latter draws on the notion of ‘community of practice’ in the social practice theory of learning (Lave and Wenger 1991; Wenger 1998). In the study of academic contact situations (that is, intercultural academic situations), Neustupný (2004) argues that researchers should place a focus on ‘what happens in the process of contact’ rather than on ‘the result of the contact process’, and that it is essential to enquire into how the problems in academic interaction are noted, evaluated and how adjustment is subsequently sought by the participants. This approach closely monitors the learner’s deviations from what is accepted as the base norm, and was initially developed in the language management model (Neustupný 1985; Jernudd and Neustupný 1987) in the context of Japanese and English contact situations. The central notion of this approach is that a typical contact situation is packed with communication problems and attempts are constantly made for their removal and that their frequency and pattern are quite different from the problems which occur in native situations (Neustupný 1985: 44). The language management model process consists of five stages: i) deviations from norms occur, ii) such deviations are noted, iii) noted deviations are evaluated, iv) adjustment (‘correction’ of problems) is planned, and v) the adjustment is implemented (Neustupný

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2004: 23). In academic contact situations, the norm usually applied is the norm of the base system, where the base system is determined by the language employed (Neustupný 2004: 16). But Neustupný argues that such situations where multiple norms interact also present contact situation norms and we need more understanding of what is expected from academics in various types of contact situations. From the contact theory perspective, this study examines how one Japanese international student planned her study at the university, and how she made adjustments to the actual learning situations. Lave and Wenger (1991: 29) view learning as situated activity, which has as its central defining characteristic a process called legitimate peripheral participation, that is, a process by which newcomers become part of a community of practice and gradually move toward full participation in the sociocultural practices of a community. In their usage, peripherality is a positive term and peripherality, when it is enabled, suggests an opening, a way of gaining access to sources for understanding through growing involvement (Lave and Wenger 1991: 37). Lave and Wenger argue that participation in the lived-in world (engagement in social practice) is the fundamental process by which we learn and so become a more confident member of the community. The term ‘community’ is used to imply ‘participation’ in an activity system about which participants share understandings concerning what they are doing and what that means in their lives and for their community. Hence, a community of practice is a set of relations among person (agent), activity, and world, over time and in relation with other tangential and overlapping communities of practice (Lave and Wenger 1991: 98). Wenger (1998: 7–8) also maintains that the concept of ‘community of practice’ is not unfamiliar to us since learning (i.e., ‘community of practice’) is an integral part of our everyday lives. He provides us with very systematic ways of talking about this familiar experience of learning in positive ways. Drawing on Lave and Wenger’s notion of ‘community of practice’ as a useful conceptual tool, this study presents an example of how learning in practice takes (or does not take) place in the case of a newcomer (Japanese international student), and how she became part of a community of practice and gradually moved toward full participation in the Australian academic community.

METHODOLOGY The case study reported here focuses on the experiences of one of the 10 Japanese international students who participated in my earlier study, which focused on the diversity in the Japanese students’ educational backgrounds and their Australian experiences at AU (Yoshimitsu 2004). The primary participant of this study, Akiko (a pseudonym), completed her secondary education entirely in Japan. Since her father was an English teacher and had some contacts in Melbourne, she had a few short home-stay experiences during her school days. Akiko undertook a brief tertiary study experience at a Japanese women’s college (four-year course), where she majored in English literature. She left the college soon after entering because she found that the learning environment was not what she had expected. Aiming to study at AU, she came to Australia in 2000 and spent some time in Sydney studying English at an international language school, then came to Melbourne to complete a six-month Foundation studies course prior to her entry to a university in 2001. She fulfilled the university’s English proficiency requirement by achieving an overall score of 6.5 in the IELTS test (her individual scores in each area being: reading 5, writing 6, speaking 7, and

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listening 7). She was enrolled in a BA degree majoring in Linguistics and has since completed her course. It was the beginning of her first-year when she started to participate in my study. The key data source for this study was Akiko’s study journals and three semi-structured interviews with her. Also, a number of informal conversations with her during this time allowed me to observe many facets of her learning processes. In order to address the study questions, a particular focus was placed on the student’s early stage of learning. Although the initial request by the researcher was to keep a study journal over one semester, Akiko kept it over an extended period of time, covering a two-year period. The entry frequency varies from year to year and the most entries were made during the first semester of her first year, but in total she made 39 entries. The interviews with the student were conducted at the transitional stage of her study (first-year), then during the intermediate stage (second-year), and, after she completed her study. A journal study was adopted in order to examine the learner’s own reflections of her learning processes. In this study, Akiko was asked to record the details of class experiences, including her level of understanding, preparation for the class, difficulties experienced, possible reasons for the difficulties and measures taken in relation to the difficulties experienced. In addition to these, she was asked to enter comments on any aspects of her own study experiences. Her journals allowed me to grasp how Akiko perceived her learning, how she evaluated her participation in classes and what adjustments she made to improve her participation.

FINDINGS The findings from this case study will be presented below by highlighting the features which emerged as distinctive behaviours of the Japanese international student. Akiko’s implicit thoughts about her learning which are reflected in her study journals and the interview will be produced in a narrative form. ADJUSTMENT IN THE PLANNED STUDY PROGRAM It has been observed at AU that Japanese home-background students, both domestic and international students, often choose Japan- or Asia-related subjects conducted in English by native speakers of English (Yoshimitsu 2004). Integrating one’s background knowledge and previous study experience in L1 into L2 study is a legitimate strategy. Akiko, too, followed this pattern and took two such subjects in semester one of her first year. She had intended to make Japanese studies her major, hoping to study Japan and Asia from an Australian perspective. She also enrolled in a subject related to the use of English which was designed for international students (and was recommended for these students to deepen their insights into English language use) as well as a psychology subject, an area of study she found very interesting during her Foundation studies. In the second semester, however, Akiko discontinued both the Japan- and Asia-related subjects, and took a subject from linguistics and another from drama and theatre studies instead. Thus, Akiko made a significant adjustment in her study program during her first year and consequently changed her intended major, Japanese studies, to linguistics. (The process of this adjustment will be discussed in a later section.) A number of factors seem to have contributed to this major amendment in her enrolment. With regard to the management of study difficulties by Japanese students at AU, I have observed that the international students were often incapable of negotiating their noted and negatively evaluated problems with the target community, other than by simply

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avoiding the problematic situations (withdrawal from the subject), accepting the consequences (underachievement in the subject), or applying temporary strategies (getting their essays edited). Such short-term management strategies, however, do not solve the fundamental problems and the participants frequently continue to face problems in developing their interactive competence in the academic contact situations. How Akiko interpreted her learning situations at AU and how she acted upon them characterised her successful study management. NOTING PROBLEMS IN PARTICIPATING IN A NEW ACADEMIC COMMUNITY After attending a couple of lectures, Akiko noted that university study was quite different from what she expected from the Foundation studies, which she undertook for six months prior to entering university, as noted above. Akiko found that the university lecturers (of two Japan- and Asia-related subjects in particular) presented the content in a ‘sophisticated’ way and it sounded very ‘abstract’ and ‘academic’ to her (these words appeared frequently in her journal during her transitional period). Akiko could not follow their speaking speed and therefore missed most of the content. The following extract from her journal reflects her anxiety in week one: Since it was the first lecture in the semester, only administrative matters such as subject outline and assessment items were dealt with. It wasn’t a contentheavy lecture, but even so, the lecturer’s talking was hard to comprehend. Was it due to my comprehension problem or the way the lecturer talked? I hope I will soon get used to this lecturer’s way of talking. I expected more Asian background students in this Asian studies subject, but surprisingly the majority were non-Asian students. (Journal entry, Lecture Week 1, semester 1, year 1: 27/2/01)

Akiko’s experience in the first week came as a shock to her since she thought she was ready for university study. She was exposed to a new academic community with a majority of non-Asian students, which was contrary to her expectations. She soon enough realised that the Foundation studies were designed for international students and the participants, both learners and teachers, behaved within that framework; accordingly she felt comfortable in that situation. One of the university subjects which Akiko took was also designed for international students and with this subject, she also felt comfortable in participating. She noted: This subject is for the international students, so I was able to follow the content and the speed without problems today. I felt more relaxed in the class than others. But I found the content very academic. I need to read the textbook carefully to grasp the key concepts such as ‘discourse’ and ‘genre’, which I am not familiar with. (Journal entry, Seminar Week 1, semester 1, year 1: 7/3/01)

The two contrasting situations which Akiko experienced suggest that the norms that emerged from the Foundation studies course and the subject she described above were what Neustupný (2004: 23) categorises as ‘contact situation norms’ (inter-cultural situation norm) and these are neither ‘base norms’ (Australian academic norms) nor ‘native norms’ (Japanese academic norms in Akiko’s case). It can be said that Akiko was familiar with contact situation norms and was

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able to behave comfortably with them; however she was unprepared for the exposure to the Australian academic norms and therefore faced considerable challenges. Akiko gradually began to notice that Japan- and Asia-related subjects were more demanding than the other two subjects; the Asian subject was the hardest of all. As history was her strong area during high school studies, she hoped this would help with her Asian subject, but it was much harder than she expected with its in-depth content and the large amount of reading required for each week. Akiko immediately asked her parents to send her history textbooks in Japanese (L1) so that she could refer to these whilst reading her English (L2) materials. Akiko’s strategy of reading in L1 to cope with L2 study is often observed among the Japanese students. Akiko commented on this strategy, saying that she found reading in L1 was not necessarily helpful for L2 study, because L2 study applied analytical approaches focusing on a particular time of history in a context rather than focusing on the superficial historical events over a long period of time, an approach often found in her L1 textbooks. After experiencing difficulties in comprehending the lecture content, Akiko consulted with a tutor, seeking his advice. Duff (this volume) points out that the social interactions that take place in academia (such as negotiating office hour visits or assignments with lecturers or clarifying the learning content with tutors) vary from context to context (and culture to culture) to some extent, and socialisation into these forms of discourse related to academia is crucial as well. In this regard, Akiko seemed to have approached her tutor without hesitation and managed it comfortably. She tried the study methods suggested by the tutor, such as listening to audio-recorded lectures for revision and making summary notes of the textbook before the lectures, but she continued to experience difficulties in understanding the lectures: Today’s lecture was about the introduction of Buddhism. The content was too abstract for me and I only managed to pick up few points vaguely. Even though I prepared for the lecture by reading the textbook thoroughly, it was almost impossible for me to understand its content. I am in an absolutely desperate state. My friend, Sunny, comforted me saying that he would study with me and I shouldn’t worry so much. But I am really, really worried about my situation. (Journal entry, Lecture Week 7, semester 1, year 1: 10/4/01)

In order to follow the lectures, Akiko needed to heavily rely on visual presentations, yet she found the outlines presented by the overhead projector were always too brief. Moreover, lacking essential vocabulary on the topic, she was unable to take adequate notes whilst listening to the lecture: The words I picked up during the lecture were simple ones which I was familiar with. These were not necessarily essential to understand the lecture content. I scribbled some notes during the lecture, but when I read them again at home, they didn’t make sense. The lecturer emphasised the important parts, but I didn’t know the vocabulary, so I couldn’t write them down. I wished the lecturer had put them on OHP. (Interview, semester 1, year 1: 3/4/01)

Eventually, she borrowed her friends’ lecture notes and sought assistance from the previous students who took the subject. Aiming to gain fuller participation and improve her learning and

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socialisation into the new academic discourse, Akiko had to go through a very exhausting process to manage the continuing difficulties in the lecture situation. Akiko’s struggle with learning leads us to the central concern about learning for newcomers in the ‘community of practice’ (Lave and Wenger 1991: 122–123): what opportunities exist for knowing in practice – is the process of knowing transparent for newcomers? What is meant to be learned or should be learnable? In such situations where the comprehensible information was minimal, little learning seems to have taken place. NOTING PROBLEMS IN A CLASSROOM COMMUNITY WITH A MAJORITY OF JAPANESE STUDENTS Unlike the other three subjects Akiko studied in her first semester, the majority of Japanese studies class members was of Japanese background, and according to Akiko, such a situation seems to have created a competitive Japanese community. Competitiveness in the classroom serves either a positive or negative role in individual learning. For example, Bailey (1983) points out that classroom learners make overt comparisons of themselves with other learners and that these comparisons often result in emotive responses to the language learning experience. Akiko noticed competitiveness among the Japanese members in their behaviours, such as comparing each other’s essay marks and commenting on other student’s oral English competence displayed during class discussions and presentations. Since neither her essay marks nor English fluency were high in this class, she felt very uncomfortable with such competitiveness found in this community. During the interview, Akiko said that she was not afraid of speaking in English in the class discussion (it should be noted that whereas the average IELTS test score required for the university entry is 6.5, her scores for aural and oral were both 7.0). But Akiko felt very humiliated when she made English mistakes in front of more competent English speakers from among her Japanese peers. These more competent students were returnee students or had some previous study experience in English-speaking countries. In the interview, Akiko described her feeling when she failed to perform adequately in the classroom: I started to talk without organizing my thoughts properly, because I was so eager to join the discussion. But stating an appropriate opinion wasn’t easy, so I was soon stuck for words and panicked. Then I ended up forgetting what I was going to say. I felt ashamed of myself and regretted having started to talk. (Interview, semester 1 year 1: 3/4/01)

Morita (2004: 585) identified that a common identity described by L2 Japanese students in a Canadian university classroom was being less competent than others, which was based on the difficulties they were experiencing in the classroom, but at the same time, such an identity was constructed based on their sense of how others might perceive them. In Akiko’s case, other class members were mostly Japanese students, and in such a situation, her concern of others’ perceptions toward her seems to have grown more strongly than in other classroom situations. Based on her study on competitiveness in classroom, Bailey (1983) presented a model to examine how the learner’s self-image in comparison with other L2 learners, either a successful or unsuccessful self-image, can either impair or enhance their learning. From Bailey’s view, in the case of the former, learners may reduce or abandon learning efforts and in the case of the latter,

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learners increase their efforts in order to compare more favourably with other learners, and as a result, learning is enhanced. From this view, Akiko might have been in the former case, and this might have had a negative effect on her willingness in maintaining membership in the community. According to the ‘community of practice’ notion, learning implies becoming a different person by becoming able to be involved in new activities, to perform new tasks and functions, and to master new understandings (Lave and Wenger 1991: 53). Akiko was in a situation where she could not avoid behaving according to Japanese norms and also being evaluated by her Japanese peers according to such norms. Because they came from the same culture and society of Japan, for Akiko, it was predictable how other Japanese students might behave or construct their thinking and reasons behind them. Since Akiko’s main purpose of studying in Australia was to socialise into a new academic community by acquiring Australian academic norms rather than demonstrating or maintaining Japanese norms, she gradually moved away from the Japanese community at AU. Adjustment in her study program had thus become an inevitable process for Akiko. The fact that Akiko consciously avoided associating with Japanese students for the next two semesters suggests her determination to pursue her primary goal. DEVELOPING INVOLVEMENT IN CLASS DISCUSSIONS Participating in class discussions is another focal area which challenged Akiko’s study management. From the ‘community of practice’ perspective, participation is a way of learning by both absorbing and being absorbed in the ‘culture of practice’ and an extended period of legitimate peripherality provides learners with opportunities to make the culture of practice theirs (Lave and Wenger 1991: 95). However, various obstacles exist for newcomers to become fuller participants, as demonstrated in Nemoto (2005, this volume). He argues that newcomers could not necessarily gain access to desirable resources and increase their involvement in the host academic settings simply because they physically belonged to the host community. Akiko’s struggles in the lectures (illustrated above) demonstrated a similar situation. Contrary to this, however, her experience in tutorials was different. The following four excerpts from her study journal illustrate how Akiko gradually increased her involvement in the tutorial discussions by changing her participation form, from a silent participation to a voiced participation, and changing relations to the members by increasing her connections with them. Regarding the week one tutorial, she reflects: As the tutor talked too fast, I could hardly catch up with him. Listening problems let me down again! But I shouldn’t be scared of asking questions to the tutor. I shouldn’t hesitate to speak out. After the class the tutor told me that I should tell him when he spoke too fast. He seems approachable. I’ve got somewhat a gloomy impression from this tutorial group. It seems difficult to make friends with them. But I really need friends in this class, so I should approach them. (Journal entry, Tutorial Week 1, semester 1, year 1: 27/2/01)

Despite the negative situation she encountered in the first week, Akiko remained focused on her goal to be involved in the discourse community and in order to do so, she was aware of the need

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to develop networks with other community members. In week two, however, she noted another problem: I had trouble following the students’ talks too. I noticed some speak differently and I am not used to the way they talk. It’s good that the tutor summarised their opinions afterwards. I hope I’ll soon get used to them. Perhaps I should become friends with some of them? (Journal entry, Tutorial Week 2, semester 1, year 1: 6/3/01)

Akiko’s participation problems were caused not only by her comprehension of the English by English native speakers but also by the wide variation in the type of English spoken by classroom members in a multi-cultural classroom situation, where contact norms exist. The tutor evidently played an important role in such situations for students to readjust to the base norm. In week three, Akiko reflects upon her own participation: My participation in the class discussions was very minimal. When I joined the discussions, my remarks were very general and these only touched the surface of the issues. I want to develop a meaningful discussion but it seems beyond my ability. Now I realise that I’ve never thought about the structure of Japanese society theoretically. But I shouldn’t worry about what I talk so much; rather joining the discussion is a matter of importance for me at this stage. Everyone seems very eager to find out about Japan, so I need to be prepared for their questions. Improvement of my English is crucial, but how? I’ve started to converse with some of the tutorial members and I am happy about this. (Journal entry, Tutorial Week 3, semester 1, year 1: 13/3/01)

The above excerpt shows that Akiko’s initial tension in the tutorial situation started to ease when she began to share her knowledge on Japan with her classroom members. Also she found out that the tutor had once studied in the same city in Japan where Akiko came from and since then, she felt much easier to approach this teacher. Even a relatively trivial matter such as this seemed to have a positive effect on her attitude toward the study. She tried to cover the things that she missed during lectures by consulting with the tutor more frequently. The more connections Akiko established with the tutorial members, the less tensions she felt in expressing herself in the class, and this led her to move onto the next stage where her involvement in the tutorial discussion became more self-initiated: I got very nervous when I gave my view on the directions of Japan’s future in front of the English native speakers, but I thought it was important to state my view as Japanese. I fully realised my lack of vocabulary in the area. Forming my own thinking about the given topic is a big challenge for me. In order to manage that, I need to read widely and increase vocabulary. I should express my opinion more often from now on. But I need to remember that discussion is not just chatting about something. (Journal entry, Tutorial Week 5, semester 1, year 1: 27/3/01)

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Akiko’s developmental process of tutorial participation was characterised by her problem identification and her negative evaluation of the noted problems to comply with the target norms, which are crucial processes of language management (Neustupný 1985; Jernudd and Neustupný 1987). While trying out some management strategies, she gradually established a situation where she could contribute in the community as a Japanese participant. Her retrospective analysis of her own participation above demonstrates that Akiko is gradually moving toward fuller participation in tutorial discussions. GAINING CONFIDENCE THROUGH PARTICIPATING IN NEW STUDY PROGRAM In place of two subjects from the areas of Asian and Japanese studies, Akiko decided to take one subject from drama and theatre studies and one from linguistics in semester two, as mentioned above. Akiko’s close friend from the Foundation studies, Katharine, a Hong Kong student, introduced her to drama and theatre studies. Katharine had been studying drama since semester one and as she was a more experienced member of the Drama class community, she often talked to Akiko about the interesting aspects of the study. Since Akiko was trained in traditional Japanese dance and liked to express herself through body movement, she decided to take this subject in semester two. Akiko reflects on the first lecture: Today we learned about how we could improve our voice by relaxing our body. In order to experience this, we lay down on the floor and rolled around etc. It was a new method of learning and I felt a little uneasy about such activities. But I think I’ll soon get used to them. I shouldn’t be shy when I experience the effects of my body movement on my voice. I notice that everyone in the class seems to have a beautiful voice. I wonder I’ll get to that stage one day by relaxing my body. (Journal entry, Lecture Week 1, semester 2, year 1: 21/7/01)

Drama study was a new discipline for her and different from the content-based subjects she previously studied. For the first time since the beginning of semester one, she assessed her level of understanding of the lectures as ‘completely understood’ in her journal. Akiko stated that she felt comfortable to be in this new community where she changed her view on English from ‘a language to study’ to ‘a means of communication’. She talked about the changed role of English in her academic life as follows: With this new study, I gradually built up confidence in myself. I began to realise that if I could express myself in L1, then I should be able to try the same in L2. Now I think of English as a means of communication - as a means of expressing myself, instead of thinking it as a language to learn. The important thing for me is to have a strong will of wanting express myself. (Informal talk, semester 2, year 1, 2001)

Akiko seemed to be able to position herself favourably in the new learning situation in semester two. She had her close friend Katharine (an international student from Hong Kong) as a classmate and soon she met Jane, an Australian student, in the drama class. Jane was studying in the Japanese program and approached Akiko to talk in Japanese. Their mutually-beneficial relationship in language support developed into a close friendship. Moreover, shortly afterwards Jane suggested

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that Akiko move into her house where she lived with her family. Akiko valued the arrangement both academically and socially. Lave and Wenger (1991) maintain that interaction with more experienced members in the community enhances newcomers to move towards fuller participation. Akiko’s interaction with Katherine and Jane seemed to have facilitated her process of gaining expertise required by the Australian academic discourse community more effectively than before. Akiko also found Linguistics (another new subject in semester two) very enjoyable and after the first week, she decided to select Linguistics as her major. The following excerpt illustrates what led her to this decision: I guess it’ll become harder from now on, but so far, so good! I enjoy the subject. The tutor is very kind. I am going to make linguistics as my major. Australian students don’t seem to know the difference between noun and adjective. They said ‘wisdom’ and ‘knowledge’ were adjectives without a shade of hesitation. I said these were nouns, but I thought momentarily I was wrong. I shouldn’t be afraid of stating my opinion or making mistakes. (Journal entry, Tutorial Week 1, semester 2, year 1: 21/7/01)

The most rewarding outcome from these two subjects was that for the first time, Akiko achieved excellent results, receiving a high distinction for Drama study and a distinction for Linguistics. ‘Being treated as one of the students rather than as an international student’, she gradually gained confidence to participate in the Australian academic community.

ACADEMIC PARTICIPATION PROCESSES Employing the language management model and the notion of community of practice as frameworks, this chapter has presented some of the facets of academic participation processes (i.e., processes of developing contact competence) of a Japanese international student at AU. The way that the newcomers select subjects in the host academic community is one of the crucial aspects for understanding their study management behaviour. An in-depth analysis of Akiko’s case has demonstrated how a Japanese international student initially planned a study program and why she made significant adjustments to it, and while doing so, how she developed her involvement and competence in the academic contact situations. Akiko joined AU thinking that she was ready to be exposed to Australian academic norms. But she soon realised she was not, and discovered that the Foundation studies (preparation course for university study) were far different to real-world university studies. Akiko’s reflections on her own learning in her early stage study journals illustrated her continuous negative evaluation of her own participation in the university studies. The difficulties she faced predominantly resulted from her inability to comprehend the L2 study content. Her determination to develop her participation in the community was observed in her subsequent adjustment strategies. Her implementation of a number of strategies, however, did not seem to work for her as she expected. Furthermore, Akiko experienced uncomfortable learning situations in the classroom community with a majority of Japanese students where Japanese norms were predominantly in practice. The competitiveness which emerged from such a situation seemed to have had a negative effect on Akiko’s learning, and this eventually persuaded her to move away from this situation and the Japanese community in general at AU. It is interesting to note that during her transitional stage of university

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learning (i.e., during the first semester of her first year), Akiko experienced three types of classroom communities in terms of its members’ backgrounds and its expected norms: a domestic-studentdominant classroom with base norms (Australian norms), an international-student-dominant with contact situation norms (inter-cultural norms), and a Japanese student-dominant classroom community with native norms (Japanese norms). She found the domestic-student-dominant classroom was the most challenging situation, and whereas she found the international-studentdominant classroom comfortable, the Japanese-student-dominant classroom was rather uncomfortable from the perspective of her own participation. Based on her study experience in semester one, Akiko made a major change in her study program for semester two. She decided to replace two main subjects in semester one with two new areas of studies, and consequently she changed her major area of study. This adjustment had a significant impact on her subsequent participation in the academic community. She admitted that the two new subjects gave her a renewed enthusiasm and enjoyment for her studies, allowed her to better express herself in L2, and allowed her to gain and maintain confidence in herself. Akiko’s first high distinction and a distinction obtained from the two new subjects triggered a positive learning experience for the next two years to complete her academic participation at AU. Despite hindrances, Akiko was driven by her clear study goals while monitoring her involvement in the host community and making positive adjustments to unfavourable situations she encountered. Increasing interaction with her peers in the host discourse community clearly contributed to her academic development. Akiko’s case has provided many useful insights into our understanding of how Japanese international students behave in selecting subjects and why they might be unsuccessful in accomplishing their initial study program, and thus, it has indicated that they should plan their study program carefully so as not to waste their time and energy before finding their ultimate direction. The study demonstrated that one vital factor which made Akiko adjust her study program was whether or not she could find the access toward gaining fuller membership to the community (Lave and Wenger 1991), in other words, whether or not she could behave in the learning situation as a confident learner. Akiko’s case makes us wonder whether or not newcomers to an Australian academic community from Japan are capable of selecting appropriate subjects based on their L2 competence. The study suggests that Akiko might have relied on her L1 background knowledge and her familiarity with the L1 community when initially planning her study program. The outcomes, however, seemed to have been contrary to her expectations. Appropriate advice from lecturers regarding the study demands or advising her to change her study program at an early stage may have saved her much time and energy. In this study, I have depicted the academic participation processes of one Japanese international student based on the learner’s own reflections on her study management process, and her own thoughts and feelings toward the inter cultural academic situations which she experienced at AU. Future studies, therefore, could explore the teacher’s experiences of teaching students like Akiko.

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REFERENCES Australian Education International (AEI). 2007. ‘2006 Annual International Student Statistics’. AEI’s E-Newsletter Edition: 014/2007, April 2007. AEI. 2005. AEI’s E-Newsletter November 2005 edition. Allen, S. 2004. ‘Task representation of a Japanese L2 writer and its impact on the usage of source text information’. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication 14 (1): 77–89. Bailey, K. 1983. ‘Competitiveness and anxiety in adult second language learning: Looking at and through the diary studies’. In Classroom Oriented Research in Second Language Acquisition, edited by Selinger, H; Long, M. Rowley: Newbury House. Duff, P. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1–1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001. Gilbert, K. 2004. ‘A comparison of argument structures in L1 and L2 student writing’. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication 14 (1): 55–75. Jernudd, B; Neustupný, J. 1987. ‘Language planning: For whom?’ In Proceedings of the International Symposium on Language Planning, edited by Laforge, L. Ottawa: Les Presses de l’Université Laval. pp. 69–84. Lave, J; Wenger, E. 1991. Situated Learning: Legetimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Marriott, H. 2004. ‘A programmatic exploration of issues in the academic interaction of Japanese students overseas’. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication 14 (1): 33–54. Marriott, H. 2003. ‘Peer editing in academic contact situations’. In Nihongo Kyooiku to Sesshoku Bamen (Japanese Language Education and Contact Situations), edited by Miyazaki, S; Marriott, H. Tokyo: Meiji Shoin. pp. 113–141. Marriott, H. 2000. ‘Japanese students’ management processes and their acquisition of English academic competence during study abroad’. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication 10 (2): 270–296. Marriott, H. 1999. ‘Ryuugakusei no makuro gakushuu sutorateji (Macro-study strategies of university students overseas)’. In Nihongo Kyooiku to Nihongo Gakushuu (Japanese Language Education and Learning Japanese), edited by Miyazaki, S; Neustupný, J. Tokyo: Kurosio Shuppan. pp. 197–208. Marriott, H; Miyazaki, S. 2000. ‘Japanese students and their cultures of learning’. In Language and Learning, edited by Crosling, G; Moore, T; Vance, S. Melbourne: Monash University. pp. 87–96. Marriott, H; Tse, H. 2001. ‘Asian students’ writing and their modification of text quality’. ASAA E-Journal of Asian Linguistics and Language Teaching 1: 1–13. Morita, N. 2004. ‘Negotiating participation and identity in second language academic communities’. TESOL Quarterly 38 (4): 537–603. Nemoto, H. 2007. ‘Incomplete participation in academic contact situations: Japanese exchange students at an Australian university’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 9.1–9.16. DOI: 10.2104/ld070009. Nemoto, H. 2005. ‘The management of intercultural academic interaction in student exchange between an Australian and its Japanese partner universities’. Ph.D. thesis, Melbourne: Monash University. Neustupný, J. 2004. ‘A theory of contact situations and the study of academic interaction’. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication 14 (1): 3–31. Neustupný, J. 1985. ‘Problems in Australia-Japan contact situations’. In Cross-cultural Encounters: Communication and Mis-communication edited by Pride, J. Melbourne: River Seine. pp. 44–64. Spack, R. 1997. ‘The acquisition of academic literacy in a second language: A longitudinal case study’. Written Communication 14 (1): 3–62. Wenger, E. 1998. Communities of Practice: Learning, Meaning, and Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Yasuda, S. 2004. ‘Japanese ESL students’ revising processes in academic writing’. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication 14 (1): 91–112. Yoshimitsu, K. 2004. ‘Japanese home-background students at Monash University’. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication 14 (1): 137–151.

Cite this chapter as: Yoshimitsu, K. 2007. ‘Intercultural academic participation processes: The case of a Japanese international student at an Australian university’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 8.1 to 8.15. DOI: 10.2104/ld070008.

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PART TWO

INCOMPLETE PARTICIPATION IN ACADEMIC CONTACT SITUATIONS JAPANESE EXCHANGE STUDENTS AT AN AUSTRALIAN UNIVERSITY Hiroyuki Nemoto, Kanazawa University Hiroyuki Nemoto is Associate Professor in ESL at Kanazawa University. His research interests include intercultural interaction, second language acquisition, English for academic purposes, and language management. Correspondence to Hiroyuki Nemoto: [email protected]

Students’ participation in a new academic discourse community does not necessarily lead them to progressively integrate with the community. Thus, it is crucial to pay close attention to the obstacles to students’ increasing their participation, focusing on unsuccessful cases. From this perspective, this chapter deals with how two Japanese exchange students discontinued their one-academic-year studies at an Australian host university. On the basis of the concept of legitimate peripheral participation, an investigation was made about the discursive processes in which they managed their academic tasks in conjunction with their participation in class and their social participation in the wider host community. The data collection procedures, including a diary study, interviews with students, and a collection of written documents, allowed me to triangulate the data and to present a thick ethnographic description. The findings illustrate that the students’ participation in the Australian academic context can frequently change as a result of their development of goals, motivational investments, social networks, and academic management. The multifaceted analyses of these interplaying components of participation further lead me to identify various cognitive and sociocultural factors affecting the developmental processes of participation. This chapter reveals that the two incomplete cases occurred in relation to the students’ unsuccessful transfer of their previous knowledge and skills, failure to evaluate their management strategies, insufficient negotiation of identities, and limited establishment of situations where they could position themselves favourably.

INTRODUCTION As a result of globalisation of tertiary education, university academic contexts have increasingly involved contact situations where multiple academic cultures are found. Thus, there has been a growing need to view intercultural academic participation in terms of students’ development of contact competence which allows them to manage these situations. Such competence is to be developed in relation to students’ growing acquisition of discourse and increasing involvement in a host discourse community. However, belonging to a certain community does not necessarily guarantee progressive participation and the development of contact competence, in that various obstacles to becoming fuller participants exist in academic contact situations (cf. Duff, this volume; Kanno 1999; Toohey 1998, 1999). Investigation thus needs to be made about how the obstacles prevent students from increasing their participation and at times result in them discontinuing their studies. Despite a number of empirical studies of students’ cross-cultural academic adjustment, few research studies have analysed the processes of students’ incomplete participation, mainly because students who discontinue their participation become unavailable to take part in research. The in-depth ethnographic approach, which my study utilises, covers such a shortcoming.

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It enables an exploration of two incomplete cases out of six Japanese exchange students’ participation in academic contact situations at their Australian host university. In particular, this chapter reports on the processes in which the two participants failed to develop their participation and the socio-cognitive factors, which affected their developmental processes of participation.1

SITUATED LEARNING Studies of academic discourse have increasingly considered academic texts as socially constructed by individuals, by their learning communities, their power relations with others, and their audience and goals (Duff, this volume). Thus, it seems that students’ developmental processes of academic participation should be examined in relation to the situated nature of learning. On the basis of Vygotskian notions of the sociality of learning (Vygotsky 1978), recent work has attempted to investigate language learning as a socioculturally situated social practice (Norton and Toohey 2002). Norton and Toohey explain that this approach originates in ‘a shift from seeing learners as individual language producers to seeing them as members of social and historical collectives’ (Norton and Toohey 2002: 119). This perspective of the situated nature of learning leads to the concept of situated learning or cognition, which emphasises learning through activities in the situations embedded in a certain community (cf. Berkenkotter 1991; Brown et al. 1989; Flower 1989; Flower et al. 1990; Lave and Wenger 1991; Rogoff 1991; Wenger 1998). The concept stresses that to understand what is learned is to see how it is learned within the activity context (Wilson and Myers 2000: 71). Hence, knowledge is not absolute but can only be defined in relation to a specific situation or context (Tyre and Von Hippel 1997). Brown et al. (1989) explicated how to learn knowledge in a certain community, referring to conceptual knowledge as similar to a set of tools, in that both knowledge and tools can only be fully understood through use. Knowledge is thus regarded as reciprocally constructed within the individual-environmental interaction rather than objectively defined or subjectively created (Barab and Duffy 2000). The theory of situated learning thus allows us to examine learning through the processes of individuals acquiring and using knowledge in socially situated activities. Situated learning or cognition has been further elaborated through Lave and Wenger’s (1991) concept of legitimate peripheral participation (LPP), which represents the multiple ways in which apprentices participate in a variety of social situations that are embedded in a certain community. Legitimacy of participation constitutes a defining characteristic of ways of belonging that is not only a crucial condition for learning, but also a constitutive element of its content. Only with legitimacy can newcomers’ inevitable stumblings and violations become opportunities for learning rather than cause for dismissal, neglect, or exclusion (Lave and Wenger 1991: 101). Peripherality suggests that there are multiple or varied ways in which a learner or an apprentice is located in the fields of participation, as defined by a community. The term peripherality is positively used since it suggests, ‘an opening, a way of gaining access to sources for understanding through growing involvement’ (Lave and Wenger 1991: 37). Flowerdew (2000) further elucidates the concept of peripherality, noting that peripheral participation means that participants, who are not central but are on the margins of the activity in question, acquire knowledge through their involvement with it. Lave and Wenger stress that given the complex, differentiated nature of communities, the end point of centripetal participation in a community of practice should not be limited to a uniform or univocal ‘centre’, or a linear notion of skill acquisition.

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The concept of LPP thus encourages the view that communities are composed of participants who differentially engage with the practices of their communities, and that this engagement or participation in practice constitutes learning (Norton and Toohey 2002). Instead of focusing on the mind of the learner, involving the production of knowledge and acquisition of linguistic or rhetorical structures, the concept looks at the learner’s interaction with the lived-in world, the community in which the learner seeks membership, and how active the learner’s participation is, rather than regarding the learner as a passive recipient (Belcher 1994). From this perspective, Norton and Toohey (2002) suggest that educational research focus not so much on assessing individual uptake of particular knowledge or skills as on the social structures in particular communities and on the variety of positionings available for learners to occupy in those communities.

CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK This study employs Lave and Wenger’s (1991) concept of LPP as a conceptual framework, while allowing for criticisms of LPP, which indicate that the concept is an ambitious and still-evolving approach to understanding learning in both its individual and social aspects (cf. Kirshner and Whitson 1998). The concept of LPP downplays the fact that all novice members cannot be regarded as equal, in that some non-native-background students may be full participants of the community while many others might remain at the margins (cf. Kanno 1999; Toohey 1998, 1999). Toohey (1998) stresses that conceptualising L2 learning as a process of moving from being an outsider to being an insider is much too simplistic. In her study of children in a kindergarten community in 1996, the participants were inside by virtue of their presence in the classroom as legitimate peripheral participants, but inside was not a place wherein participants moved inexorably toward fuller and more powerful participation (Toohey 1998). Kanno (1999) has also indicated that, except for the relationship between graduate scholars and their supervisors, students’ participation in intercultural academic settings does not involve a kind of apprenticeship as the standard mode of learning. In fact, her study showed that learners were often blocked physically and mentally from opportunities to interact with native speakers, which was vital to their acquisition of the L2 (Kanno 1999). Furthermore, from a broader perspective, some researchers have pointed out obstacles to understanding cognition as situated, claiming that the concept of situated cognition little discusses internal representations and needs more development of the cognitive aspects to describe subjectivity in addition to its social dimension (cf. Anderson et al. 1996; Kirshner and Whitson 1998; St. Julien 1997; Wilson and Myers 2000). Given the above limitations of the concept of LPP, my investigation of students’ intercultural academic participation needs to carefully allow for the students’ positionings in social contexts and the cognitive aspects of the process of students’ adjustments to a new discourse community. In particular, as in Kanno’s (1999) and Toohey’s (1998) studies, apprenticeship is not normally provided in most of the courses in which Japanese exchange students enrol, and we can assume that becoming a fuller participant in the host academic community is difficult for them. Despite such limitations, the concept of LPP is still useful in that it enables this study to direct attention to students’ management of participation in relation not only to frequently changing social positionings but also to the variety of social situations in which they participate. Consideration of the limitations of LPP allows this study to incorporate the role of context in learning into the

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individual cognitive processes of intercultural academic participation and to identify obstacles to students’ increasing participation.

METHODOLOGY BACKGROUNDS OF PARTICIPANTS From a case study of six Japanese exchange students, this chapter focuses on two Japanese exchange students, one male and one female (with the pseudonyms of Shingo and Chie) who were enrolled at an Australian university (AU) between March and July, 2002. As shown in Table 1 below, Shingo was a fourth-year student at his home university and majored in Economics. Chie was in her third year of an undergraduate course in the Department of International Studies. The official minimum scores required for exchange students’ enrolment at AU were TOEFL 550 with a TWE (Test of Written English) score of 5.0, TOEFL-CBT (Computer Based Testing) 213 with an ER (Essay Rating) score of 5.0, or the IELTS 6.0 with Writing 6.0. Shingo was accepted with his TOEFL score of 550 with TWE 4.0, whereas Chie’s score was TOEFL 560 with TWE 4.0. It seems that the university flexibly assessed the scores for the writing tests, because the scores that these participants obtained in these tests were below the minimum requirements.

Table 1 Profiles of the two Japanese exchange students

The number of credit points they needed to graduate from their home universities is shown in Table 1: 10 in the case of Shingo (necessitating him to enrol in three more subjects) and 15 for Chie (equalling eight subjects). Based on the exchange agreement between AU and its overseas partner universities, the credits, which the students obtained at AU, are basically transferable to their home institutions. Shingo planned to graduate in Japan within the four-year regular term of study since he aimed to advance to the Masters course the following year. Thus, he needed to complete three subjects at AU at least to cover the points equivalent to 10 credit points at his home university. Although Chie needed to enrol in eight subjects and obtain another 15 points for graduation, she planned to take five years to graduate and thus was not motivated to transfer all the credits she obtained at the host university back to her home institution. The participants’ study abroad experiences stand in contrast to each other. Although Shingo had never experienced study abroad, Chie had previously studied at overseas primary and secondary schools. She had lived in the U.S.A and England, each for about three years. In England, she was educated at a Japanese school for the duration of her sojourn. The school also allowed Chie to improve her English skills in ESL and in some immersion classes, although the main goal of the school was to enable the Japanese students to keep up with secondary education in Japan. As shown in Table 2, the two participants enrolled in various subjects at the Australian host university. As full-time students, exchange students were basically required to enrol in a minimum

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of seven subjects – four in the first semester and three in the second semester – during their oneacademic-year study at AU. Chie enrolled in the Faculty of Arts, whereas Shingo participated in the Faculty of Economics at AU. Each participant mainly selected subjects from among those offered in their faculties. Shingo’s subject selection involved two third-year and two first-year subjects, which included one of the subjects recommended by exchange program staff at AU (English in Use). Chie selected four first-year subjects including the recommended subjects – English in Use and Contemporary Australia.

Table 2 Subjects undertaken by the participants

DATA COLLECTION PROCEDURES Four types of data collection procedures were principally employed in this ethnographic examination of Japanese exchange students: a diary study, follow-up interviews, semi-structured interviews, and collection of written documents. In this study, a diary study was employed to monitor the activities that the Japanese exchange students undertook, the problems they encountered, and the strategies they implemented as well as to identify the students’ various internal representations in the processes of engaging in tasks as well as in their everyday participation in classes. The diary entries, which are documented through regular entries, enabled the researcher to analyse recurring patterns or salient events (cf. Bailey 1990; Nunan 1989). Diary entries were kept from the day the exchange students started working on set tasks until the last day they completed these tasks, recording the kinds of in-class and out-of-class activities they undertook, their evaluations of the activities, and the time required for undertaking them. Prior to their commencement of a diary, the format was provided to the students to avoid the inclusion of data that was irrelevant to the research (cf. Miyazaki 1999). A sample of diary entries was also shown to them and the researcher explained how to fill in the diary format. This study took into consideration the students’ preference to practise writing in English as often as possible. Thus, the written scripts on the entries were not limited to Japanese and the participants were allowed to write either in English or Japanese. The self-reporting nature of diary studies was supplemented by questioning in subsequent follow-up interviews. Japanese was used as the medium of communication in these interviews in order to make the process of investigation meaningful and make the interviews comfortable to the participants (cf. Riazi 1997). The homogeneity of the nationality and similarity of experiences between the researcher and participants also provided the researcher with insider awareness of participants’ academic adjustment to the host university context in Australia (cf. Hornberger 1994; Riazi 1997). This resulted in the researcher and participants developing rapport, and allowed them to have a highly interactive research atmosphere.

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Throughout their study at AU, all of the interviews were conducted on the day the students completed specific tasks or at least within a few days after their completion of the tasks. Students were interviewed in order to explore the activities and management strategies mentioned in their diary entries, and they were encouraged to elaborate on their behaviour in the process of their undertaking the assigned tasks, while following the events and happenings in sequence. Moreover, this study sometimes used participant verification by requiring the participants to confirm the researchers’ interpretations of findings (cf. Ball 1998; Flowerdew 2002). In the interview sessions that followed, I also requested the participants to elaborate upon crucial or ambiguous findings, which I sometimes found in the transcripts. During the periods when the students did not engage in any tasks, the researcher requested the students to keep diary entries on their everyday participation in classes for a week, and subsequently administered follow-up interviews. The interviews were thus conducted almost once a week during the semester. After the participants were back in Japan, several further email interviews were administered to consolidate the data about their participation in AU and credit transfers. I also administered semi-structured interviews with them at their home universities several months after their return to Japan. In these ways, the combination of diary entries and interviews enabled the researcher to elicit details of their participation in academic situations and their accompanying academic management. A variety of written documents were also collected to consolidate the data about Japanese exchange students’ participation in the host institution. These documents included students’ written drafts, returned assignments, overall academic records, subject outlines, lecture notes, handouts, and assignment guidelines.

FINDINGS OVERVIEW OF SHINGO’S AND CHIE’S PARTICIPATION Although the notion of LPP assumes that newcomers aim to gain fuller participation, the cases of Shingo and Chie indicated that they could not, or did not necessarily seek fuller participation. These students’ participation was not completed since both of them discontinued their studies at AU after finishing their first semester. Shingo’s case showed that the inside of the host community was not a place that guaranteed fuller participation to him (cf. Kanno 1999; Toohey 1998). Shingo vaguely envisaged that he would gradually improve his learning and socialisation with host community members by merely belonging to the host community. However, Shingo was not able to become a fuller participant, since various socio-cognitive factors hindered him from increasing his participation and contributed to his remaining at the margin. Shingo’s marginal positioning in the host community increased his stresses and strains which, in turn, affected his health and resulted in the occurrence of swollen lymph glands on his neck. This illness led him to withdraw from two of the four subjects after the fourth week of the first semester and to abandon continuing his studies in the second semester (cf. Table 3). While he was participating at AU, he denied the suggestion that the illness resulted from these stresses and strains because he was reluctant to accept the fact that he was worried about adjustment problems and that he was homesick. However, in the follow-up interview in Japan, he admitted it, noting, ‘It’s embarrassing for me to say, but I didn’t know how to be myself in AU. So I was very stressed and I missed Japan so much’.

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On the other hand, the more Chie was involved in the host community, the fuller a participant she became. However, she gradually came to regard the host community as not the place where she should stay long for a number of reasons. After a temporary return to Japan in the midsemester break, she decided not to continue her studies in her second semester. As shown in Table 3, these two students’ incomplete participation was accompanied by contrasting academic results. Shingo obtained a pass grade for one of the two subjects he studied and failed the other one, whereas Chie’s decreased participation still allowed her to obtain reasonable results – three credit grades and a pass grade. These two participants’ incomplete cases did not simply result from their insufficient English academic competence but from multiple factors in relation to their goals, motivational investment, social networks, and academic management.

Table 3 Overall results of Shingo and Chie High Distinction: 80–100%, Distinction: 70%–79%, Credit: 60%–69%, Pass: 50%–59%, Fail: 0–49%

GOALS OF PARTICIPATION Students own arrangements of goals of participation were one of the factors that facilitated or constrained their studies. The Japanese exchange students tended to have different goals for participating in student exchanges. Shingo’s academic goals involved completing at least three subjects out of seven, which he was supposed to enrol in during his one-academic-year course, and gaining academic English skills, which would be advantageous for him to study the Masters course back in Japan. Contrary to his intention to develop such skills, he did not mind failing or withdrawing from some subjects if he found that they were too demanding for him. This attitude was significantly influenced by his native norms of enrolment in subjects in Japan, whereby he emphasised how economically he could obtain credit points. Shingo noted, ‘In my Japanese home university, I usually enrol in more subjects than I need. Then, I drop the hard subjects among them and I keep the ones which I would be able to pass’. This approach thus did not require Shingo to fully participate in all of the subjects which he enrolled in, and allowed him to withdraw from International Economy and English in Use in the Australian situation. Chie participated in the student exchange program because she wanted to overcome her inferiority complex about her limited English communication skills, which she came to perceive as a returnee student in Japan. At AU, Chie thus set her primary goal as improving her English interaction competence. She also aimed to fulfill the academic requirements to achieve a pass. Chie commented in the interview: In my course at my home university, there are lots of returnee students who have much better English skills than me. One-third of the subjects were delivered in English, but I avoided English classes and the opportunities to use English

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as much as I could, because as a returnee student I’m not good at English. My listening and pronunciation are OK, but I cannot speak English properly.

Although the above-mentioned goals enhanced Chie’s participation in the first half of the semester at AU, the attention she paid to developing English competence mainly for communicative purposes rather than for academic achievements did not enable her to maintain her concentration on managing her academic participation. After the mid-semester break, she perceived herself as having sufficiently increased her English interaction competence because she found herself not having difficulties in social participation at AU. Chie noted: I’m happy with my improvement of English communication skills. I want to pass but my academic results were not so important to me, because I won’t transfer the credits. So, once I realised that I can somehow manage the requirements and I can pass the subjects, I don’t feel like studying hard.

Her satisfaction with such developments contributed to her decreasing her participation in the host academic context. In these two participants’ cases, their arrangements of goals did not contribute to an increase in their academic participation. The participants did not show dynamism in their goal arrangements, whereby a new goal is designed after a certain goal is achieved. Lack of changing or expanding goals seems to have thus led the students to insufficiently allocate effort in relation to their academic management. MOTIVATIONAL INVESTMENT The participants’ insufficient goal arrangements pertained to their inconsistent study behaviour. Even though they intended to achieve certain goals, sociocultural constraints (such as pressure from host community members, especially peers or teachers, or from peers at their home universities, and self-perceptions of these pressures) sometimes hindered them from acting based on such intentions. In this regard, their motivations to learn were not a static stimulus of learning but changed according to various factors (cf. Norton Peirce 1995). In relation to the dynamic nature of motivation, this study utilises the term ‘motivational investment’ based on the notion of investment, which sheds light upon the relationship between learners’ desires to learn the target language and sociocultural constraints on learning and practising the language (AngelilCarter 1997; Mckay and Wong 1996; Norton Peirce 1995). Shingo insufficiently developed his motivational investment in increasing his own participation during his studies at AU. Such insufficiency was significantly related to his own sense of self and his reluctance to accept his peripheral position in the host community. As Pavlenko and Lantolf (2000) claim, linguistic transition itself involves an intentional re-negotiation of one’s multiple identities, which are reconstructed in communication with members of another discourse community. However, while he was participating at AU, Shingo’s limited contact with Englishspeaking community members interfered with his developing a ‘situated identity’ as a student at AU (cf. Norton 2001). Thus, Shingo more frequently perceived himself as a visiting student from his Japanese home university rather than as a novice student, who needed to adjust to the new academic genres at AU. In fact, Shingo often conducted email and telephone interactions with his peers in Japan to relax himself, rather than interacting with host community members. Shingo commented in the interview, ‘Every day, I have too much English in classes, and so I want to

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speak Japanese when I’m free’. His reluctance to accept himself as a peripheral participant also interfered with his investment to move from peripheral to fuller participation in AU. He did not allow himself to show his academic struggles to others, and tended to be reticent in the presence of English-speaking host community members. Shingo noted, ‘I don’t feel like communicating with my English-speaking friends often because my English isn’t good enough’. Such insufficient motivational investment prevented him from identifying how to behave as a legitimate peripheral participant. Consequently, this resulted in him utilising ‘avoidance of communication’ as a strategy of keeping away from potential deviations that could occur in his interactions with peers (cf. Neustupný 1985). The exclusive atmosphere in some classroom communities, furthermore, influenced Shingo’s motivational investment in participating in class. Teachers’ attitudes towards non-Englishspeaking background students and the distance between Shingo and his classmates occasionally resulted in his feeling that he was excluded. Shingo noted: One of my teachers is too authoritative, not approachable, and doesn’t understand my academic struggles, and so I cannot ask questions of him. I’m afraid that my teacher says to me ‘It’s wrong’.

Shingo also claimed that his classmates sometimes excluded his right to participate in class interactions, because they were not patient enough to listen to his utterances. Such an atmosphere led Shingo to lack the confidence to participate in class and, in turn, resulted in his being reticent in class. In contrast to Shingo, Chie effectively invested herself in managing her participation to fulfil her goals. Her motivational investment was principally triggered by her anxiety about, and excitement in, participation. She was afraid she could not achieve the goal of passing the subjects in which she was enrolled but at the same time she regarded the academic tasks as worthwhile. Chie commented in the interview: I’m worried about my study. I believe that the teachers at AU are stricter with marking than those at my home university, so I need to study much harder. Otherwise, I might fail. The tasks are challenging but I’m excited to tackle them. Actually, I’ve never studied hard like this in Japan.

Such motivational investment allowed Chie to be very active in overcoming her adjustment problems until the mid-semester break. However, her investment seemed to decrease after the break as a result of not only self-perception of achieving her goals, which was discussed above, but also due to influence from other Asian exchange students. The fact that most of the exchange students from other Asian countries studied for only one semester resulted in Chie reconsidering the length of her study at AU. She commented, ‘My exchange friends from other Asian countries told me that they studied here for only one semester because they didn’t want to delay their regular study cycles at their home universities. So, I thought that study for one semester would be better for me, too’. A shift of perceptions of herself also led Chie to decrease her motivational investment. Chie’s temporary return to Japan during the mid-semester break led her to change her interpretation of who she was. In particular, peer pressure in Japan contributed to her placing emphasis not

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on her social identity as an exchange student but as a third-year student at her home university, who needed to start searching for employment. Chie found that her peers at her home university had already started submitting job applications, so she felt as if she was being left behind. Although she previously planned to search for employment in her fourth and fifth years at her home university, she reported that she gradually came to believe it would be better to graduate within four years rather than to continue studying. Similarly, the presence of her boyfriend at her home university contributed to her change of attitudes towards participation in AU. Since she regarded her boyfriend as the one who understood her most, her participation at AU without his support increased her stress in managing her academic life and also enhanced her interest in returning to her home university sooner rather than later. Chie’s sensitivity to how people in Japan might perceive her status as a former returnee student from the U.S.A and England also contributed to distracting her attention from her participation at AU. When she consulted senior students in Japan about her future employment, Chie found that long-term study abroad experiences were not necessarily highly valued in job applications, on the grounds that returnee students from overseas were sometimes considered as selfish, argumentative and less cooperative in the workplace. Since she had already had six years of overseas experience prior to participating in the student exchange program, she was afraid that one more year of study abroad might worsen the impression of her. Chie’s decreased motivational investment, furthermore, partly resulted from her decreased excitement in participating at AU. Towards the end of her first semester, Chie confided to other Japanese exchange students that her academic life at AU did not excite her much since she had previously had similar overseas experiences in the U.S.A and England. The findings here suggest that the complexity of multiple community memberships negatively affected Shingo and Chie’s participation at AU. They physically belonged to the host community but mentally moved back and forth from their home to the host community. Consequently, they ended up perceiving their temporary memberships of the host community negatively and their belonging to their home communities positively. This perception seemed to interfere with their social formation of self at AU. SOCIAL NETWORKS Shingo and Chie revealed contrasting results with regard to their development of social networks at AU. Shingo’s limitations in developing academic networks had the effect of decreasing the development of his academic participation. As mentioned earlier, Shingo failed to develop networks in the situations where others defined him as a linguistic minority participant. Therefore, although Shingo was participating in some study networks with some Australian or international classmates through group work towards the end of the semester, the networks remained temporary because of his inactive involvement in them. He was not even able to maintain access to the group member who was of Japanese origin and with whom Shingo interacted in Japanese. Shingo commented: He (the group member of Japanese origin) was approachable, but it was a bit embarrassing for me to speak to him in Japanese and rely on him too often. So, I tried to communicate with him in English. But once I started communicating with him in English, I became unable to speak to him as often as before.

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In addition to academic networks, Shingo was not able to develop his private peer networks. His private networks were basically limited to an international undergraduate student from Hong Kong and Japanese students who were studying English at the English language school affiliated with AU. Membership in these networks frequently provided Shingo with situations where he communicated in Japanese and positioned himself favourably, since his Hong Kong friend looked up to him for his knowledge of Japanese popular culture, and his Japanese friends respected him as a university student. However, his belonging to the group tended to place Shingo outside of the host academic discourse community and to block access to certain resources useful for academic management. Shingo’s lack of ‘social affiliation’ in the host community also partly resulted in his unsuccessful development of social networks there (cf. Norton and Toohey 2002). In his Japanese university, he had strong social networks in a rowing club. Belonging to the club automatically provided Shingo with the situations where he could socialise with peers while exploring his personal interest. The networks were also academically useful because senior or other members in the club were very willing to share relevant information, lecture notes, and past examination papers. Therefore, his successful academic achievements at his home university were at least partly a result of his utilisation of such networks. On the other hand, he was not able to obtain membership in a social group within the Australian university. Although he participated in the Kendo club once, the large amount of weekly assigned readings for his subjects prevented him from continuing to attend the practice sessions. This lack of social affiliation promoted his sense of isolation in the host community and hindered him from using his native strategy of relying upon peers to manage participation. These findings indicate that in the host disciplinary community, Shingo was not able to set up situations where his status as a Japanese exchange student could be respected and his personal resources could be valued (cf. Norton and Toohey 2002). His limited peer networks thus hindered him from moving out of his peripheral position in the host academic context and interfered with the development of his participation. In contrast, Chie’s decreased participation did not directly result from her social networks. In fact, Chie extensively developed her social networks as she established many situations where she positioned herself favourably. She effectively took advantage of her peripheral positionings to ask others to accommodate her needs of assistance with task management. In this regard, she had various L1 and English-speaking peer networks to draw upon for academic management and to share information relevant to the tasks. Chie noted: It’s easy to ask for help to teachers and Australian or international students in English, because I don’t have to use honorifics to them and don’t have to be very polite like in Japanese. All I have to do is to be friendly to them.

Placing themselves in a lower position than the linguistic majority has been considered as hindering students from learning the target language (cf. Norton and Toohey 2002). However, Chie’s case revealed that her access to academic networks was enhanced by her acceptance of some degree of inferiority to host community members and her deliberate placement of herself in a lower position to them. It seems that Chie’s previous intercultural experiences in the U.S.A and England enabled her to regard such inferior positions to host community members as a

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natural phenomenon for newcomers. These findings revealed that Shingo and Chie perceived their inferior positions to others differently and this difference significantly influenced their formation of academic networks. ACADEMIC MANAGEMENT In Shingo’s case, his inappropriate selection of subjects and insufficient evaluation of management strategies negatively affected his development of academic competence. Because the policy of the credit transfer system at Japanese universities required exchange students to select subjects which were similar to those offered at home universities but not equivalent to the ones they had previously studied, Shingo failed to select the subjects at AU which involved appropriate academic content at suitable academic levels for himself. In fact, the two subjects (International Economy and English in Use), which he discontinued, were too challenging for him. The academic level of International Economy was too high. Similarly, English in Use did not allow him to maintain his concentration because it dealt with unfamiliar disciplinary content and the credit points were not transferable to his home university. His unsuccessful completion of Principles of Macroeconomics was also related to the fact that the subject content was equivalent to the one that he had previously failed at his home university. Shingo noted, ‘I thought I would be able to pass this subject (Principles of Macroeconomics) when I selected it. But, once I started studying it, I remembered that this was the area which I wasn’t good at’. These findings revealed that Shingo’s inappropriate subject selection complicated his academic management. Shingo was also not able to identify effective academic management approaches since his evaluation of his passive participation at AU was insufficient. Until he obtained unsatisfactory results for unit tests towards the end of the semester, Shingo perceived his passive participation as adequate. This evaluation hindered him from attempting to be more active in his academic management but he thought it was sufficient to study hard just before examinations. Even though Shingo evaluated his ineffective academic management, such an evaluation did not lead to the adjustment of his management strategies. For example, he noted and negatively evaluated his passive study behaviour and rote memorisation of terminology after an unsatisfactory performance in one of the unit tests. However, Shingo was not able to put his negative evaluation into action, because a time lapse between the unit test and other forthcoming tasks had the effect of decreasing the seriousness of the difficulties. Shingo stated, ‘Whenever I have a bad result, I think I need to work more efficiently. But I always forget the feeling soon’. Shingo’s lack of such adjustment hindered his active participation at AU. Shingo’s case, furthermore, showed how difficult it is for students to cross-culturally transfer knowledge and skills learned in one context to a different one (cf. Flower et al. 1990). His failure in transfer was partly attributable to his unsuccessful subject selection but mostly because he was overwhelmed by linguistic difficulties, which he encountered at AU. In a latter interview in Japan, Shingo commented: When I came back and started studying here (at my home university) again, I realised we shared lots of common knowledge of economics both here and in AU. If I had used my previous knowledge of economics, I could have coped with my academic life at AU better. But, maybe, I was too nervous to notice the similarities. The same things looked like different to me in English.

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Shingo’s case suggests that his insufficient English competence resulted in his perception of common features between home and host academic genres as different. His lack of noting of commonalities in disciplinary knowledge and situational similarities prevented him from utilising his previously developed academic skills. Chie noted her limited academic writing skills in English and the noting was followed by a negative evaluation of her limitations. To compensate for these, Chie utilised a management strategy of co-engagement in tasks with academic personnel. However, her inconsistency in using this management approach decreased her development of academic management. As soon as the semester started, Chie established effective management approaches by drawing upon teachers and the instructor at the language and study support centre. These strategies enabled her to obtain a high distinction (the top mark) in her first written assignment – a 500-word exercise for the subject English in Use. In subsequent larger written assignments (a 1000-word critical paper and two 2500-word essays), she allocated much more effort in seeking assistance from academic personnel. However, because of the complexity of completing larger assignments, she could not obtain the high results she expected. When she was given a Pass grade for the critical paper for Australian Indigenous Studies, Chie commented, ‘My effort didn’t pay off. I was disappointed at the result, because I really studied hard for it. I shouldn’t have studied that hard if I had known I couldn’t get a high result’. Chie, therefore, gradually assessed the strenuous procedures necessary for the completion of assignments as unreasonable. Accordingly, she became unable to maintain her incentives to undertake this type of management approach. She noted, ‘I’m tired of coming and seeing teachers or the instructor at the centre, because I usually have three or four consultations to complete one written assignment. It’s getting too much for me’. After finishing most of the written assignments, Chie simplified her management approach and began to rely upon peers rather than academic personnel. However, this simplified approach did not assist her in performing well in the written tasks and the examinations that followed. Throughout her study at AU, Chie relied upon others’ academic assistance and emphasised seeking temporary assistance from others in each assignment rather than developing autonomous management skills.

CONCLUSION The ways that the two Japanese exchange students participated in AU were dynamic processes and could frequently change as a result of their development of goals, motivational investments, social networks, and academic management. The students’ incomplete academic participation occurred because their participation was not driven by appropriate goals, because they could not sufficiently negotiate their identities, and because they failed to evaluate the effectiveness of their academic management strategies. Furthermore, Shingo’s case revealed that the developmental process of participation was hindered by his unsuccessful transfer of previous knowledge, negative perception of peripheral positionings, and limited establishment of situations where he could position himself favourably. This study exemplified the concept of LPP by illustrating the multiple ways in which newcomers participate in a community while actually undertaking activities embedded in social situations. The findings concurred with the concept in that Japanese exchange students’ participation at AU was not ‘a linear notion of skill acquisition’ (Lave and Wenger 1991: 36). However,

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at the same time, my study confirmed the limitations of LPP, which several researchers have already indicated in relation to this context. First of all, limitations of community belongingness were reinforced in this study. The findings illustrated that the students could not necessarily gain access to desirable resources and increase their involvement in the host academic settings simply because they physically belonged to the host community. Second, the study identified limitations of learning from other host community members. Although Lave and Wenger (1991) stress newcomers’ increasing movement towards fuller participation while interacting with more experienced members, Shingo’s case demonstrated that the behaviour of other host community members themselves can result in hindering novice students’ participation, and also that host members’ assistance was unavailable and inaccessible to novice students on occasions. Furthermore, we need to take it into account that working with others can be an unsuitable participation style for some students (cf. Nemoto 2005). Thus, the findings suggest that the concept of LPP needs to allow for the negative – as well as positive – impacts of other community members on newcomers’ negotiation of participation in a discourse community. To conclude, the development of contact competence in academic contexts involves participants’ negotiation of academic participation with others in conjunction with management of cultural contact, goals of participation, and identities. Hence, it is suggested that future research on intercultural academic participation more comprehensively examine students’ social positionings in relation to other community members, their perceptions of these positionings, and the role of structural arrangements played in facilitating their positionings. Such research can then be applied in institutional settings to provide linguistic minority students with organisational support for their management of intercultural academic participation and also help them to develop skills to increase their participation.

ENDNOTES 1

Hiroyuki Nemoto undertook the study on which this chapter is based for his PhD in the Japanese Studies program at Monash University. He wrote this chapter upon the completion of his degree during his appointment as an honorary research associate in the same program.

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Cite this chapter as: Nemoto, H. 2007. ‘Incomplete participation in academic contact situations: Japanese exchange students at an Australian university’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 9.1 to 9.16. DOI: 10.2104/ld070009.

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PART TWO

PEER NETWORKS OF INTERNATIONAL MEDICAL STUDENTS IN AN AUSTRALIAN ACADEMIC COMMUNITY Ayako Wakimoto, The Nara International Foundation Ayako Wakimoto is Coordinator for International Relations at the Nara International Foundation in Japan. Her research focuses on networks of international students and their participation in new academic discourse communities. Correspondence to Ayako Wakimoto: [email protected]

This study explores the peer networks of four first-year international students enrolled in a faculty of medicine at an Australian university. The number of international students enrolling in medical faculties of Australian universities has been increasing significantly in recent years, thus resulting in the emergence of a student body that is characterised by diversity in cultural backgrounds and languages spoken. While the formation of social networks seems to be an important factor in international students’ adjustment into new academic communities, one of the most frequently argued points is that they have fewer contacts with host national students because of differences in their cultural and linguistic backgrounds. Given the globalisation of the host country as well as the home country of international students, however, it is necessary to further investigate the complexity of the peer networks of international students and their academic participation in new discourse communities. On the basis of data that focused on students’ activities for a period of one week, this study investigates individual peer networks in conjunction with the kinds of support which the individuals receive through their peer networks. Furthermore, it attempts to examine the way in which such individual peer networks were formed by analysing various factors such as students’ educational history, their place of residence and their future goals. A detailed examination of peer networks reveals considerable multiplicity of social interaction of international students. It is crucial to advance a model which allows us to investigate the complex situation of international as well as host national students, since the backgrounds of students within one country could vary to a great extent these days. This research also shows that, other than linguistic and cultural differences, various factors are interdependent and this affects the separation of international students and host national students.

INTRODUCTION There has been a growing number of international students studying at Australian universities over the past decades, and this has led to a diversification in students’ cultural and linguistic backgrounds. In addition, the number of international students in the medical education at universities has been increasing rapidly in recent years. One of the factors contributing to the increase is that some countries such as Malaysia offer scholarships for their students to undertake undergraduate education outside their home country. In some faculties of medicine, students coming with such scholarships comprise a significant portion of international students.1 Within the cross-cultural educational literature, many studies have been undertaken on the problems faced by Asian international students in English academic communities (Zamel 1995;

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Ballard and Clanchy 1997; Spack 1997). The social networks of international students have also been examined in order to investigate international students’ adjustment difficulties during their transitional period in a new academic community. With respect to social networks, it is argued that individuals create personal communities which provide them with meaningful support for solving the problems which they encounter on an everyday basis (Mitchell 1969), and it is also claimed that international students’ acquisition of academic literacy depend on the relationships with other members of the academic community (Braine 2002). Furthermore, others have argued that international students’ frequent contact with host national students increases their satisfaction with their academic experiences (Klineberg and Hull 1979; Perrucci and Hu 1995). While the formation of social networks seems to be an important factor in international students’ adjustment into a new academic community, it is frequently claimed that such students have fewer contacts with host national students because of differences in their cultural and linguistic backgrounds (Bochner et al. 1977). Such an argument has been supported by various studies investigating the experiences of international students (Furnham and Bochner 1982; Furnham and Alibhai 1985; Ward and Kennedy 1993; Treloar et al. 2000). Focusing on international medical students, Treloar et al. (2000) indicate that most international students experience isolation in the process of group learning as a consequence of differences in their cultural backgrounds. The authors also show that international students feel anxious regarding socialisation with host national peers. It has also been argued that international students have difficulties in accessing host national peer groups, and the result is that they remain outsiders to the new academic community (Deem and Brehony 2000). Although the above-mentioned studies provide a few insights into the problems which transitional students could encounter during the course of their study, there are few empirical studies with in-depth analysis of the complexity of peer networks and how such peer networks might influence students’ actual academic participation. Furthermore, an investigation of the peer networks of international students needs to be examined in conjunction with the situations surrounding them, including their cultural, historical, and socioeconomic contexts (Kudo 2003). Thompson (1996) also suggests that although individual personal networks could be illustrated in detail, they can only be understood when contextualised within a broader social framework. To the present day, although there is a considerable amount of studies on peer networks, these have insufficiently dealt with such factors in association with the peer networks of international students. Accordingly, little research has been conducted which explores the ways in which situational factors influence the peer networks of international students. Furthermore, while the cultural and linguistic diversity of international students are often apparent, the students of the host country are also, in fact, diverse in the Australian context in recent times due to the growing number of overseas-born permanent residents in this country. Previous research on the peer networks of international students has identified a number of features which characterise such students. And yet, it appears that little attention has been paid to the fact that the notion of diversity can apply not only to international students but also to students of the host country. This study therefore deals with the experiences of international students of Asian background at an Australian university, especially focusing on the peer networks of first-year medical students. The aim of this research is to explore the way in which these students interact with others and how they utilise peer networks in the new academic discourse community. Given the internation-

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alisation within the host country as well as the home country of the international students, the dynamics of the peer networks of international students is an important topic for empirical research. This study specifically addresses two principal questions:

1. 2.

What are the characteristics of the social networks of first year international medical students? And, How do the peer networks of international students facilitate their participation in their medical course?

THE FRAMEWORK FOR PEER NETWORK ANALYSIS This study will draw on Bochner et al.’s (1977) functional model of friendship networks. According to Bochner et al., international students primarily belong to the following three different networks:

1. 2. 3.

Monocultural or co-national networks consisting of close friends with other sojourners; Bicultural networks, consisting of host nationals; and, Multicultural networks of friends.

In addition, Bochner et al. propose that the above three networks have distinct functions. Specifically, the main function of the first kind of network, co-national or mono-cultural networks, is to maintain cultural values. The second network, that is, bicultural networks, play a role in helping students solve academic problems. The third kind of network, multicultural networks, provides recreational activities. In their interpretation, recreational activities refer to ‘non-cultural’ and ‘non-task oriented’ activities. Although Bochner et al.’s (1977) functional model is simple, it has been utilised for more than 25 years to examine the peer networks of international students in various countries without modification. However, Kudo’s (2003) recent study investigating Japanese international students at an Australian university points out some problematic features of such a simplified functional model. Kudo’s modified functional model includes four specific functions:

1. 2. 3. 4.

Providing social needs, including shopping and eating; Helping to solve academic and everyday problems, including giving information about the host society; Learning the host culture; and, Adjusting their cultural identity.

Kudo (2003) also found that peer networks actually have multiple functions. He further argues that a difference in the peer networks could exist between students who aim to remain in Australia and those who plan to return to their home country after completing their academic course. I will apply Kudo’s modified model together with Bochner et al.’s original functional model in considering the functions of peer networks. Although Kudo (2003) nominates four functions, due to the limited scope of this study, I will examine the first and second functions listed above, with a specific focus on academic support and activities which occur during the students’ lunchbreak period. This period of time was chosen in order to examine whether the social networks of participants and their study networks overlap or whether they have different networks depending on types of activities. Furthermore, although Bochner et al.’s functional model does not dis-

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tinguish co-national networks from mono-cultural networks and has used these terms interchangeably, this study employs the classification of ‘co-national networks’ rather than ‘mono-cultural networks’. It should be also noted that while Bochner et al. as well as Kudo use the term friendship networks, this study utilises the term peer networks to indicate the social networks of international students with their peers. Social networks are defined by Milroy (1980) as ‘the informal social relationship contracted by an individual’ (p. 174). Peer networks are therefore employed in this study to examine international students’ networks with their peers in the academic community.

THE STUDY PARTICIPANTS This study deals with four first-year international students of Asian background enrolled in the Faculty of Medicine with the pseudonyms of Ling, Kate, Hassan and Kenyong, who were studying at the Australian university in August 2005. Their details are found in Table 1.

Table 1 Profile of participants

All participants have continued on to further education after completing their secondary education. Ling undertook secondary education in Malaysia and then studied at a college for one and a half years. During her college education in Malaysia, she undertook the South Australian matriculation, which means that she studied half of the Year 11 and the entire course of Year 12 provided for Australian domestic students in South Australia. There, English was used as the language of instruction. Kate also graduated from a college in Malaysia to obtain the South Australian Matriculation. The language of instruction used in her college was also English. The reason why Ling and Kate undertook Australian, rather than Malaysian education, is related to the fact that they are sponsored by the Malaysian government. The Public Service Department in Malaysia provides scholarships for students to further their studies overseas.

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Under this program, called JPA (Jabatan Perkhidmatan Awam in Malay language), students will be sponsored for further studies at universities overseas. However, before commencing their study overseas, they are required to undertake preparatory courses conducted at a local college for about one to two years. Moreover, students under this scholarship are required to carry out medical practice for 10 years in Malaysia after obtaining their medical degree, which means that Ling and Kate are required to go back to Malaysia upon completion of their medical course in Australia. In the Australian university in which this study was conducted, there were about 25 first-year medical students coming under this JPA program each year. The third participant, Hassan, also came to this university under a scholarship program. However, his program is distinct from JPA and is referred to as MARA (Majlis Amanah Rakyat in Malay language), which means the Council of Trust for the Indigenous People. The objective of this program is to encourage Bumiputera students, that is, Malay-background students, to further their studies at institutions of higher learning locally or abroad. Upon being selected as a qualified student, Hassan undertook a two-year college course in Malaysia with other Malay background students who are under the MARA program. Furthermore, this program also requires students to carry out medical practice back in Malaysia, although the length of practice is limited to four years. Approximately 40 MARA students were studying first-year medicine at the university in the case study when the data was collected. While the above three participants are from Malaysia, Kenyong is from Singapore. He also undertook college education for two years after completing secondary education in Singapore. The language used in his secondary and college education as the medium of instruction was English. Although all the Malaysian students came with a scholarship, Kenyong is the only participant in this study who is self-sponsored. DATA COLLECTION PROCEDURES Three data collection procedures were employed in this study: a semi-structured interview, diary entries by participants over a period of one week and a second interview based upon their diary entries. The first interview was conducted to gain participants’ background information. Subsequent to the first interview, each participant was asked to keep a diary for a period of one week about all their activities, including in-class and out-of-class activities, as well as a record of what they thought or felt about them. Soon after they completed their diary, they were asked to participate in the second interview to talk about their one-week activities, based on their diary entries. The second interview was conducted with the aim of providing a more detailed and clearer picture of the informants’ participation in the English academic community. Each of these interviews lasted 20 to 40 minutes and the language used in all interviews was English. In addition, all interviews were audio-recorded and transcribed. This second interview corresponds to an interaction interview. Neustupný (2002, 2003) argues that this kind of interview is one of the few methods for collecting data about actual behaviour which could be difficult to record or to observe. Additionally, Neustupný suggests that this method allows informants to report their feelings and thoughts on the topic of each activity. It was thus expected that informants’ accounts in the interaction interview would provide us with a closer picture of their everyday participation in the Australian academic community than would be possible using data from a general interview.

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FINDINGS CHARACTERISTICS OF PEER NETWORKS OF FIRST-YEAR INTERNATIONAL MEDICAL STUDENTS CO-NATIONAL NETWORKS

Ling, Kate, and Hassan, had significantly strong co-national networks, and they interacted with co-national students studying medicine most frequently compared with other national peers, both in and outside the classroom. With regard to in-class interaction, Ling, for instance, often went to classes with her Malaysian friend and they sat next to each other in class, including lectures and tutorials. Kate also commented that she usually sat with her Malaysian friends in class. Another example of in-class interaction with co-national peers was found in Hassan’s participation. During the week under investigation, there was a class for self study in a museum where medical students were encouraged to study individually, without any explicit instruction from a tutor. In this class, Hassan discussed what they had learned so far in the week with his three Malaysian friends of Malay background and they conversed in the Malay language. With respect to interaction outside the classroom, Ling and Hassan had frequent contact with co-national students who belong to the same religious community. Ling was a member of a Christian church, which consisted mostly of international Chinese-background students coming from Malaysia, China, and Hong Kong. Some of the Malaysian students were undertaking medicine, while others were studying other disciplines, such as business and commerce. Hassan, on the contrary, belonged to the Muslim community in the university, which resulted in his significantly frequent contact with other Muslim students from Malaysia. Hassan, furthermore, played soccer with other MARA students living in the university halls three times or more per week after class. Although the participants in this study, especially the three Malaysian students, had a strong tendency to interact with co-national peers, both in and outside the classroom, critical issues emerged regarding the classification of co-national networks. Explicitly, Malaysia is essentially composed of diverse cultural and linguistic populations, including Malay, Chinese and Indian background people, and even among co-national students, distinct separation could depend on their cultural and linguistic backgrounds. In fact, the co-national peer networks of Kate and Ling were mainly oriented toward Chinese- and Indian-background students, and the result was that they had little interaction with Malay background students. In contrast, Hassan’s co-national peer network was oriented toward Malay-background peers. MULTICULTURAL NETWORKS

Multicultural networks also could be observed, although these networks seem to be less strong compared with co-national networks. Hassan, for instance, had occasional interaction with Kenyong, a Singaporean student with Chinese background living in the halls of residence. Kenyong, additionally, had frequent contact with another Malaysian peer studying first-year medicine and living in the same hall. Kate’s peer networks also demonstrated that she had rather frequent interaction with other national students, such as Singaporean medical students living in the halls of residence. In contrast, while interactions with other national students of the above three participants occurred mainly in the context of the halls, Ling interacted with other national students in her religious community outside the campus. However, it should be noted that although the nationalities of these church members are different from Ling, they are, in fact, Chinese back-

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ground students. Furthermore, although there are many other international students coming from other counties such as Botswana in the Faculty of Medicine, the participants’ interactions with them were considerably limited and there was no interaction observed outside the classroom. BI-CULTURAL NETWORKS

Minimal contact of the participants with host national students clearly emerged in this study. Based on the surveyed period of one week for the four students, there was only one interaction involving Kate. Kate had lunch once with a first-year medical local student and other JPA peers. However, although the student with whom Kate had lunch was regarded as a local student by the classification employed by this particular university, she was in fact a Malaysian-born-Australian student who had migrated to Australia six years earlier. This example indicates that the background of host national students is also diverse in the Australian university context, which results in a complex relationship between international students and host national students. An awareness on the part of the students regarding limited social contact between international students and host national students emerged through the interviews. Kenyong commented on the lack of interaction with host national students, as shown in the excerpt below: Excerpt 1 I realised that people here, they like to drink, and partying is a part of life, but, back in Singapore, group of friends which I have, it is not so much drinking, but we do other things, we will watch movies, probably engaged in sports, but people here, I think, they like to go drinking and go to pub, which is a part of their culture, their form of relaxation, their form of making friends, cultivating friendship, which I think sometimes, once in a while is alright, but if you do it too many times, it is a bit meaningless. Because, what’s the point of going to pub and drink, and get drunk? (Kenyong)

Hassan also commented about his awareness regarding cultural differences when fostering a good relationship with host national peers. Both Hassan and Kenyong reasoned that the lack of interaction with host national peers was due to cultural differences, especially the way of socialising with others. Interestingly, however, both Hassan and Kenyong did not refer to the fact that the local students have diverse cultural backgrounds. It may be that such an over-generalised account on cultural difference could emerge as a way of shifting responsibility from one factor to another. That is, putting too much emphasis or importance on cultural differences might cover a wide range of problems (Miller and Glassner 2004). Given this, it could be assumed that while cultural differences could be one explanation, there might be other factors contributing to the lack of interaction in this type of network. Further investigation is needed on this issue. Based on the analysis of the data, a salient aspect that emerged concerning the classification of peer networks of international students is that the classification of peer networks made by Bochner et al. (1977) includes a significant limitation when applied to the current Australian context. As mentioned above, students coming from Malaysia have diverse backgrounds. Moreover, it was not just the international students whose background was diverse, but such a characteristic was also apparent among the some host national students. Consequently, even conational students could share a different language as well as cultural background. On the other

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hand, even in bi-cultural networks, students could share the same linguistic as well as cultural background. Given this, an extra dimension is needed in the classification of Bochner et al. when examining international students in the context of Australian universities. SITUATIONAL FACTORS REGARDING THE PEER NETWORKS OF INTERNATIONAL MEDICAL STUDENTS INTERACTION HISTORY

It seems that interaction history could have a significant influence on participant’s peer networks. Ling, Kate, and Hassan came to this university under a scholarship program offered by the Malaysian government, and before commencing their medical study in Australia, they undertook college education for one to two years, as mentioned above. Each of them went to a different college, but in this Australian university, they all had peers who had attended the same college in Malaysia. This means that a potential peer network has already been established before their arrival in the new academic community, and this college network emerges as significant among the Malaysian students in this study. In fact, Kate had the most frequent interaction with the friend who also came to the university under the JPA program, as did Kate. Ling also had her most frequent contact with her peers who studied in the same college under the JPA program. Similarly, Hassan also had the most frequent contact with the group of MARA students who studied at the same college in Malaysia. He further commented positively about coming to this university with the group of MARA students. Thus, interaction history established through the government scholarship program seems to affect participants’ interaction in the new academic community in a significant way. PLACE OF RESIDENCE

Another central factor influencing the peer networks of first-year medical students is their place of residence. All the participants in this study live in the halls of residence on campus, and they interact most frequently with peers living in these halls rather than with peers who live outside the campus. The following is an excerpt from the first interview with Kate, where she was asked about her friends living in the halls: Excerpt 2 Some Malaysian, some Singaporean. Because most of my local students, they stay in their own house, and they go back everyday. They do not stay here (halls). So, most of my friends here are Malaysian and Singaporean. (Kate)

Although she made mention that she had local friends in the first interview, the second interview based on her diary records of one week’s interactions clearly revealed that her interactions with local friends were limited to a great extent. Her actual interactions with peers were limited to Malaysian or Singaporean peers living in the halls. Ling and Hassan also interacted most frequently with peers residing in the halls. In this place of residence there were actually some Australian students as well as international students coming from America. It should be noted, however, that Ling and Kate interacted more with JPA students living in the halls. Hassan also interacted mostly with MARA students who resided in the same

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place. As such, it seems that their coming together as a group and also living in the halls together could be a plausible explanation for their frequent contact with co-national students. LANGUAGE

Except for Hassan, all participants used English when interacting with their peers, regardless of their cultural and linguistic backgrounds. Kate and Ling used English, even when interacting with peers from Malaysia. This was because there were some Indian background students and others among the Malaysian students, and their home languages varied greatly. Furthermore, although the Malaysian government acknowledges that Malay language is the only official language, in reality, a significant number of individuals use English as their everyday language in Malaysia (Ishida 2004). The fact that Kate’s home language was English confirms the complexity of language use in Malaysia. Hassan, in contrast, used Malay language when interacting with the other Malay students, with whom he interacted most frequently. For instance, he formed a group of all Malay-background students for a group assignment. He reported that the reason for forming a group consisting of all Malay background students was that they could communicate in Malay, which was more comfortable for him as the language of communication and for the discussion of academic subjects. It should be noted, however, that Australian English is different from Singaporean or Malaysian English. In spite of this, given that the three participants used English regardless of the linguistic background of their peers, explaining the separation between international students and host national students from the perspective of linguistic distance appears to be rather simplistic. Although it is reasonable to assume that the linguistic difference could influence interaction with others, as can be seen from Hassan’s interaction, it also seems reasonable to suppose that there might be other factors influencing international students’ interaction with host national students. STUDENTS’ FUTURE GOALS

As outlined above, all the Malaysian students in this study were required to serve the Malaysian government after graduating from this university for four to 10 years, depending on the program under which they came. The awareness that they were going back to Malaysia seemed to influence their interaction with peers. During the particular week in which participants wrote their diary entries, they were engaged in a group assignment. Ling, for instance, formed a group of six students for the group assignment, which consisted of only Malaysian students. When asked about the group, she commented: Excerpt 3 (R = researcher; L = Ling) R: are they all from Malaysia? L: yeah, because basically, we are probably going back to Malaysia.

Just as Duff (this volume) notes the significance of taking into consideration international students’ current academic participation in relation to their future purposes, Ling’s awareness of returning to Malaysia seems to affect her selection of members for the group assignment. A detailed exam-

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ination of participants’ experiences while accomplishing this group assignment will be presented in the next section. ACADEMIC SUPPORT GAINED THROUGH THE PEER NETWORKS When the data was collected, students were engaged in various types of academic activities. In this section, I will focus on group assignments and individual study, and discuss the kinds of academic support which international medical students gained through their peer networks. GROUP ASSIGNMENTS

Within the medical course, students were required to undertake different kinds of group assignments. The use of group work in medical education seems to be linked to the function of developing teamwork skills, which is necessary when they actually practise as doctors in the future. Furthermore, group work is commonly employed as a means of promoting student-centred learning as well as collaborative learning. All the students were engaged in writing reports on the topic of a rural health attachment, a one-week program in which they had participated during the previous week. This program was designed to develop students’ awareness of rural health, rural practice and rural communication through their participation in rural towns for a period of one week. During the week, all firstyear students were placed in different rural towns by the faculty, which resulted in about 18 students per town. To complete the written work about this rural placement, students were required to form a group with six students of their own choice. For this group assignment, Ling and Hassan formed a group with all Malaysian students whereas Kate formed a group with Malaysian and Singaporean students. The reasons for Ling’s and Hassan’s preference for a group of only Malaysian peers appear to be different. As mentioned before, Ling’s preference for forming such a group resulted from the fact that they would all go back to Malaysia in the future (see Excerpt 3). In contrast, Hassan formed a group of Malaybackground students because of language-related issues. He thought that sharing a common language, that is, the Malay language, facilitated group members’ communication, which he believed would result in more effective management of the group assignment. In contrast, Kenyong formed a group with four local students and one Botswanan student. This came about because there was no other student with whom he was familiar. Accordingly, he asked his Singaporean friend who was actually at a different rural placement for advice about this group participation. This friend advised him to form a group with a particular local AngloSaxon background student whom he knows to be a hardworking student. Accordingly, Kenyong formed a group with the local student and with others. Kenyong thus utilised his co-national network for advice when selecting members for the group assignment. Through his participation in this group, Kenyong reached a positive evaluation regarding the approach taken by the other members in accomplishing their group assignment. In his group, the work was divided up so that each member could work individually, and Kenyong seemed to be satisfied with this approach. Although it is often argued that an individual approach is usually employed by local students, especially Caucasian students (Volet and Ang 1998; Wright and Lander 2003), dividing up each part of the assignment as a means of accomplishing this group work was also employed by the three other participants in this study. Ling’s group divided each writing part rather than work in close collaboration so that they also worked individually, as did Kenyong’s group. Consequently,

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Ling’s group members did not spend much time actually cooperating with each other in order to complete this assignment. Ling, in fact, commented on the difficulties of working collaboratively. Hassan’s group also divided up each part so that they could minimise the time to collaborate, as did Kate’s group which consisted of Malaysian and Singaporean students. Hassan, for example, skipped two classes and stayed in his room in order to finish his part before his group members met to consolidate their individual parts into one complete report. The positive consequences of collaborative learning have been often stressed and group work is regarded as an effective way for realising collaborative learning (Wright and Lander 2003). However, it seems that regardless of the background of their group members, participants in this study tended to work individually in the context of the group assignment rather than in close collaboration. Moreover, while he did not seem to receive much academic support from them, Kenyong reported that working with local students changed his perceptions. The following quote illustrates how such experiences changed his stereotypical notion: Excerpt 4 Before I went there, I did not know anybody there. It was quite scared. But the thing is, after the placement, I get to know more people, and widen my social circle, which is good. I used to have impression that locals are less hardworking, but I realised that it is not true. Actually I found locals are more hardworking than me, and I was really surprised. (Kenyong)

It seems that working with local students could contribute to international students re-examining the perceptions they held about local students, as shown in Kenyong’s example above. Although my findings are limited, they seem to support the recommendation of Volet and Ang that culturally mixed group experiences can contribute to the students’ realisation that their perception about peers from other groups are stereotypical and may need to be modified (Volet and Ang 1998). Although I first intended to investigate the academic support which participants received through particular peer networks while accomplishing group assignments, it was found that close collaboration was hard to be achieved, regardless of the peer networks to which participants belonged. Yet, another interesting finding emerged. Engaging in group assignments could contribute to students’ modification of stereotypical notions towards host national peers. Further investigation could be undertaken to determine whether such international students’ experiences with host national peers could contribute to their developing close relationships with each other. INDIVIDUAL STUDY

In addition to the academic support observed in the particular week, regular patterns of academicrelated functions of peer networks became apparent from the interviews. It was found that participants sought academic support from co-national or multicultural peers living in the halls rather than from bi-cultural peers in terms of their individual study. Since neither Bochner et al. (1977) nor Kudo (2003) has specified functions relating to academic support gained through peer networks, I sought to explore the functions of academic support in detail in conjunction with three types of peer networks, as shown in Table 2.

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Table 2 Types of Function of Peer Networks of International Medical Students

With respect to co-national networks, Kate often studied with her Malaysian friend who lives in the same hall of residence. Kate also commented on the advantages of discussions with her Malaysian peers in order to clarify her understanding. Ling, for example, formed a study group with her two Malaysian JPA friends living in the same hall, and she regularly met with them once or twice a week. In this particular week, they took turns asking questions and answering them during their group study in order to clarify their understanding. This example of Ling illustrates that studying as a group with co-national peers facilitates her medical study. Hassan also commented on the advantages of studying together with Malay-background students with regards to clarifying unclear subject matter. Interestingly, however, Ling originally participated in the Study Buddy System offered by the medical faculty. This system was established to enable first-year medical students to receive assistance from second-year students. In spite of this, the system did not work adequately for Ling because of the time conflict among students and their inability to arrange a mutually suitable time to meet. As a result, she quit the scheme. Such an experience indicates that medical students sometimes have difficulties arranging meeting times during their course of medical education. In fact, none of the participants in this study participated in the Study Buddy System. Instead of the normal six-year medical course at other Australian universities, a five-year curriculum was implemented at this particular university a few years ago. Due to this significant change in terms of curriculum, Ling and Hassan commented on the difficulties with time management in their academic participation. As a result, Ling, for instance, chose to form a group of co-national peers living in the same hall so that they could meet more easily. This experience of Ling seems to indicate that her co-national networks provide her with study opportunities which were not achieved through the formal Study Buddy System offered by the faculty. However, such co-national peer support was not always satisfactory. While Ling commented that her study group helped with her medical study to a certain extent, contrary to her expectation, it did not help her all the time. More specifically, although her group planned to meet twice during the week under investigation, one of the meetings was cancelled due to her group mates’ inadequate preparation for the meeting. Ling reported a considerable disappointment about the cancellation, which suggests that even among co-national peers, regular mutual commitments among participants is necessary in order for such academic support to function effectively.

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With regard to multicultural networks, it was observed that participants, especially Hassan, utilised this type of network in order to clarify uncertain subject content. He sought academic support from Kenyong. Another interesting finding is that peer networks were utilised depending on the study area as follows: Excerpt 5 I cannot study with my friends, especially, when you have to understand content, I prefer to study alone, because if I study with friends, you tend to, for me personally, tend to talk to my friends. If my friends were not sure, they would ask me. And this is kind of interrupting my reading. Because I need concentration, I do not want to be interrupted… For something that you have to memorise, and you have to study, I prefer to have enclosed environment where I can do everything for myself. (Kenyong)

Kenyong’s account indicates that although he regards group study as a hindrance to his own study (regardless of the member’s background), he did prefer to study with peers, including conational peers as well as multicultural peers, when practising practical skills, such as interviewing skills. This shows that Kenyong’s use of peer networks depended on the area of study. Kenyong further commented on his utilisation of peer networks as the first source of obtaining academic information when he needed support. PROVISION OF SOCIAL NEEDS DURING LUNCH BREAK

In order to investigate the linkage between study networks and social networks, the participants’ activities during the lunch break were examined. Lunch-time rather than dinner time was chosen to minimise the factor of residential proximity to others. Nevertheless, the analysis reveals that the participants’ study networks and social networks overlapped to a large extent. Kate had the most frequent contact with JPA students during lunch time. These same students also lived in the halls of residence with her and were those from whom she received academic support. Moreover, she mentioned that she had little contact with Malay-background students because of their religious restrictions on food. As mentioned earlier, Kate actually had little contact with Malay-background students, either at meals or on other occasions. Likewise, Hassan had little interaction with other peers, except for MARA students, during lunch time. He usually went to the library with his MARA friend and studied there while eating lunch, unless he went back to the halls of residence for a meal. However, Kate had lunch once with a Malaysian-born local student, who was studying firstyear medicine together with other JPA students. Other than having lunch with Malaysian medical peers, Ling also had lunch with Malaysian peers studying at other faculties once in the week under investigation. This seems to be because she had established these networks through the church community. Such examples imply that students’ study networks and social networks are not always the same. However, given that Ling’s interaction with non-medical peers was limited in comparison with her interaction with Malaysian medical peers, similar to Kate, it seems that participants’ study networks and social networks share some commonalities. Bochner et al. (1977) suggest that peer networks have specific functions depending on their orientation. Conversely, as Kudo (2003) contends, it was observed that the peer networks of

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international students have multiple functions, and it was particularly found that co-national peer networks play various roles, including providing academic support and meeting the social needs of students.

CONCLUSION This study has explored the peer networks of international first-year medical students in an Australian university, especially focusing on the characteristics and specific functions of the peer networks. Drawing on Bochner et al.’s (1977) functional model as well as Kudo’s (2003) modified functional model, the ways in which peer networks facilitate students’ participation were investigated. As previous studies indicated, it was found that international students have little interaction with host national students. However, it was also found that Bochner et al.’s (1977) functional model is insufficient when dealing with international students in the context of an Australian university. This study has demonstrated that even within co-national peer networks, students’ cultural background as well as shared language could vary. Furthermore, it was also found that even local students and international students sometimes shared cultural background because of the increasing number of local students who have migrated from the same country as the international students. This study also highlighted some situational factors relating to the separation between international students and host national students. It had been often argued that the distance between international students and host national students was caused by cultural and linguistic distance. However, this study showed that although such explanation did have certain merit, other factors could affect their participation in the new discourse community, such as students’ interaction history or future goals. This, in turn, was affected by their given condition which was that they were recipients of a government scholarship. In terms of the functions that the peer networks possessed, it became apparent that co-national as well as multicultural peer networks played a significant role in facilitating participants’ medical study. Although such peer networks did not always support international students’ study, participants had positive perceptions towards the academic support gained through co-national and multicultural networks. Another finding was that close co-national peer networks had multiple functions, which included providing academic support as well as meeting students’ social needs. It should be emphasised that when international students have strong academic support from co-national and multicultural peers, they seem to perceive that they do not need to rely on host national peers. Although the small sampling of data used in this research limits the generalisability of the results, the analysis of peer networks of four international medical students enables us to appreciate the complexity of the academic interaction in which international students engage during their transitional process of beginning to study at an overseas institution. The findings in this study have several important implications. First, extra dimensions should be added to Bochner et al.’s (1977) functional model when investigating the peer networks of international students in Australian universities. It is crucial to advance a model which allows us to investigate the complex situation of international as well as host national students, since the backgrounds of students within one country could vary to a great extent these days. Second, this study which deals with university-degree students suggests that, other than linguistic and cultural differences, various factors are interdependent and this affects the separation between international students

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and host national students. Interactional history and students’ future goals could be fundamental factors. One must thus be aware of such complex situational factors when examining the peer networks of international students. Given that the learning for international students actually is taking place in the context of co-national as well as multicultural networks, further research needs to be conducted on such aspects of their participation in the new academic domain. Research on the way in which peer networks are utilised by international students and how the newly established peer networks develop would also offer us valuable insights regarding international participation in a new discourse community. In order to provide effective support for international students, it is also important to further investigate the kinds of academic support which international students find hard to gain through peer networks. Furthermore, taking into account that a range of factors influence international students’ participation in the English academic community, further research will need to explore the complex set of interdependent factors influencing their participation.

ENDNOTES 1

Ayako Wakimoto was a postgraduate student at Monash University at the time of writing this chapter.

REFERENCES Ballard, B; Clanchy, J. 1997. Teaching International Students. Canberra: IDP Education Australia. Bochner, S; McLeod, M; Lin, A. 1977. ‘Friendship patterns of overseas students: A functional model’. International Journal of Psychology 12 (4): 277–294. Braine, G. 2002. ‘Academic literacy and the nonnative speaker graduate student’. Journal of English for Academic Purposes 1 (1): 59–68. Deem, R; Brehony, K. 2000. ‘Doctoral students’ access to research cultures – are some more unequal than others?’. Studies in Higher Education 25 (2): 149–165. Duff, P. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1–1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001. Furnham, A; Alibhai, N. 1985. ‘The friendship networks of foreign students: A replication and extension of the functional model’. International Journal of Psychology 20: 709–722. Furnham, A; Bochner, S. 1982. ‘Social difficulty in a foreign culture: An empirical analysis of culture shock’. In Cultures in Contact: Studies in Cross-Cultural Interaction, edited by Bochner, S. Oxford: Pergamon. Ishida, Y. 2004. ‘Idiomu to shinsoo kanri’ (Idiom and language management). In Sesshoku bamen no gengo kanri kenkyuu (Language Management in Contact Situation) 3 vols, edited by Muraoka, H. Japan: Chiba University. Klineberg, O; Hull, F. W. 1979. At a Foreign University: An International Study of Adaptation and Coping. New York: Praeger. Kudo, K. 2003.‘Yujin nettowaku no kinou moderu saikou: Zaigou nihonjin ryugakusei no jirei kenkyu kara (Reconsidering Bochner’s functional model of friendship networks: A case study of Japanese students in Australia)’. Intercultural/Transcultural Education: Bulletin of Intercultural Education Society of Japan 18: 95–108. Miller, J; Glassner, B. 2004. ‘The “inside” and the “outside”: Finding realities in interviews’. In Qualitative Research: Theory, Method and Practice. 2nd edn., edited by Silverman, D. London: SAGE Publications. Milroy, L. 1980. Language and Social Networks. Oxford: Blackwell.

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Mitchell, J. C., ed. 1969. Social Networks in Urban Situations: Analysis of Personal Relationships in Central African Towns. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Neustupný, J. 2003. ‘Japanese students in Prague’. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 162: 125–143. Neustupný, J. 2002. ‘Sooron’. In Gengo kenkyuu no hoohoo, edited by Neustupný, J; Miyazaki, S. Tokyo: Kuroshio. Perrucci, R; Hu, H. 1995. ‘Satisfaction with social and educational experiences among international graduate students’. Research in Higher Education 36 (4): 491–508. Spack, R. 1997. ‘The acquisition of academic literacy in a second language: A longitudinal case study’. Written Communication 14 (1): 3–62. Thompson, L. 1996. ‘School ties: A social network analysis of friendship in a multicultural kindergarten’. European Early Childhood Education Research Journal 4 (1): 49–69. Treloar, C; McCall, N; Rolfe, I; Pearson, S; Garvey, G; Heathcote, A. 2000. ‘Factors affecting progress of Australian and international students in a problem-based learning medical course’. Medical Education 34 (9): 708–715. Volet, S; Ang, G. 1998. ‘Culturally mixed group on international campuses: An opportunity for inter-cultural learning’. Higher Education Research and Development 17 (1): 5–23. Ward, C; Kennedy, A. 1993. ‘Where’s the “culture” in cross-cultural transition? Comparative studies of sojourner adjustment’. Journal of Cross-cultural Psychology 24 (2): 221–249. Wright, S; Lander, D. 2003. ‘Group interactions of students from two ethnic backgrounds’. Higher Education Research and Development 22 (3): 237–252. Zamel, V. 1995. ‘Strangers in academia: The experiences of faculty and ESL students across the curriculum’. College Composition and Communication 46 (4): 506–521.

Cite this chapter as: Wakimoto, A. 2007. ‘Peer networks of international medical students in an Australian academic community’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 10.1 to 10.16. DOI: 10.2104/ld070010.

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PART TWO

A CASE STUDY OF A MEDICAL PBL TUTORIAL TUTOR AND STUDENT PARTICIPATION Rintaro Imafuku, Teikyo Heisei University Rintaro Imafuku is a Japanese language instructor (full time) at Teikyo Heisei University. His research interests include discourse analysis, curriculum development and autonomy in language learning. Correspondence to Rintaro Imafuku: [email protected]

In the context of the increasing globalisation of Australian medical education and the greater use of PBL (problem-based learning) methods, there is a need to investigate how students and tutors manage their participation in PBL tutorials. This case study examines the oral participation in PBL tutorials of third-year undergraduate medical students at an Australian university by identifying the prescribed PBL curriculum at the Australian university and also examining how the participants apply the prescribed PBL approach in their tutorial. The study selected a PBL group which consists of Australian and overseas students, and employed follow-up interviews as well as recording and observations of the PBL tutorial. The analysis of the oral discourse patterns involved the application of Eggins and Slade’s (1997) speech functional theory which allow us to identify the participation patterns of students and tutor.

INTRODUCTION Problem-based learning (PBL) approach has been recently introduced in some Australian medical education programs in order to foster students’ decision-making strategies, reasoning skills and self-directed learning skills through small group discussion. The implementation of PBL tutorials as a new part of the curriculum is an interesting pedagogical issue, because the major objectives for medical students in the PBL curricula are different from those of a traditional classroom. For instance, PBL tutors typically play the part of a facilitator for students’ learning, whereas students take on the roles of ‘teacher’ as well as learner through tutorial discussion (Legg 2005). That is, due to the educational differences between the PBL curriculum and the traditional classroom, the participants, including tutors and students, need to understand their roles in PBL situations, as well as what will be appropriate types of contributions for them to make in the interactions.1 However, not all PBL groups can apply the theoretical PBL curriculum which stresses the self-directed learning of students due to some pedagogical problems, such as tutor-dominance or the imbalanced participation among students in a tutorial (Lycke 2002; Hendry et al. 2003). The focus of this chapter is on investigating tutors’ and students’ participation in one PBL tutorial by analysing the actual PBL discourse (Imafuku 2006). The case study reported here uses Eggins and Slade’s (1997) speech functional theory and Christie’s (2000) classroom discourse model which allow identification of the characteristics of the PBL group’s participation. Specifically, this chapter will address two principal research questions to compare the prescribed PBL approach outlined in the guidelines of an Australian university with the actual oral participation of the tutor and students: (1) How the PBL approach is prescribed as a pedagogical method in university documents; and (2) To what extent these principles of the PBL curriculum are then applied by the participants in the tutorial context.

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LITERATURE REVIEW As mentioned above, PBL discourse patterns are significantly different from the discourse in a traditional classroom which has a strong feature of IRF (Initiations-Replies-Feedbacks) discourse pattern, as identified by Sacks et al. (1974). It seems that the different discourse features are related to some differences in the learning objectives and in the roles of participants in the PBL and traditional curricula. In contrast to the purpose of obtaining knowledge from the teacher’s input in a traditional classroom, PBL curricula propose three major objectives for the students: to gain deep clinical knowledge, to foster reasoning skills and to develop self-directed learning skills (Evensen et al. 2001). Many studies have reported that the PBL approach allows medical students to accomplish the three objectives better than in a traditional classroom curriculum (Blumberg and Michael 1992; Koschmann et al. 1997; Frederiksen 1999; Hmelo and Lin 2000). In addition to the typical objectives of the PBL approach, the roles of PBL participants are overtly different from those in a conventional classroom. A central role of the tutor as a facilitator in a PBL class is to scaffold the student learning (Gelula 1997; Wilke and Burns 2003). Allen and White (2001) specify the tutor roles in relation to content processing, for instance, to use questions to probe the reasoning process and to indicate relevant resources. Furthermore, another role of the PBL tutor is also to monitor and coordinate the group dynamics. For instance, Allen and White (2001: 81) suggest that the facilitating role of the tutor is to encourage all students to participate in a discussion, to help the group to plot its course and to provide feedback. With regard to student roles in PBL tutorials, students in PBL tutorials basically need to understand the case scenario, identify their lack of knowledge and what needs to be known, specify their learning objectives and analyse the clinical issues through their discussion (Caplow et al. 1997). Renko et al. (2002) stress that assigning the students to different roles, such as a chair (or leader), scribe or discussant, promotes students’ clinical learning in the PBL tutorial because they can obtain peer feedback on the clinical ideas proposed by group members. The chair is to keep the discussion on track and to encourage all students to participate (Allen et al. 2001). It is also important for a scribe or other group members to monitor the process of students’ learning by providing feedback to each other (Renko et al. 2002). In terms of implementation of the PBL curricula, students and tutors may have some difficulties in adjusting to the PBL approach, including their participation in the tutorials (Duek 2000; Treloar et al. 2000; Hendry et al. 2003; Khoo 2003). Lycke (2002) indicates a dysfunctional PBL group may arise when a tutor dominates the interactions or when some students have insufficient skills to activate their prior knowledge. As for student participation in the tutorial, Hendry et al. (2003) argue that managing the balance between quiet and dominant students is important in a successful tutorial. In order to solve these problems, they stress the importance of understanding students’ learning-style preferences and social identities.

CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK As a means of examining the nature of participation patterns of students and tutors in the PBL tutorial, this study will employ a conceptual framework which is based on an integration of Christie’s (2002) theory of classroom register and Eggins and Slade’s (1997) speech functional theory. Christie (1997, 2002) analysed classroom discourse by following Bernstein’s (1996) notion of the regulative and instructional registers employed by participants. The regulative register is

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related to the instrumental functions to determine the directions, sequencing and pacing of activity, such as do you have any questions?, listen to me or let’s move on to the next part. On the other hand, the instructional register is concerned with the ‘content’ that builds the substance of the teaching-learning activity (Christie 2002). Following Christie, from a speech functional perspective, the regulative register contains only one type of move – the opening move. On the other hand, the instructional register encompasses a variety of speech functions. With regard to the instructional register, I will apply Eggins and Slade’s (1997) clarifications of the speech functional analysis in order to analyse the tutorial context from a functional-semantic perspective. Eggins and Slade (1997) regard the move as a unit of discourse organisation in terms of the speech function. As Figure 1 shows, Eggins and Slade classify the criteria of speech functional analysis into three types – opening, continuing, and reacting moves in the instructional register.

Figure 1 Integration of model of the classroom discourse (Christie 2002) and speech functional analysis (Eggins and Slade 1997)

At the first stage of the speech function network, it is necessary to identify a distinction between opening and sustaining moves, shown in Figure 1. The opening moves function to initiate talk through the introduction of a new proposition. On the other hand, the sustaining moves function to continue negotiation of the same proposition. The sustaining move can be classified into two sub-groups. A continuing move is achieved by the speaker who has been holding the floor, whereas a reacting move is achieved by another speaker taking a turn. In other words, this speech functional option is available when turn transfer occurs. On the basis of the above categorisation, this chapter will focus on the speech function choices of speakers in the PBL tutorials. In other words, the study will examine the general picture of how social relationships between PBL participants are negotiated from a speech functional perspective.

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METHODOLOGY This study selected a PBL group which consists of two overseas (O = overseas student) and four Australian (A) medical students and their tutor (T), who is an Indian-born native speaker of English, and sought the members’ participation in this research. The medical students were in their third-year and were aged between 20 to 22 years of age, and the situation was at a clinical teaching site. With respect of the students in the PBL group, both overseas students are from Malaysia, and three of the Australian students have Asian backgrounds in that their parents are from Asian countries or the students themselves have immigrated to Australia from Asian countries at an early age. Information about the PBL students is shown in Table 1.

Table 1 Background information of the PBL students

The setting of the PBL tutorial which was investigated involved two tutorials which constituted a sequence on the topic of HIV infection. This study will focus on the first tutorial, which lasted for approximately 30 minutes, where the students gain an understanding of the case scenario and identify their learning objectives for the next tutorial. The group did not have anyone fulfilling the chair or scribe roles, as is commonly outlined in descriptions of the educational procedures of PBL tutorial in the tutor handbook, but the participants discussed the clinical topic together. In this study, three main data collection procedures were used: gathering textual data, video tape-recording the PBL tutorial and stimulated recall (follow-up) interviews. In order to identify the PBL approach prescribed by the Australian university, information was obtained from the tutor’s handbook, a student handbook and the website of the Medical Faculty of this Australian university. The actual PBL participation in the group was explored by analysing the discourse patterns found in the recorded data. Furthermore, interviews with four out of six PBL students (A1, A2, A4 and O1) enabled me to analyse additional in-depth data which is unavailable from the recorded data, such as students’ thinking processes and their evaluations of other participants’ contributions at specific points during the tutorial. THE MEDICAL PBL APPROACH PRESCRIBED BY THE AUSTRALIAN UNIVERSITY At this Australian university, the medical curriculum for students in first- and second-year emphasises acquisition of basic medical knowledge (pre-clinical years). On the other hand, the thirdyear is the first clinical year of teaching and learning, and the curriculum maximises teaching and learning opportunities at the clinical sites based on small group activities, including PBL tu-

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torials (Student Handbook 2005). In other words, in order for students to develop the ability to translate knowledge, which they have developed in their first- and second-years, into practice, the PBL approach is implemented in the clinical contexts. A feature of the PBL approach at this university is that the PBL curricula starts in the third year of the medical course in order to consolidate the student’s basic and clinical science knowledge in the clinical environment. The Tutor’s Handbook (2005) describes the curriculum of the third-year of the Australian university as being structured around a pattern of two PBL tutorials per week, with a new clinical scenario introduced each week. In the learning process at hospital sites, the Faculty of Medicine (2005) stresses that the PBL curriculum allows students to develop self-directed learning and team-work skills. Furthermore, the 2005 student handbook suggests that the PBL approach emphasises ‘meaning’ (understanding) more than ‘reproduction’ (memorisation). The student handbook also emphasises that it is important for students to understand the educational process of PBL. The two categories of PBL tutorials – paper-based and patient-based cases – are outlined in the 2005’s tutors’ handbook, with each case involving two tutorials, as mentioned above. In the paper-based PBL, students discuss a sample clinical problem which is provided by the tutor. At the first tutorial of the paper-based case, students firstly gain an understanding of the case scenario, including the context and terminology. Secondly, they arrange the explanations into a tentative solution as well as identify the causes of the medical problem. Learning objectives are also identified through their discussion. At the subsequent tutorial, students share the results of their private study and discuss the solutions to the clinical issue. In the patient-based PBL, students select patients and examine clinical cases found in their tutorial handbook. This PBL approach is sometimes referred to as ‘case-based learning’ (Student Handbook 2005). The real patient scenario is still a sample, but it is based on a real case and always includes real patients in the learning process. In this kind of PBL, students are required by their tutor to find a real patient in the hospital, similar to the one in the case (as found in the tutorial handbook) as part of their learning for the week. By comparing the ‘real case’ scenario with the result of the clinical examination of real patients which the students have investigated, the learning objectives are identified in the first tutorial. At the subsequent tutorial, as in the paper-based PBL, the students integrate the information gained from their private study and analyse the clinical case. In terms of the PBL tutors’ role at the Australian university, the Tutor Handbook (2005) outlines the tutor as being required ‘to ensure students’ learning through each tutorial in a logical manner by a step-wise approach’. In particular, this handbook stresses that the PBL tutor needs to have the skills of not just teaching knowledge, but ‘facilitating student learning, promoting critical thinking and promoting effective group functioning’. Furthermore, guidelines on how tutors can facilitate discussion in PBL tutorials are also provided and are shown in Table 2. This medical faculty describes students in a PBL tutorial as being assigned to three roles: chair, scribe and group members, and these are to be rotated during the semester. The first role is the chair, whose function is to manage the discussion. For example, the chair is described as ‘being responsible for stimulating participation and guiding decisions as the leader’. The second role is the scribe who makes short notes on the discussion. The scribe focuses on summarising what the group members discuss, rather than actually becoming involved in the discussion. The other members, referred to as group members, are required to actively participate in the discussion,

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for example, by giving information and asking questions (Tutor Handbook 2005). The detailed description of each PBL student role is shown in Table 3.

• • • • • •

Accept silence to make time for students to think; Try to ensure that open-ended questions are used; Ask probing questions: ‘What aspects of the case need to be discussed further?’ Elicit student’s reasoning: ‘Why are you asking that question?’ Ask students to explain their use of medical terminology; Encourage students to explain mechanisms and causes of patient’s problems and pharmacological and surgical interventions; and, • Do not dominate the group. Table 2: Guidelines for tutors to facilitate group discussion

Table 3 PBL student roles at an Australian university (Tutor Handbook 2005)

On the basis of the objectives of the PBL curriculum, the educational procedures, participants’ roles in the discussion and the discourse patterns in PBL specified by the Australian university are overtly different from those in a traditional classroom. In particular, the pedagogical context of PBL is distinctive in that the tertiary institution emphasises the student’s self-directed learning and the tutor’s role as concentrating on facilitating students’ learning (Student Handbook 2005; Tutor Handbook 2005). ACTUAL PARTICIPATION IN A PBL TUTORIAL As an illustration of Duff’s claim (this volume) that language professionals need to better understand actual discursive practices, this chapter provides an illustration of how participants engage in the PBL curriculum outlined by the Australian university, as described above, through an analysis of participants’ oral participation in the PBL tutorial. Following the conceptual frameworks of Eggins and Slade (1997) and Christie (2002), the analysis covers three main issues: the tutor’s and students’ overall participation, the discourse in the regulative register and the discourse in the instructional register.

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OVERVIEW OF SPEECH FUNCTION CHOICES

Firstly, this study will identify the dominant and less active participants by looking at the total number of moves which participants took during the PBL tutorial. A ‘move’ is defined as a unit of discourse organisation that a speech functional pattern expresses (Eggins and Slade 1997). That is to say, the participant who takes more moves is seen as a more speech functionally dominant participant in the tutorial. In terms of the social relationship between the tutor and students, Figure 2 indicates that the tutor is dominant in the tutorial in comparison with the students. A total of 169 moves (49% of the total moves) are taken by the tutor. On the basis of the information in Figure 2, from the perspective of students’ participation, A1 (21%) and A4 (12%) are reasonably dominant and A3 (8%) is somewhat dominant, whereas O1 (3%), O2 (3%) and A2 (4%) can be considered as less active participants in the PBL tutorial. Interestingly, both overseas students (O1 and O2) are categorised as less active students in the PBL tutorial. As Treloar et al. (2000) indicate, the participation of the overseas students might be influenced by some academic factors, such as language difficulties, social communication networks and learning preferences.

Figure 2 Total number of moves in the PBL tutorial

REGULATIVE REGISTER

The regulative register, as mentioned above, contains only one type of move, namely, an opening move which functions to initiate talk through the introduction of a new proposition. In other words, language use in the regulative register is to manage the progress of the classroom activity through employment of a question, statement, offer or command. Figure 3 shows that 10 out of a total of 11 instances of language usage in the regulative registers in the PBL tutorial are taken by the tutor. Even though A4 took one regulative move, it is the tutor who controls the PBL activities.

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Figure 3 Opening moves in regulative register

The tutor employs two types of speech functions in the regulative register: statements and questions. Three main functions can be identified for the tutor in the regulative register. The first function is to keep the current activities on track, for instance, ‘Now, take a history. Just with this current scenario’. The second function is to direct the next activity, for example, ‘We’ll move on’. The last function of statements related to the regulative register is to evaluate students’ work, for instance, ‘Good work’. The questions by the tutor function mainly to direct the next activity by asking the students, such as ‘So, what are we going to do now?’ One reason why the tutor dominantly regulates the PBL activities within the context may lie in the fact that this PBL group does not assign the chair role to a group member. Despite the prescription by the university that students should be assigned a chair role in the PBL tutorial, the tutor mostly covers the chair role in this PBL group. Some studies of the PBL approach suggest that allocation of student’s chair role leads to effective PBL processes in terms of students’ clinical learning (Allen et al. 2001; Renko et al. 2002; Savin-Baden and Major 2004; Legg 2005). In particular, Renko et al. (2002) stress that by assigning the students to different roles, including the chair, lack of student participation, cohesion and interaction can be minimised in a PBL tutorial. However, from the students’ perspective, in my case study, the tutor’s regulation of the PBL tutorial is regarded not as a negative factor of the group dynamics, but rather as a helpful direction for their learning. For instance, as Excerpt 1 below shows, A4 noted that having a student as chair did not function well in their earlier PBL tutorials in semester one, and that, on the contrary, when the tutor assumed the role of chair, he would prompt all group members to participate in the discussion. The sequence is as follows: Excerpt 1 A4:

we did have we try scribe and chair role before, but we found that it

didn’t work too well, especially, we change every session. So, all we all contribute

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and check with the tutor, and then sort of pull altogether and he gives feedback to us, work a lot better.

Furthermore, A1 notices some difficulties in students’ taking the chair role, because students do not know how to deal with the chair role due to insufficient clinical knowledge and experience. A1’s claim can be seen in the following excerpt: Excerpt 2 R:

what do you think about the tutor’s chair role?

A1:

I think it makes things a lot easier, because it gives us some sort of direc-

tions, because it’s difficult for us as very young students to know what’s important about different topics, whereas tutor are more experienced. So, he can sort of give us some sort of framework which is very useful. I found so much better way, I like it.

Therefore, the students in this PBL group perceive the tutor’s chair role not as a dysfunctional factor of the group dynamics, but as an effective way to promote the discussion in the PBL tutorial. For example, as A4 mentioned above, the main usage of the regulative register by the tutor allows all students to concentrate on the discussion in the tutorial. Moreover, as A1 claims above, the tutor can provide an appropriate direction in the PBL tutorial based on his clinical knowledge and experience INSTRUCTIONAL REGISTER

The instructional register is defined as language usage related to the ‘content’ that builds the substance of the teaching-learning activity (Christie 2002). From a speech functional perspective, the instructional register contains four types of moves: opening, continuing, responding and rejoinder moves. The following sections will focus on an analysis of the features of the opening and reacting moves, including rejoinder moves and responding moves, which were taken by the PBL participants in this study.

Figure 4 Opening moves in the instructional register

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In an opening move, to initiate talk with a new proposition, a question, statement, offer or command will be used. Figure 4 shows that the tutor overwhelmingly takes the opening move related to the instructional register in the PBL tutorial. In his usage of the opening move, the tutor, as Figure 4 indicates, employs many questions, because he tends to elicit detailed information related to the clinical scenario from students by questioning. For example, at the early stage of the tutorial, the tutor used some questions to examine the clinical scenario from different points of view:

Excerpt 3 shows that the tutor allows the students to analyse a patient’s symptom and history in the clinical scenario from various aspects by asking questions about viral infection, rash and meningitis. The tutor’s question to introduce a new proposition can thus help the students’ learning in the PBL tutorial. Furthermore, the tutor’s questions in the opening move may have the function of keeping the discussion on track. By presenting an appropriate point of view to analyse the clinical scenario, the tutor’s question thus helps the students to avoid straying from the main theme. Most statements made by the tutor in the tutorial are related to giving his opinion about the clinical scenario. Seven out of 10 statements which the tutor made in the PBL tutorial have a role that emphasises the important points of understanding the clinical scenario. That is, the tutor tends to indicate what the students should focus on in the PBL tutorial by giving his opinion. O1 perceives that it is necessary for students to obtain the tutor’s contribution. The sequence is found in Excerpt 4 below: Excerpt 4 R:

How did you feel about tutor’s contribution today?

O1:

Today? Umm, he summarised a lot of things which are important, because

we tend to have a lot of information. If we don’t know whether it is important or not, he gave us a correct direction.

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R:

Um, so, were you satisfied with the tutor’s contribution?

O1:

Yes

A CASE STUDY OF A MEDICAL PBL TUTORIAL PART TWO

The opening moves in the PBL tutorial were mostly taken by the tutor. In other words, the fact that the starting point of most new propositions is from the tutor indicates that the topic flow in the discussion is somewhat controlled by the tutor. Specifically, the questions aim to elicit clinical knowledge from the students, and the statement is employed to indicate which information is important in the clinical scenario. With regard to the role of the tutor, as the interview data shows, the students evaluate the tutor’s initiative in the discussion as being instructive for their learning. A reacting move in a PBL tutorial is found when turn transfer occurs (Eggins and Slade 1997). The speech functions in the reacting move may encompass the demand for further details, the offering of alternative explanations of the prior move, or the indication of supporting or confronting responses. Table 4 indicates the speech functional choices by the participants in the reacting move.

Table 4 Speech functional choices in the reacting move

Firstly, most instances of ‘clarify’ are produced by the tutor while some students (A1, A3 and A4) often use ‘resolve’ in the PBL tutorial. According to Eggins and Slade’s (1997: 213) definition, ‘clarify’ has the discourse purpose of ‘getting additional information needed to understand a prior move’. On the other hand, ‘resolve’ has the discourse purpose of ‘providing clarification or acquiesce with information’. Their speech function choices in the reacting move show the characteristics of the participation of the PBL tutor and students. By using a clarifying move which demands more detailed information about a prior move, the tutor tried to help the students understand the clinical scenario in more depth. In response to the tutor’s clarifying move, the students tried to provide additional information for the prior move through employment of a resolution. Secondly, as Table 4 shows, the students have constantly contributed by using ‘develop’ in the tutorial. A developing move expands on a prior speaker’s move by providing examples or offering further additional information (Eggins and Slade 1997). Here, the students seem to add their previous clinical knowledge to the prior move. Finally, a total of 39 agreeing moves, which indicate support of information given, were produced by the tutor. Excerpt 5 illustrates the pattern of how the participants used the reacting move. In the situation in Excerpt 5, the students discuss causes of a patient’s symptoms in the clinical scenario which has been introduced by the tutor in the prior move. Firstly, by using a clarifying move, the tutor

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asks about causes of lymphadenopathy which is one of the patient’s symptoms in the clinical scenario (move 47). In response to the tutor’s clarifying move, A4 uses a resolving move to reply that infection is related to lymphadenopathy (move 51). Then, A1 adds the information about a bacterial cause to A4’s prior contribution (move 52). In the next move, the tutor agrees with the students’ prior interaction. Subsequently, A1 and A4 use developing moves to provide additional information about lymphoma to O1’s prior contribution (move 55 to 57).

As Excerpt 5 indicates, the tutor’s clarifying move tends to prompt students’ participation in the tutorial. Furthermore, as was shown in Figure 6, the tutor frequently used the agreeing move, where he took a speech functional role of giving an evaluation of the students’ participation. In the instructional register, this PBL tutorial can thus be considered one in which the tutor is dominant. The tutor undertakes more questioning, clarifying and agreeing, whereas the students tend to react to the tutor’s initiation of talk by resolving, answering and developing. In terms of the sequential discourse organisation, the PBL discourse pattern in this study may have a strong feature of IRE (initiations-replies-evaluations) as earlier described by Sacks et al. (1974). Specifically, in the PBL group, initiations (opening move) are taken by the tutor. To reply to the tutor’s initiation, the students tend to make a contribution. Then, the tutor indicates his agreement of the students’ reaction. The classroom which is characterised by the feature of the IRE discourse pattern is controlled by a teacher who has the initiative within the discourse. As Sinclair and Coulthard (1975) claim, the discourse pattern of IRE can be found in a traditional classroom where the information is mainly exchanged between a teacher and students. That is to say, despite the intention of the PBL curriculum being designed in order to promote student-centred learning skills, in this particular PBL class, discourse that is characteristic of a conventional classroom is found.

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FACTORS AFFECTING STUDENTS ACTUAL PARTICIPATION This study found that the tutor’s and students’ oral participation in the PBL tutorial is different from the PBL approach prescribed by the Australian university. One reason for this may lie in the gap between the actual participation and the curriculum design. Firstly, the fact that the third-year medical students at this university engage in a PBL tutorial for the first time may influence the learning processes in this context. Musal et al. (2004) stress that students’ PBL experiences parallel the development of their discussion and studying processes. In particular, the third-year students may have some difficulties in adjusting to the PBL approach at the hospital site because they are at the transitional stage, moving from book to practical learning. That is, for the students at this stage, it is important to understand the educational processes and purposes of the PBL approach. Secondly, as Hendry et al. (2003) point out, the students’ learning style in this PBL tutorial may be related to the students’ dependence on the tutor. As Except 6 shows, O1 is inclined to listen carefully to others’ contribution due to his tendency to misunderstand the context in the discussion. In other words, even though O1 does not report any difficulty related to his English proficiency himself, it may be one element affecting his participation in the PBL tutorial: Excerpt 6 O1:

Ah, I guess some people always tend to talk more than other people.

And um, some people don’t mind saying things even if they don’t really understand in all contexts sometimes. Like, for me, I don’t really like to say things, because I tend to, ah, misinterpret sometimes. So, even if I tried to answer things, I might be going off different direction.

Furthermore, in terms of content knowledge, O1 stated that the discussion is only initiated by the tutor due to the students’ insufficient clinical knowledge and that it is important for the students to absorb the basic clinical knowledge from the tutor in the tutorial. In other words, O1 mainly concentrates on gaining the clinical knowledge by listening to the tutor’s input in the PBL tutorial. In contrast to the quiet student’s perception above, the dominant students are generally happy to talk and to ask questions about what they do not understand in the group. A1 mentioned that it is important to share group members’ ideas in the tutorial in order to analyse the topic from different perspectives. Furthermore, A4 emphasises questioning in the tutorial. In particular, A4 has her own checklist which consists of five objectives (pathogenesis, diagnosis, symptom, treatment and prognosis) to understand the clinical topic in every tutorial. However, the dominant students, who stress the importance of active contribution in the discussion, actually made a lot of resolving, answering and developing speech functions that were prompted by the tutor. That is, the tutor’s contribution itself may have influenced these students’ participation. Finally, the students’ perception of the tutor’s roles in the PBL tutorial is related to their participation. Although this tutorial tended to be tutor-dominant, which is contrary to the prescribed curriculum which emphasises student self-directed learning in the discussion, most students are satisfied with this tutor’s participation. For instance, as Excerpt 7 indicates, A4 noted that

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the tutor’s input is helpful because it enables the students to grasp what they should focus on in a clinical topic: Excerpt 7 R:

At this tutorial, there are a lot of tutor’s inputs. So, what do you think

about tutor’s input? A4:

I think it’s valuable. You really need somebody who directs you. Everyone

can do the self-directed learning, but to what extent you really need someone to set (boundary). That’s why we found it very helpful. That’s it. As far as I understand, in other tutorial group there are less inputs from the tutor, and I’m not sure how that works.

An important finding of this study is that the students in the PBL group perceive the tutor’s chair role not as a dysfunctional factor of the group dynamics, but as an effective way to promote the discussion in the PBL tutorial. Therefore, we can conclude that some factors, such as the students’ experiences of the PBL curriculum, their content knowledge and their perceptions of the tutor’s roles, influence their participation. Despite the PBL curriculum that stresses obtaining clinical knowledge through student discussion, the students are satisfied with their own participation and the tutor’s participation in this tutor-dominated PBL class. Furthermore, most students concur that it is useful for them to have the tutor provide the input of knowledge and to manage the directions of the tutorial. In order to bridge the pedagogical gap between the PBL approach prescribed by this university and the actual participation in the PBL tutorial, reconsidering the PBL participants’ roles as well as the balance between tutor and students’ participation will be needed. Within students’ participation, this study also found an imbalance of participation among the students. In particular, the overseas students were observed in this study as the less active students in the PBL tutorial. As Treloar et al. (2000) observe, the quiet participation of overseas students involves some academic factors. As mentioned above, differences in the students’ learning styles are related to their participation in the tutorial. Specifically, with regard to PBL students’ participation, O1 stressed receiving the clinical information from others (listening), whereas A1 stressed group members’ contributions in the tutorial (asking question and sharing ideas). In relation to the overseas student’s learning style, English language difficulty may influence O1’s participation in the tutorial because he perceives that he tends to misunderstand others’ contributions. It thus appears that O1 has some learning difficulties in terms of English communication, such as listening to others’ contribution. Furthermore, in Excerpt 8 below, O1 claims that the clinical topic, including a variety of information related to it, is an influential factor on his participation, and he was conscious himself that he was a quiet participant in this particular tutorial. Excerpt 8 O1:

I think some clinical knowledge are very thorough, so, if you talk about

non-clinical things, I tend to (get fuzzy), especially biology. Like, today we had

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a lot of topics, (epidemiology). So, I was like these like things. I don’t remember any more. So, I was quite rather quiet today.

In Hamilton’s (2005) study looking at student oral participation in a medical tutorial, the informants from Vietnam also mentioned that language skills are not a significant problem in their participation and that the development of content knowledge is a key to promoting the students’ effective participation in the discussion. Furthermore, in Duff et al.’s (2000) research examining the linguistic socialisation of adult immigrants training for professional purposes, it was noted that the program stressed the development of participants’ basic content knowledge in addition to their proficiency in English. This study found that the student’s learning preferences, misunderstanding of others’ contribution and lack of content knowledge are involved in O1’s participation in the tutorial. The findings in this study that both overseas students are categorised into the less active participants in the PBL tutorial are of note in terms of internationalisation of an Australian medical program, and further study needs to investigate the overseas students’ participation, particularly in a group which consists of Australian and overseas students, in PBL tutorials.

CONCLUDING DISCUSSION This chapter has examined how the students and tutor apply the principle of the PBL approach specified at an Australian university. The main finding that emerges from this chapter is that there is an educational gap between the PBL curriculum and the actual participation of the tutor and students. In other words, the PBL curriculum stresses fostering student’s self-directed learning and team-work skills, whereas this example of an actual PBL tutorial has a feature of the tutordominant classroom, such as the tutor’s chair role and the IRE discourse patterns. However, interestingly, the students concurred that the tutor’s roles in the PBL tutorial were helpful for their clinical learning. This study suggested that some factors may influence the educational differences between the PBL curriculum and the actual participation in the PBL tutorial, such as students’ perception of the tutor’s role. However, although the tutor might have some comments on his own participation and the PBL tutorial, this study could not analyse the participation in the PBL tutorial from the perspective of the tutor, because the tutor was unavailable to be interviewed. Although we cannot generalise the findings from this case study, I have shown that there is a gap between the actual PBL participation and the PBL approach prescribed by the institution. For further research, this study suggests that we should investigate to what extent the concepts of students’ chair and scribe roles facilitate students’ learning in the PBL tutorial from the point of view of the curriculum design. This study reveals that although the prescribed model of PBL approach suggests that students be allocated different roles, most group members perceive that the student chair role does not facilitate their learning process in the PBL tutorial. Furthermore, on the basis of the findings in this study that all overseas students are categorised into the less active participants, the participation of overseas students in the PBL tutorial should be investigated. As Treloar et al. (2000) point out, overseas students have some difficulties in participating in PBL tutorials at Australian universities. In Australian medical education programs where a lot of overseas students attend, further research on such issues as the PBL approach may shed light

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not only on PBL curriculum development, but also on participation of overseas students in PBL tutorials.

ENDNOTES 1

Rintaro Imafuku was a postgraduate student at Monash University at the time of writing this chapter.

REFERENCES Allen, D; Duch, B; Groh, S. 2001. ‘Strategies for using groups’. In The Power of Problem-based Learning, edited by Allen, D; Duch, B; Groh, S. Sterling, Virginia: Stylus. Allen, D; White, H. 2001. ‘Undergraduate group facilitators to meet the challenges of multiple classroom groups’. In The Power of Problem-based Learning, edited by Allen, D; Duch, B; Groh, S. Sterling, Virginia: Stylus. Bernstein, B. 1996. Pedagogy, Symbolic Control, and Identity: Theory, Research, Critique. London: Taylor & Francis. Biley, F. 1999. ‘Making sense of problem-based learning: the perceptions and experiences of undergraduate nursing students’. Journal of Advanced Nursing 30 (5): 1205–1212. Blumberg, P; Michael, J. 1992. ‘Development of self-directed learning behaviors in a partially teacher-directed problem-based learning curriculum’. Teaching and Learning in Medicine 4: 3–8. Caplow, J; Donaldson, J; Kardash, C; Hosokawa, M. 1997. ‘Learning in a problem-based medical curriculum: students’ conceptions’. Medical Education 31: 440–447. Christie, F. 2002. Classroom Discourse Analysis: Functional Perspective. New York: Continuum. Christie, F. 1997. ‘Curriculum macrogenres as forms of initiation into a culture’. In Genre and Institutions: Social Processes in the Workplace and School, edited by Christie, F; Martin, J. London: Cassell. Duek, J. 2000. ‘Whose group is it, anyway? Equity of student discourse in problem-based learning (PBL)’. In Problem-based Learning: A Research Perspective on Learning Interactions, edited by Evensen, D; Hmelo, C. London: Erlbanm Associates Publishers. Duff, P. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1–1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001. Duff, P; Wong, P; Early, M. 2000. ‘Learning language for work and life: The linguistic socialization of immigrant Canadians seeking careers in healthcare’. Canadian Modern Language Review 57: 9-57. Eggins, S; Slade, D. 1997. Analysing Casual Conversation. London: Cassell. Evensen, D; Glenn, J; Salisbury-Glennon, J. 2001. ‘A qualitative study of six medical students in a problem-based curriculum: toward a situated model of self-regulation’. Journal of Educational Psychology, 93 (4): 659–676. Frederiksen, C. 1999. ‘Learning to reason through discourse in a problem-based learning group’. Discourse Processes 27 (2): 135–160. Gelula, M. 1997. ‘Clinical discussion sessions and small groups’. Surgical Neurology 47 (4): 399–402. Halliday, M. 1994. An Introduction to Functional Grammar. London: Edward Arnold. Hamilton, J. 2005. ‘Factors influencing the oral participation levels of Vietnamese postgraduate students studying in Australia’. Paper presented at the Conference on Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, 8–9 December, 2005, Monash University, Australia. Hendry, G; Ryan, G; Harris, J. 2003. ‘Group problems in problem-based learning’. Medical Teacher 25 (6): 609–616. Hmelo, C; Lin, X. 2000. ‘Becoming self-directed learners: Strategy development in problem-based learning’. In Problem-based Learning: A Research Perspective on Learning Interactions, edited by Evensen, D; Hmelo, C. New Jersey: Erlbaum: Mahwah.

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Imafuku, R. 2006. ‘Student and tutor oral participation in medical Problem-Based Learning tutorials’. Unpublished MA thesis, Monash University, Australia. Khoo, H. E. 2003. ‘Implementation of problem-based learning in Asian medical schools and students' perceptions of their experience’. Medical Education 37: 401–409. Koschmann, T; Glenn, P; Conlee, M. 1997. ‘Analyzing the emergence of a learning issue in a problem-based learning meeting’. Medical Education Online 2 (2): 1–9. Legg, M. 2005. ‘Student and Tutor Roles in Problem-based Learning Medical Tutorials at Hong Kong University’. MA Thesis, Sydney: Macquarie University. Lycke, K. 2002. ‘Inside PBL groups: observation, confirmations and challenges’. Education for Health 15 (3): 326–334. Musal, B; Gursel, Y; Taskiran, H; Ozan, S; Tuna, A. 2004. ‘Perceptions of first and third year medical students on self-study and reporting processes of problem-based learning’. BMC Medical Education 4 (16): 1–7. Renko, M; Uhari, M; Soini, H; Tensing, M. 2002. ‘Peer consultation as a method for promoting problem-based learning during a paediatrics course’. Medical Teacher 24 (4): 408–411. Sacks, H; Schegloff, E; Jefferson, C. 1974. ‘A simplest systematic for the organization of turn-taking for conversation’. Language 50 (4): 696–735. Savin-Baden, M; Major, C. 2004. Foundations of Problem-based Learning. Berkshire: Open University Press. Sinclair, J; Coulthard, R. 1975. Towards an Analysis of Discourse: The English Used by Teachers and Pupils. London: Oxford University Press. Treloar, C; McCall, N; Rolfe, I; Pearson, S; Garvey, G; Heathcote, A. 2000. ‘Factors affecting progress of Australian and international students in a problem-based learning medical course’. Medical Education 34: 708–715. Wilke, K; Burns, I. 2003. Problem-based Learning. A Handbook for Nurses. Hampshire: Palgrave.

Cite this chapter as: Imafuku, R. 2007. ‘A case study of a medical PBL tutorial: Tutor and student participation’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; SpencerBrown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 11.1 to 11.17. DOI: 10.2104/ld070011.

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PART THREE

LEARNER MOTIVATION AND ENGAGEMENT IN A PEDAGOGIC AND ASSESSMENT TASK INSIGHTS FROM ACTIVITY THEORY Robyn Spence-Brown, Monash University Robyn Spence-Brown is a Senior Lecturer in the School of Languages, Cultures and Linguistics at Monash University. Her research interests include second language acquisition, assessment and Japanese language teaching.

This paper examines engagement in an extended pedagogic task, which also functioned as an assessment task, from the perspective of the motives and goals of participants. The focus of the paper is on the relationship between motive and activity, using a framework derived from activity theory. The analysis demonstrates the usefulness of activity theory for extending our understanding in areas of SLA relating to motivation, and to task engagement, particularly in relation to complex pedagogic and assessment tasks.

RESEARCH ON LEARNERS, TASKS AND ACTIVITIES Tasks have been a major focus for SLA research, language course design and assessment (e.g. Crookes and Gass 1993; Bygate et al. 2001; Candlin and Murphy 1987). They have been seen as a major means by which teachers and assessors can elicit language use by learners, in order for them to acquire, practice or display for assessment target language use. In much of the work on tasks there has been an implicit or explicit assumption that tasks will influence engagement and performance in predictable and controllable ways. Researchers have thus been concerned to tease out the cognitive dimensions of tasks (such as task difficulty) as well as their interactive dimensions, and how these might affect opportunities for learning and for engaging and displaying competence (e.g. Swain and Lapkin 2001; Bachman 2002; Ellis 2005; Skehan 1996; Skehan 1998). However, SLA researchers, assessment experts and language educators have increasingly questioned simplistic assumptions about the nature of tasks and their relationship to the engagement of abilities, discourse and to learning outcomes. As Duff (this volume) notes, we can no longer assume that tasks are transparent, stable and uniform. Twenty years ago, Breen noted the need to distinguish between the task designed by the teacher which he called the ‘task-as-workplan’, and the task enacted by the student – the ‘task-in-process’. He argued that in fact ‘any learning outcome is the result of fairly unpredictable interaction between the learner, the task, and the task situation’ (Breen 1987), suggesting that the outcome will be significantly shaped by a range of factors, including the learners’ own perceptions of what they and others should contribute, their view of the nature and demands of the task itself, and their personal definitions of the task situation. Researchers interested in discourse variation attributable to task type have found that the subject’s perspective on the task (for example, its goals, procedures and significance) is an important factor, which cannot be accounted for by an analysis of features of the task in isolation (Duff 1993; Murphy 1993). Another observation is that there is often a mismatch between learner and teacher perceptions and intentions in relation to tasks (Kumaravadivelu 1991).

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Some of the most interesting work examining the ‘task-in-process’ and some of the factors that influence that process, has been carried out by those working from an Activity Theory perspective, who note the need to distinguish between the task (blueprint provided by the teacher or researcher) and the activity (the behaviour produced when the task is actually performed) (Coughlan and Duff 1994). In the last decade, a number of studies have highlighted the fact that many individual and social factors contribute to the way in which a task is performed as an activity (e.g. Donato 2000; Parks 2000; Roebuck 2000). Activity theory provides a framework for examining these factors and the processes involved. Activities are seen to take place within ‘activity systems’, defined in terms of subjects acting on objects according to socially and subjectively influenced motives, mediated by various physical and symbolic artifacts, and the communities, rules and divisions of labor in which they are embedded. (See Lantolf and Thorne (2006) for a comprehensive discussion of the origins and development of Activity theory, and in particular its application to second language learning.) Thorne, in a recent paper, refers to the activity as the ‘countertask’ – emphasising that the student’s activity responds to the unilaterally imposed task of the teacher (Thorne 2005). In fact, although this view captures well the multi-lateral construction of the activity, it is an oversimplification to think in terms of only one task and one countertask. In this chapter I want to suggest that sometimes the task proposed by the teacher implies several overlapping activities, which may or may not be compatible with each other. Students accept, reject or add to these possibilities as they redefine the activity in accordance with their own goals and abilities and with other elements of the activity system at a given time, including other individuals with whom they interact in performing the activity. The process by which individuals orient to a task and perceive or engage with it as an activity is referred to in this chapter as ‘framing’. This term has been used extensively in the social sciences and humanities (MacLachlan and Reid 1994) and in linguistics has been used to refer to the processes by which people use scripts or set expectations of how particular types of interactions typically unfold in order to generate and interpret discourse (Goffman 1974). I view framing as an interactive process that involves not only recognition and adoption of socially meaningful categories, but also allows for idiosyncratic adjustment to suit individual circumstances and motivations. Like the frame on a video camera, framing may be adjusted moment by moment as an event unfolds, and involves active selection of a different ‘focus’ at different points in time. In addition, multiple frames may operate together or in competition with each other, as in Tannen’s work on competing frames in a medical consultation (Tannen and Wallat 1993). In order to provide useful information to task designers, teachers and assessors, we need to understand why a given task is framed or instantiated in a certain way, although it would be dangerous to expect, given the complexity of human behaviour and the contexts in which it occurs, that we could ever control or anticipate task instantiation completely. In this chapter I want to demonstrate the usefulness for understanding the ‘task-in-process’ of examining the ways in which it relates to socially defined and recognised activities, and the motives that both initiate and govern them.

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MOTIVES, GOALS AND ACTIVITIES Before turning to the specific notion of ‘motive’ employed within activity theory, it is useful to reflect on the broader concept of ‘motivation’ which has long been recognised as an important factor in language learning. ‘Motivation’ is a confusing term, encompassing several senses, including both beliefs and desires and amount of effort. Much research has traditionally focused on why learners are interested in learning a language in general (e.g. intrinsic vs extrinsic motivation), but the term also relates to how strong is the desire to learn or the effort which it evokes. Recent work on motivation recognises that it is complex and multi-dimensional, and changes over time (see for example Dörnyei and Schmidt 2001). There is also a deepening understanding of how different social environments affect both motivation itself, and the relationship of particular motivations to achievement and to particular language use activities (Dörnyei 1990; Ushioda 2003). In the broader educational literature such issues have been more extensively explored. For example, Pintrich and Schrauben (1992) suggest a social cognitive model utilising three general components of students’ motivational beliefs – expectancy (can I do this task?), value (why am I doing this task?) and affect (how does this task and my performance make me feel?). Theoretical models are also proposed by Tittle (1994) and Brookhart (1997). However, in the applied linguistics literature, motivation is often still viewed as a relatively stable psychological trait or state. In addition, task and situation-specific (in other words, activity-specific) motives and goals are often inadequately distinguished, or the role of activity-specific motivation is ignored, although there are some recent exceptions (such as Julkunen 2001). As McGroarty notes, a deficiency of previous work is that it has ‘not generally included attention to particular individual meanings or detailed assessment of participants’ interpretations of instructional tasks, school or classroom environments, or social groups within the classroom’ (McGroarty 2001). There is still much work to be done in developing frameworks that distinguish between and relate more general orientations and motivations (which may or may not be goal-oriented) and the specific motives and goals associated with a particular language-acquisition or assessment activity, and thus with the engagement of abilities and learning which result from it. Vygotskyan approaches have not figured prominently in the work on motivation within applied linguistics, and their potential to contribute to research in this area has perhaps not been fully recognised. Activity theory was developed by A. N. Leont’ev and others after Vygotsky’s early death, drawing on aspects of Marxist theory (Wertsch 1985). It focuses upon goal-directed actions, and proposes a three-level framework for their analysis. The highest level is the activity, a socially defined category such as work, play, or instructional activity, which serves to ‘orient the subject in the world of objects’ (Leont’ev, cited in Wertsch 1985) As Wertsch notes: One of the most important characteristics of an activity is that it is not determined or even strongly circumscribed by the physical or perceptual context in which humans function. Rather, it is a sociocultural interpretation or creation that is imposed on the context by the participant(s) (Wertsch 1985: 203).

According to Wertsch, the activity provides the social context for behaviour and:

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… is grounded in a set of assumptions about appropriate roles, goals and means used by the participants in that setting… The guiding and integrating force of these assumptions is what Leont’ev called the motive of an activity. For Leont’ev a motive is not a construct that can be understood in biological or even psychological terms. Rather, it is an aspect of a sociohistorically specific, institutionally defined setting. Among other things, the motive that is involved in a particular activity setting specifies what is to be maximised in that setting. By maximising one goal, one set of behaviors, and the like over others, the motive also determines what will be given up if need be in order to accomplish something else (Wertsch 1985: 212).

Later developments of activity theory have incorporated greater attention to the role of individual agency, (shaped by prior experience as well as biologically endowed characteristics) in interacting with the socially determined motives of activity (see Lantolf and Thorne 2006). Activity theory is thus well suited as a framework for examining motivation at the task level, as opposed to the more general level traditionally targeted by questionnaires and interviews; a bottom-up view as opposed to the top-down view of traditional motivational research. It also takes a social and historical view of activity, and can therefore provide insights into the genesis of motivation and motive, not just from immediate influences, but from prior cultural and historical factors. For example, Gillette (1994) examined the way in which social background affected the goals and thus the performance of university students studying French. This historical and developmental view, combined with attention to the dynamic nature of activity systems, is also helpful in examining motivational change over time, an aspect that has been highlighted by researchers as requiring further exploration (Oxford and Shearin 1996). Additionally, activity theory focuses attention on the ‘motives’ inherent in particular socially defined activities. It is therefore able to go beyond the focus on the individual inherent in the psychological tradition that has dominated much motivational research to look at the socially constructed nature of motives and motivation and how motive relates both to the immediate social context and to the individual histories and circumstances that individuals bring with them into that context. It thus complements other recent work which has highlighted the deficiencies in narrowly psychological views of motivation, using concepts such as investment, which acknowledge the social dimensions of phenomena that have hitherto been attributed to the individual in isolation (Pierce 1995; Siegal 1996). The usefulness of considering the socially determined aspect of motive has perhaps been somewhat overlooked in some of the work conducted under an activity theory framework in applied linguistics to date. For example, even Coughlan and Duff (whose paper popularised the activity – task distinction within applied linguistics) state that: Unlike a task, an activity has no set of objectives in and of itself – rather, participants have their own objectives, and act according to these and the researchers’ objectives, all of which are negotiated (either implicitly or explicitly) over the course of the interaction (Coughlan and Duff 1994: 175).

While the latter part of this statement is undoubtedly true, as discussed above, activity theory maintains that in fact activities do have inherent motives that are socially recognisable, although

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participants may not always accept them fully. In fact, activities are differentiated by their different motives, and these are not arbitrary psychological characteristics of the individual, but have a social basis. An individual’s motives and goals will be influenced at least to some extent by the activity they perceive themselves to be participating in, although at the same time the motives they bring with them to the task will also shape the nature of the activity itself, as they frame an event as one activity rather than another. For example, if students who are assigned a practical task in an educational setting perceive themselves to be involved in a learning activity, and accept it as such, the motive of learning will influence their actions – so that they may give as much priority to understanding the processes involved thoroughly, and to acquiring new skills as to completing the task. If, however, they do not accept the activity as a learning activity (either because they are not interested in learning, or do not feel that they can learn from it) but see it as a task of work to be completed in order to fulfil course requirements, then they will give much greater priority to achieving an acceptable task outcome as efficiently as possible – see Lantolf and Genung (2002) for a study illustrating just this point. While there may be an infinite variety in the individual objectives or motives that participants bring with them to an encounter, conditioned by their individual histories, focusing only on these individual differences is not very helpful to task designers, because it gives little insight into the systematic ways in which their tasks may be instantiated as activities. However, where a common activity frame is present across a number of participants in a task, understanding the motives pertaining to that activity should give information that is generalisable, and can be used to predict task engagement processes.

STUDY CONTEXT The present study was conducted in the context of an intermediate level tertiary Japanese language course. The unit of work being considered was designed around a central task, in which students were required to interview a native speaker of Japanese and write a report. According to the course designers, as well as developing language skills required to conduct interviews, including formal polite register (keigo), the unit aimed to increase student contact with and ability to network with the local Japanese community and to increase awareness of cultural and social diversity (Ogawa 1998). Over the course of several weeks, the students were required to make contact with a native speaker and arrange an interview on a topic of their own choice, develop a list of interview questions and submit it for teacher feedback, conduct an interview and tape it, write a report in Japanese based on the interview and write a thank you letter. The interview tape, report and letter were submitted for assessment (total of 10% of final grade for semester [3%+6%+1%]). The tasks provided a focus and purpose for instruction and learning, opportunities to apply and practice learning, and language samples for assessment. According to the designers and teachers, they were designed to provide meaningful and ‘authentic’ opportunities for language use, in that the topic was selected by the student on the basis of their own interests, the interaction was with a non-teacher, the setting was outside the classroom, and the tasks were based on realworld tasks judged by teachers to be relevant to students in the future.

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RESEARCH QUESTIONS In this chapter I want to focus on two questions:

1. 2.

How did students and other participants frame and engage with the interview task – in other words, how was it instantiated as an activity? How did the motives associated with various activity frames, and other elements of the activity system, affect engagement with the task, and thus affordances for learning?

DATA Data was gathered for eight subjects (representing a mix of age, sex, ability and background), three of whom are reported on in detail in this study. Assessment data, comprising the draft questions (with teacher feedback), tape of interview (transcribed), report (with teacher feedback and mark), and thank you letter (with teacher feedback and mark) were collected. In addition, a retrospective interview incorporating stimulated recall was conducted, in which students were asked to recall in as much detail as possible the specific process of completing each task, where possible using their assessment products as prompts. They were also asked to comment on their attitudes, motivations and the impact of the assessment requirements. The informants were quite willing to talk about what for most had been an emotionally taxing experience (both positive and negative). They also seemed to be able to recall quite readily what they were thinking at various key points in the interview with the native speaker, although as with all retrospective and introspective material, care must be taken not to take this data as necessarily an entirely accurate picture of what actually occurred. Supplementary data was also collected in the form of observation of classes, collection of course materials, and interviews with teachers and course designers.

FINDINGS: MAJOR ACTIVITY FRAMES AND RELATED MOTIVATION On the surface, all informants had performed a similar task – interviewing a native speaker on tape, and writing a report. However, it emerged from an examination of the taped discourse, and from the retrospective reports of the informants, that in fact there were large differences between what happened in each of the interactions. Thus in spite of the surface similarities in the task, the pairs of students and their interviewees were engaging in a range of rather different activities. As anticipated in the task design, the topics covered were different for each student. But at a more fundamental level, the roles assumed by the interactants, and their understandings of what was taking place, as well as their strategies for managing and developing the interaction also appeared to differ widely, in a way that was not always immediately apparent at a surface level on the recordings submitted by the students. Each subject and each interlocutor framed the task differently, and the framing sometimes changed over the course of the interaction. I want to argue that these differences were fundamentally related to the major aims or motives which lay behind the actions of the participants, which were shaped by, and which shaped, their understandings of the social activity in which they were involved and its purposes. The framing of the activity was influenced by various factors, including the participants’ understandings of their capabilities and needs, within the social context (both micro and macro) in which they found

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themselves. Some students selected known and complicit interviewees, with whom they rehearsed a largely scripted performance, often asking questions to which they already knew the answers. As far as possible this preparation and lack of spontaneity was disguised on the interview tape, sometimes quite convincingly. Other students conducted authentic interviews, and some (but not all) were successfully able to integrate into their performance carefully prepared material which both served the purposes of the interview, and displayed the language they knew was required to obtain a good mark. A detailed analysis of individual cases can be found elsewhere (Spence-Brown 2001, 2003, 2004), but in summary, there seemed to be three major overlapping activity frames acknowledged by and evident in the actions of the participants, that related to their individual and institutional objectives and the characteristics of the situation. The three frames were: ‘authentic’ social interaction and information gathering interview; language learning/practice activity; and assessment activity. These frames were in a sense built into the task, which was designed as a learning and assessment task, but which relied for its validity for these purposes on being at the same time an authentic opportunity for interaction and for the gathering of information. Some participants were conscious of and able to balance the demands of all three frames at once, although particular frames dominated at different stages of the interview, while for others, one frame dominated. The design of the task required it to encompass the motives of all three activities, but this only seemed to be possible where the activities complemented each other, or at least the goals and actions associated with each activity did not clash. This was the case where the social conditions (for example, the relationship between participants and their understanding of the situation) were in alignment with all three frames, and where participants perceived that they had the skills and resources to carry out each activity in a way that would not clash with the motives inherent in the other frames. The motives that seemed to drive the activities are summarised in Table 1.

Table 1 Main activities and associated motives

In terms of the ostensible ‘authentic task’ of interviewing a native speaker, there in fact seemed to be two slightly different understandings. Firstly, the task was quite explicitly designed as an information gathering interview, the objective of which was to find out about a topic of interest, and to gather information on which to base a written report in Japanese. However, the course designers had also intended that making the contact for this interview would help students to

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expand their social interaction with Japanese people (which was one of the aims of the unit of work) and some of the students also seemed to be looking for this ‘social’ contact. Their interviewees (where they were previously unknown to the students at any rate) also seemed to be interacting according to this motive – for example, Diane’s interviewee, an older Japanese housewife, served tea, and when the interview was finished started asking personal questions in a conversational tone. Thus on the surface, the primary object was gathering information, yet the motive for this was not a real need for the information, so much as the desire for an opportunity for interaction. In addition, given the social situation, a straight interview without some ‘off-task’ social interaction would probably have been considered rude and inappropriate. So even at the level of ‘authentic’ interaction, the activity was multilayered. Although in many cases the demands of ‘social interaction/conversation’ and ‘interview’ did not conflict, some students saw the requirement to conduct a formal interview as spoiling an opportunity for more casual and natural conversation, and complained that they did not like the task for this reason. The ‘authentic’ task was embedded within a language course, and thus another frame was one of language learning, and one major motive for the task was to improve the students’ Japanese. Depending on their differing philosophies of language learning, participants seemed to view the task as a mechanism for providing a purpose for, and practice of language structures and pragmatic rules which had been targeted in the course, and/or to provide an opportunity for ‘authentic’ language use, which would lead to acquisition of communicative skills in general, rather than to the acquisition of any clearly defined body of knowledge or skills. The third level was that of ‘assessment task’ – a frame which seemed to have been secondary in the minds of the course designers, but which proved to be the most salient, and the most powerful in determining the direction of the activity for several of the students. The course designers had included an assessment aspect to the pedagogic task in line with an approach which has sometimes been called ‘authentic’ assessment (Birenbaum 1996; Khattri et al. 1998; Khattri and Sweet 1996; Hart 1994; Kohonen 1999). This approach advocates assessing meaningful and pedagogically useful tasks, thus reducing the harmful backwash and wasted time associated with stand-alone assessment tasks which have no other purpose. The designers of the task considered the purpose of the assessment to be predominantly formative, as feedback was given in qualitative as well as quantitative terms and the percentage devoted to this task in the end of semester results was small. However, it was clear from the actions of some of the students that their understanding of the behaviour required by a task linked in even a minor way to formal assessment and results was very different from the view held by the teachers. For them, the dominant motive seems to have been to present their abilities in their best light, in order to achieve the highest score possible. Where students were relatively unconcerned about results (as seemed to be the case with one first-year student, Sally) or where they had a very strong commitment to the other levels of the activity (such as social interaction and practicing their language skills) or had confidence that their skill level was relatively high, students seemed to be able to juggle the demands of assessment with the demands of other activity frames. However, in two cases in particular, with later year students who did not believe that their language competence would allow them to put on a good enough performance to achieve their assessment goals, all semblance of authentic interaction was lost. In these cases the task was transformed into a scripted ‘role play’, an activity which they co-constructed with a complicit interviewee, who participated in the construction of a successful performance for assessment just as much as did the student themselves – by rehearsing

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the interview, re-recording segments, avoiding negotiation of meaning that might have implied problems in their interlocutor’s discourse to a listener, etc. The contrast between the different activity frames governing the interaction was evident in the interview discourse – scripted questions, answers, and responses, devoid of negotiation of meaning or spontaneity, were characteristic of the interactions governed by the assessment frame. The dominance of this frame was confirmed by students’ stated motives. For example, Robert, a final year low proficiency student, when asked about his aims in approaching the interview said: Ah, mainly (it) was to pass the criteria for the assignment. Not, like, I wasn’t thinking of, the interview itself, I suppose, I was thinking about what I had to do to make this as presentable as possible.

This should not be seen as purely cynical response from a student uninterested in learning and only aiming to fulfil course requirements. All the students interviewed had elected to study Japanese because of an interest in the language, and some seemed quite upset that the interview task was dominated for them by the need to perform for assessment, and that the task was structured in a way that gave the opportunity to do so. As another student, Kim, said: We were told not to prepare something before (the) interview, like, not to talk to the person before then but we just can’t, cannot do it. That’s why I don’t like this interview very much, because you can prepare. I like the one that you can just chat about something with your friends.

As Lantolf and Genung found, in the case of a keen graduate student whose initial interest in learning Chinese to fulfil interactive goals was incompatible with the activity shaped by the institutional context and required to fulfil course requirements, the motive was not an unvarying psychological attribute of the student, but a product of the activity system (Lantolf and Genung 2002). In the case of another student, Sally, who (unusually) did not even refer to assessment when outlining her goals for the interview, the discourse was very different. She had not rote-learned set phrases or scripted questions and responses to anything like the same degree as the other students, and at times topic changes that were totally unprepared for occurred in the course of the interview (again, unlike the situation in other interviews examined). This led to language use which was on the surface less fluent, appropriate and accurate than that of the other students studied – and which resulted in a low grade, despite the much more challenging nature of the interaction she attempted. However, some students did seem to be able to balance motives to perform well for assessment with equally strong motives to engage in ‘real’ interaction to gather information and to try out their Japanese. Crucially, they selected interviewees whom they did not know, and topics they were interested in, whereas those most interested in maximising assessment success interviewed people they already knew (but pretended they didn’t) on topics they were already familiar with. They utilised rehearsal and preparation, not to script a role play, but to allow them to participate in an interview at a level that would have been impossible without this mediation. For example,

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Diane, who seemed to embody most clearly the ideal student implicit in the task design, who could juggle all the activity frames at once, made the following comment about her objectives: Um, I think there were two objectives. One was I wanted everything to sound well on the tape because I knew the tape was being assessed and the other was I was really interested in what the answers would be because I’d written about something and I’d taken a lot of time to prepare it… I think that worked well for me because I was very interested in the answers, so I felt like I could reply more whereas at the same time I was very conscious, it sort of balanced my conscious(ness) of trying to be exactly perfect in my Japanese. I think if I hadn’t of been interested in the subject it would have been terrible because I would have been so conscious of myself that I would have been interviewing myself practically.

So, while in Diane’s case assessment was still a major determinant of Diane’s motives and goals – to make the tape sound proficient and get good marks – she herself believed that this was balanced by her motivation to participate in an interaction which she found interesting. In the particular case it seems that Diane had the ability and confidence to achieve a productive balance which enabled her to simultaneously address both goals, although at particular points in the interview she was more oriented to one than the other.

ACTIVITY FRAMING AND BEHAVIOUR In summary then, it was found that activity frames could overlap if congruent – but if not, choices had to be made. The assessment frame was very powerful, suggesting that while learning might be an important motivating factor, in formal, tertiary level courses, successful course completion would appear to be the most powerful motive for many students. Even though on objective measures the contribution of the task assessment to the students’ final mark was very low, the strong ‘display’ motive associated with assessment in this social context seems to be strongly ingrained. The framing and associated motivation had important consequences for behaviour, and consequently for opportunities for learning. The ‘real life’ interview/conversation frame appeared to promote engagement and focus on meaning. There was more evidence of negotiation of meaning (by both participants), and more linguistic risk-taking and departure from pre-prepared scripts. The language learning/practice frame could lead to both a focus on form and/or a focus on interaction, but was only consonant with the assessment frame if students had high level of skills and several students stated that the imperatives of assessment meant that the task was less useful for learning. For all the students, the assessment frame resulted in careful preparation, multiple drafts and rehearsal before the actual interview. During the interview itself, awareness of assessment resulted in careful management of the discourse, lack of engagement with content, and focus on form. It thus appeared that using the task for assessment had significant washback implications, as students indicated that they might have behaved very differently if they had not been assessed – or if the tape had not been assessed. In simple terms, students engaged less authentically in in-

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teraction than they otherwise may have done. If engagement and interaction are important for language acquisition, this may have had a detrimental effect. However, assessment did provide a strong incentive for repetition, practice and refinement (mediated by course materials, teacher feedback etc). Although there is not space to give details here, at its best, this preparation afforded an opportunity to work within the ZPD (the Zone of Proximal Development, Vygotsky’s term for the zone where a student is able, with mediation, to complete tasks at a higher level than they could alone, and thus have the opportunity to internalise new skills). The tasks thus provided a fertile environment for learning – as students engaged in imitation and repetition, appropriation of and internalisation of knowledge and skills from various sources of mediation (corrective feedback, text books etc).

FACTORS INFLUENCING FRAMING AND ENGAGEMENT WITH THE TASK Activity theory provides a powerful tool for examining the various factors affecting the motivation of individuals within social and physical contexts. Some of the factors that appeared to be relevant in this setting included:

•

•

•

•

Existing motives of subjects (students), formed through their personal history and wider contexts (their experience of success and failure, their original goals for choosing to study Japanese etc.) For example, students who had little other opportunity to interact with Japanese gave a higher priority to authentic interaction than did those with established Japanese networks. Perceived relevance and interest of task, assessment of its potential for learning and congruence with self-concept (subjectivity). For example, students who felt that they would never need to do formal interviews in Japanese were less engaged than students who felt such skills would be useful to them. Perceived and negotiated roles, (or ‘division of labor’) of participants. For example, some interviewees seemed to view themselves as a friend and fellow student whose main role was to help the subject complete a good project, while others saw themselves as an interviewee, assisting an Australian student to understand about Japan. There was abundant evidence that the framing of both the activity and the participants’ roles was co-constructed by, and affected actions of both participants. Institutionally and socially determined motives – in particular, the strong need associated with academic settings for achieving success in terms of grades. An interesting difference in the strength of the ‘display’ motive seemed to relate to the perceived ‘stakes’ of the assessment for the individual, combined with the degree of confidence of the participants in their communicative competence – this determined whether other frames could co-exist with the assessment frame. Course-based assessment is generally considered to be low stakes, but it was clear that the ‘stakes’ were not a property purely of the assessment itself (which was worth a very low proportion of the mark in one single subject) but were different for each student. For example, the stakes appeared to be higher for a third year student completing his last subject, who knew that he would be struggling to pass, than for a first year student used to doing well in Japanese.

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•

Match between perceived ability level and demands of task – the student’s assessment of the suitability of the linguistic ‘tools’ available to them to perform the task. When the task was beyond the student’s level of competence to perform in a way they considered would appear competent, there seemed to be a strong imperative to find ways of avoiding engaging with it authentically.

CONCLUSIONS This chapter has drawn upon the conceptual framework of activity theory to examine aspects of motivation and task engagement which have implications for task design, assessment practices and other institutional practices. A crucial insight of activity theory is that motive is both social (related to socially constructed and recognised activities) and individual (determined by the attributes, personal histories etc of individuals who act within activity frames which they co-construct). Both the social and individual determinants of motivation have historical aspects which are relatively stable and long term, as well as aspects which are extremely sensitive to changes in the immediate physical and social environment. Ultimately, what counts for learning will be the moment-by-moment goal-directed actions which take place within teaching and learning activities. Activity theory thus gives us a tool for examining the various facets of tasks in process, and their immediate and wider social environments, with a view to understanding behaviour and its determinants (including what is generally known as ‘motivation’), and thus to empowering useful change. This study reveals the dominance of the assessment frame in a pedagogic task associated with summative assessment (even though on the surface the stakes seem low) and highlights the associated strong motive for students to control their performance in order to present their skills in the best light. The potential for positive and negative washback on learning which this entails has been touched upon, although it is beyond the scope of this chapter to explore affordances for and obstacles to learning in detail. I wish to conclude with a brief comment on the implications for task design and pedagogy, although one of the main lessons from this study is that sweeping generalisations about tasks should be highly suspect, and that it is the specifics of individual activity systems which are significant. However, one wider conclusion which might be safely drawn is that advocates of the embedding of assessment within pedagogic activities need to be more aware of the possibilities of negative backwash on learning, especially where students perceive that the risk-taking and authentic engagement which might be conducive to learning will jeopardise their assessment prospects. In addition, as experienced teachers already know, authentic engagement is more likely where the identities and roles of the other participants support it, and where the student perceives the task prescribed to be meaningful, relevant and within their ability to perform competently. The results of this study should encourage task designers to look beyond their own pre-conceived ideas about how a task is to be performed and why, and to engage with both students and the other elements of the activity system of the language course, in order to understand their students’ motivations and behaviour, and to initiate adjustments where appropriate to the culture of the classroom community, division of labour, tools available, as well as to the tasks by which they hope to mediate student learning.

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Ushioda, E. 2003. ‘Motivation as a socially mediated process’. In Learner Autonomy in the Foreign Language Classroom: Teacher, Learner, Curriculum and Assessment, edited by Little, D; Ridley, J; Ushioda, E. Dublin: Authentik. Wertsch, J. 1985. Vygotsky and the Social Formation of Mind. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.

Cite this chapter as: Spence-Brown, R. 2007. ‘Learner motivation and engagement in a pedagogic and assessment task: Insights from activity theory’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 12.1 to 12.15 DOI: 10.2104/ld070012.

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PART THREE

EFFECT OF INDIVIDUAL AND SOCIAL FACTORS ON LEARNERS’ GROUP WORK ACTIVITY Chiharu Shima, Chiharu Shima lectured at Ritsumeikan Asia Pasific University during 2007. Her research focuses on classroom research and peer interaction. Correspondence to Chiharu Shima: [email protected]

The use of pair/group work is widespread in language classrooms, reflecting a focus on learner-centred language teaching and a desire to increase opportunities for interaction. This chapter examines the process of learners’ participation in a small group work task, focusing on the social nature of learning in the classroom context. It draws on data from a pre-intermediate level Japanese course at an Australian university, including video-recordings of learners of Japanese engaging in a group work task, as well as data gained from interviews incorporating retrospective stimulated recall sessions. The findings indicate that not only does each group show a unique approach, but also each learner within the same group engages with and experiences the task differently by reinterpreting the task based on their individual goals, histories and situations. The study also reveals the effects of peer influence on learners’ behaviour and highlights the multiplicity of aspects on which learners focus during their engagement with the given task. The implications for promoting better learning opportunities in peer interaction are also discussed.

INTRODUCTION In recent years, the influence of the communicative approach to language teaching has changed teaching and learning styles from teacher-dominant to learner-centred, and the use of pair/group work is now widespread in language classrooms. The effectiveness of pair work or small group work activities in the second language classroom has been discussed by many researchers and from different perspectives (Long and Porter 1985; Long 1990; Ohta 2001). In mainstream Second Language Acquisition (SLA) research regarding learners’ interaction in classrooms, researchers have tended to focus on the merit of pair work in terms of the increase of linguistic interaction in which ‘negotiation of meaning’ takes place (Long and Porter 1985; Long 1990), or factors which may affect the quantity of such interaction (Gass and Varonis 1985). In other words, their focus has mainly been on investigating cognitive and psycholinguistic processes. However, other researchers have suggested that many of the questions that remain unresolved in the SLA field are unlikely to be answered if approached only from a cognitive viewpoint which takes little account of context and social and affective factors (e.g. Yanagimachi 2002: 19).1 More recently, an increasing number of studies have been conducted on learners’ interaction from a more context sensitive perspective, using approaches based on Vygotskyan sociocultural theory and activity theory (e.g. Ohta 1995, 2001; Lantolf 2000; Swain 2000), or the language socialisation perspective (Morita 2000; Duff, this volume). What is common in these approaches is the importance placed on interaction as a place of situated language learning and use (van Lier 2000; Ohta 2001). They do not view learning as simple information-processing cognitive behaviour, but as a process of increasing participation in the social group (Rogoff 1990; Lave and Wenger 1991), or an internalising process based on social collaborative interaction with others (Ohta 2001). In these views, learners are not like computers which just process information, but

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are active agents who can control their own learning (Lantolf and Pavlenko 2001) in relation to the environment which surrounds them (van Lier 2000). When learners engage in pair or small group work, they take more control over their own behaviour, and each learner interacts with others on the basis of his/her own motivation, academic experience, preferred learning style, expectations of the classroom and so on. In addition to the influence of individual factors, a pair/group inevitably consists of multiple persons, who will have multiple goals or orientations to the task. Therefore, learners have to negotiate and cooperate with each other towards the accomplishment of the given task. It is inevitable that learners will experience quite different processes and forms of participation, even when completing the same task in the same classroom. Therefore, it is necessary to study the interaction not only from a cognitive viewpoint, but also in its totality, including learners’ agency and the context surrounding the learners in order to investigate the complex language learning process in the classroom. In this study, I will focus on a pair/group work task directed at learning kanji (Chinese characters) in a tertiary Japanese class. Unlike tasks such as role-play or conversation practice, in which each member of the group has a role in the exercise, students were not assigned pre-determined roles in the kanji learning task analysed in this study. In such unstructured tasks, learners have to take more control in deciding how to work together, either by taking independent initiatives or negotiating implicitly or explicitly with peers. Applying the activity theory perspective, I aim to investigate the process of learners’ participation in the task, their interaction with peers and the effect of individual factors which may affect their behaviour. The research specifically addresses two questions: 1. 2.

What factors influence learners’ behaviour in pair/group work in the classroom? How do peers in the pair/group affect each other’s engagement in the kanji task?

THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK ACTIVITY THEORY PERSPECTIVE IN SLA Activity theory derives from the work of the Russian psychologist, Vygotsky. Vygotsky (1978) views mental development as an attribute of the subject’s interaction with the socioculturally constructed world. Vygotsky regarded the human mind as mediated, and believed that the process of development was achieved through the use of physical as well as symbolic tools. In other words, humans use tools such as computers to interact with their external environment, and establish or change a relationship between themselves and the world. Through one of the most important symbolic tools, namely language, humans direct and organise their mental activity, such as thinking, learning, or solving problems. In this view, new knowledge is first accessed on a social level, then internalised on an individual psychological level. In other words, learning is an internalising process of socially or interpersonally constructed knowledge through interaction (Vygotsky 1978; Mitchell and Myles 1998; Lantolf 2000). According to Vygotsky’s theory, psychological development is shaped by the changes resulting from interaction with others or the world on the basis of social activities that individuals are engaged in throughout their lives. Following Vygotsky’s concepts, and focusing more on the difference between individual action and collective activity, A. N. Leont’ev, one of Vygotsky’s colleagues, constructed activity theory (Cole and Engestrom ¨ 1993) to conceptualise the social

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context. Leont’ev (1981) used the practice of hunting as an example of a collective activity in which some people work to make noise to corner the animals while others are waiting to catch the animals. Through this example, Leont’ev explained that two separate actions are understood by the hunters only in the context of the overall activity of hunting which is motivated by the need to assuage their hunger. Each action leading to a specific goal, such as making noise, is taken and carried out in certain condition, such as in the rain. Thus, in activity theory, the context in which the action occurs and the motive that underlies it are necessary to understand the individual actions. According to Engestrom ¨ (1987), each element is tied together by collective objects and motives that are realised in goal oriented actions. All elements influence each other, hence the activity is dynamic. Therefore, the activity will differ depending on the motive, objectives, goals and specific conditions. To summarise, activity theory views human social activity as a framework for understanding the dynamic relationship between individual, social, cultural, historical, and institutional contexts. People engage in various activities based on their motives, and through interaction with others, people develop ways of participation or knowledge about the activity restricted or facilitated by the context. This activity theory framework gives the researcher a perspective from which to investigate interaction between learners in the classroom context, as in this study. Based on the above concept of activity theory, some SLA researchers have analysed language learners’ behaviour from an activity theory perspective. One of the basic principles in the theory is that every human’s activity is driven by motives, needs, or objects, which are constructed socially and physically. Using this concept, researchers have examined individually-differentiated behaviour in the classroom (e.g. Gillette 1994; Donato 2000; Roebuck 2000). One of the most influential studies was conducted by Coughlan and Duff (1994), even though the data was not collected in a classroom, but in an experimental situation. Based on their interview data, which asked five students to describe a picture, they showed that the task was understood in a different way by each individual. They also found that even the same learner performed in a different way when asked to do the same task again later. With these findings as evidence, Coughlan and Duff (1994) demonstrated that even in a controlled experimental situation, the same ‘task’ given to each learner by a researcher becomes a different ‘activity’, when it is actually performed by each learner. Gillette (1994) compared three effective learners and three ineffective learners of French, focusing on the influence of learners’ goals on their participation in activities. Examining the different behaviour that each learner displayed, Gillette supports the Vygotskian psycholinguistic principle that the initial motive of activity determines the outcome of engagement in the activity. Even though not specifically based on the activity theory framework, there are other studies which show similar findings about learners’ agency, in particular focusing on the finding that learners actively reinterpret the learning task and behave differently to the teacher’s expectations (Allwright 1984; Breen 1987; Nunan 1989; Block 1994, 1996; Mori 2002). For example, by using a conversation analytic framework (CA), Mori (2002) investigated the interaction between Japanese language learners and Japanese native speakers in a discussion session in a Japanese classroom. The learners interacted with the native speakers as though participating in a structured interview, which was different from the teacher’s intention when setting the task. Block (1994, 1996) examined how L2 learners, the classroom teacher, and an outside observer interpreted the purpose of a task in an ESL classroom in 14 different ways when he analysed recorded oral accounts of the task by the participants. Block pointed out that although the tasks the teacher

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prepared were goal-driven, and each had a specific purpose for that class, some learners did not see that objective and felt dissatisfied as each task seemed to stand alone and not to produce a coherent whole. These studies have shown that learners are active agents in their learning, and behave in ways that are not predictable from the tasks which they are assigned. Breen (1987) explained that ‘task–as-workplan’ becomes the ‘task-in-process’ through learners’ reinterpretations during their engagement with the task in terms of its objectives, content, procedure and learning situation. Lantolf and Pavlenko (2001) further claim that the same overt behaviours of individual learners do not indicate the same cognitive behaviour as they are not engaging in the same activity. The present study adopts the distinction between ‘task’ and ‘activity’ discussed above and investigates learners’ processes of engagement in their ‘activity’ focusing on their motives and agency.

METHODOLOGY SAMPLE This research project is a part of a larger study which involved nine pairs/groups consisting of 19 volunteers in second year Japanese classes at an Australian university, and two teachers of these classes. All volunteers were of non-Japanese background and were foreign language learners of Japanese. Students were supposed to attend a one-hour lecture, a one-hour tutorial, and a two-hour seminar every week. Because of the large numbers of students, they were divided into two groups for the lecture, and six groups for tutorials and seminars. One tutorial group and three seminar groups were chosen and the data was collected over two weeks. In this study, I focus only on the participants from two groups, each of three students. The two groups attended different seminar classes, but they had the same teacher and the classes had the same content. The profiles of the learners and the teacher are listed in the table below. Pseudonyms are used to protect the privacy of the participants. The six students were, Mary, Antonio, and Daniel in Group 1, and Rick, Michael, and Guy in Group 2. Each student participated in video and audio recordings of their interaction in their group work, and five of the students (excluding Guy) also took part in an interview session with the researcher. I also conducted an interview with the teacher. The teacher was not specifically targeted for audio and video recordings, however, there were some occasions where he was involved in the recordings when he came over to the specific pair/group to check their work.

METHOD The researcher collected data from several different sources: video/audio recordings of classroom interaction; the researcher’s observations of the class; and interviews with learners and teachers. In order to analyse the participants’ actual process of engagement in the classroom, a video camera recorded the interaction of the group of participants, and followed their activities as they moved around the classroom. In addition, a digital or tape recorder was distributed to each pair/group, and individual learners wore a lapel microphone, or sometimes two learners shared microphones attached to the recorder. The researcher attended each class, and took observation notes on what was happening in the classroom, including the types of tasks being undertaken, and the participation of specific

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G/T

Name

F/M

Nationality

G1

Mary

F

Antonio

M

Daniel

M

Chinese (Hong Kong) 11 years in Australia Malaysian Australian Born in Australia Anglo-Australian

Rick

M

Anglo-New Zealander

Michael

M

Anglo-Australian

Guy Yoshi

M M

Anglo-Australian Japanese

G2

T

Studying/teaching experience of Japanese 1.5 years at tertiary level (Started at this university) 1.5 years at tertiary level (Started at this university) 1 year at school 13 years (prep to year 12) at school This is his first semester studying Japanese at tertiary level. 1.5 years at tertiary level (Started at this university) 1.5 years at tertiary level (Started at this university) unknown 1 year in Thailand (secondary level) 2 years in Australia (tertiary level)

Table 1: Profile of focal learners and teacher ∗ G1=Students in group 1. G2=students in group 2. T=teacher. F=female M=Male

pairs/groups in each of these. This observation allowed the researcher to understand the learning environment. In order to examine learners’ behaviour from their own perspective follow-up interviews were utilised. These gave learners the opportunity to provide introspective comment, which supplemented their actual interaction data. The interviews were conducted as soon as possible after the recording sessions; however, the interval between classroom recordings and interviews ranged from immediately after to one week, depending on the participants’ availability. This study adopted two different forms of semi-structured interviews. The first set of interviews were designed to elicit comments on the participants’ cultural and educational backgrounds, their purpose in studying Japanese, and participants’ overall perceptions about their participation in the classroom. The second set of interviews employed a follow-up interview format, as recommended by a number of researchers (see for instance Neustupny´ 1990; Fan 2002). This interview aimed to elicit learners’ retrospective evaluations regarding their behaviour when engaging in pair or group work activities, and enabled the researcher to detect participants’ awareness of various processes taking place in the encounter, which might not surface in the linguistic data (Neustupny´ 1990). In the follow-up interview sessions, video-recordings of participants’ conversations during classroom activities were used to refresh their memories; in other words, as a stimulus to recall. Finally, interviews were conducted with the two teachers in order to elicit information about the teachers’ intentions for the tasks. Each interview took approximately 30 minutes. These interview sessions were recorded on a digital audio recording device.

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TASK The task analysed in this study focused on the learning of kanji (Chinese characters). The usual method of learning kanji is for students to revise the kanji which are taught using flash cards in the classroom. Each week, the kanji studied in the previous class are tested in a kanji quiz, which is part of the assessment. However, in the week of the data collection, the teacher had prepared two different types of kanji learning materials: kanji flash cards, as well as Japanese newspapers and magazines published by the Japanese community in Melbourne. The teacher asked the students which they would prefer to use, and the latter was chosen by the majority of students. Japanese newspapers or magazines were then distributed to each group which consisted of two or three students. Students were instructed to choose one article from the newspaper or magazine, and to highlight within it previously studied or already known kanji as well as new kanji appearing in the chapter of the textbook which they were studying that week. DATA ANALYSIS The audio recordings in the classrooms and interview sessions were transcribed using conventions adapted from Ohta (2001), with notes added concerning relevant non-verbal behaviour viewed in the video recordings. One of the purposes of this study is to investigate the relationship between the interactions and the factors that might affect them. Therefore, in analysing the data, it is necessary not only to rely on the interaction data but to integrate all the other sources, including a learner’s introspection, in order to interpret learners’ behaviour from a holistic view point (van Lier 2000). The ethnography of communication framework (e.g. Morita 2000; Kobayashi 2003) is one of the analytic tools that approach the discourse in such a way. Even though the period of data collection in this study is not typical of an ethnographic study, this study follows the basic assumption of the ethnographic approach which considers the culture/characteristics of a group in relation to the importance of context and the subjective perception of the people involved (Erickson 1992; Nunan 1992). By using a micro-ethnographic approach (Erickson 1992), participants’ classroom interaction data were analysed in conjunction with observation notes and interview comments from both the learners and the teacher.

FINDINGS DIFFERENT PERCEPTIONS OF THE TASK (RICK AND MARY) The teacher explained to the class that he had been in search of some new kanji materials to motivate his students in their learning, and thus had decided upon a newspaper task in addition to the regular kanji flashcards which the students were used to. The students often regarded the learning of kanji as a difficult, boring, and never-ending task, but the teacher hoped that exposing the students to authentic Japanese materials would renew their interest. Also, prior to the seminar classes, the students had been told in a lecture that now that they had studied 200 kanji they should be able to recognise 50% of kanji used in Japanese texts. According to the teacher: I wanted give students confidence about the kanji learning by linking the lecturer’s comments in the lecture with the real practice in this seminar. (Teacher M. 15/09/05)

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The teacher did not expect that students would understand the content of the articles; however, he wanted the students to be encouraged by their ability to tackle newspapers which were generally regarded as advanced for language learners at their level. Despite the teacher’s intentions, individual learners seemed to perceive the task in different ways. Group 2 consisted of Rick, Michael, and Guy. When the newspaper was distributed to this group, Michael and Guy immediately started looking at the article and discussing what they were meant to do. However, Rick, who was seated about one metre from Michael, continued to look at the textbook, and did not take part in this pre-task discussion with his peers. The physical distance between Rick and other two seemed to make it harder for Rick to look at the article. However, this did not seem to be the only reason for his reluctance to participate in the assigned task. Rick had previously indicated his preference for studying with the usual kanji flashcards when the teacher had asked students to choose from the two kanji learning tasks. Rick explained his reluctance to participate in the group work as follows: I preferred the usual kanji learning with cards because we have a quiz next week. I suppose it [kanji cards] can work for me. I didn’t feel we need to change it. But actually I just prefer to study kanji and vocabulary on my own at home, so I don’t really pay too much attention to kanji learning in the classroom anyway. (Rick. 19/9/05).

Rick clearly does not value the kanji learning activity in the classroom beyond its usefulness as preparation for the kanji quiz. Therefore, he negatively evaluated the newspaper task even before engaging in it, because it seemed to have no relationship to achieving success in the quiz. Rick’s study of Japanese outside the classroom also appears to affect his attitudes to kanji learning and his behaviour in the classroom: I usually spend a few hours in a week for Japanese, mostly just using email. I’ve got my hotmail in Japanese, so that I can converse with friends and I can learn script coming up in kanji and hiragana on the mail. I found out when my mum’s Japanese students return to Japan, they want to keep up their English level. So we exchange emails, but it’s easier if I write in Japanese. But the problem is, sometimes when they use too much kanji and I have to go for the kanji dictionary, count strokes and look for it, sometimes it takes a bit of time. But I think it helps me to improve my kanji reading, and it’s the best way to understand how the kanji is used. (Rick. 19/9/05)

Rick stated that he started learning Japanese for communicative purposes. Each year, his mother teaches English to groups of students who come to Australia from a university in Japan, and his mother wanted him to be able to communicate with them. Through his mother, he has frequent contact with Japanese students studying English in Melbourne, and keeps in contact with them even after they have gone back to Japan. Through his experience of exchanging emails with his Japanese friends, he came to realise that email was a useful tool for studying kanji. Contrary to his reluctance in the classroom, at home he seems motivated and spends much time on kanji learning. For him, the purpose of learning kanji is clearly different for activities inside and outside the classroom. On the other hand, Mary, who was grouped with Antonio and Daniel, seemed to interpret the task differently. Currently, Mary is applying for an exchange program, and she actively seeks the

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opportunity to learn Japanese both in and out of the classroom. Her enthusiastic participation in the classroom activities was observed throughout the period of the data collection, and on more than one occasion, she was asked by the teacher to refrain from answering some of the questions so that the other students could have an opportunity to participate more actively. In the kanji learning task, she took the initiative throughout the task, for example, by choosing the article and highlighting the kanji found within it. Mary seemed to view the kanji learning task as an opportunity to use authentic materials, to which she did not have much access outside the classroom. Mary offered the following comment about the task: It was really interesting. I rarely have opportunities to see real Japanese texts at home, and I found there were big gaps between kanji in the text book and ones in the newspaper. I know there are different purposes for each kanji learning task, the normal one like flash cards, but this exercise was more practical, because if I go to Japan next year, I might have to read Japanese newspaper or any documents to get information. (Mary. 15/9/05)

As seen from the case of Rick and Mary, their motives for learning seem to have a great effect on their perception of the task and their behaviour in the classroom. From the activity theory perspective, their motives for learning kanji are directed towards their personal goals: in Mary’s case, this goal is to be able to gain information necessary for living in Japan; in Rick’s case, this goal is to be able to communicate easily with friends via email (for kanji learning at home) and to achieve good marks in the weekly quiz (for kanji learning connected with his formal study). Therefore, a perceived connection between a student’s goals and classroom activities seems to be one of the keys to prompt student participation. Even though both Rick and Mary were highly motivated students, Rick did not see the connection between the task and his goal, and hence this resulted in non-participation in the classroom. In addition, the availability of resources out of the classroom also seemed to affect learners’ participation indirectly. The following section will explore how each learner participated in the group work and in particular, how each learner worked together with his or her peers. AFFECT OF PEERS ON APPROACHING THE TASK The difference in learners’ perceptions of the task has been illustrated, along with the connection between a learner’s approach and their personal goals. However, since a pair/group consists of multiple persons, a learner’s behaviour may also be affected by their peers. In this section, the effect of peer influence on learner behaviour will be discussed. DIFFERENCES BETWEEN EACH LEARNER’S APPROACH TO THE TASK (DANIEL, MARY, AND GUY) At the beginning of the newspaper task, students were instructed by the teacher to highlight any kanji which they were able to recognise. However, students varied in their interpretation of this task. Extract 1 illustrates an exchange between Daniel (D) and Mary (M) in which they negotiated their approach to the task. Extract 1 →

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83.

D:

do you wanna use green for that you’re not understanding? (showing his pen to M)

EFFECT OF INDIVIDUAL AND SOCIAL FACTORS ON LEARNERS’ GROUP WORK ACTIVITY PART THREE

→

84. 85.

M: D:

= oh we just highlight the one to do yeah (.) green might be for not easy one (.) and yellow for something easy (taking out another highlighter) oh. pink go green (laugh) (.) ok (.) pink

86. M: 87. D: 88. (2.2) → 89. M: I think imagining the meaning isn’t so hard 90. D: yeah? ··· 95. D: these two? high school?’ (school) → 96. M: 97. D: that’s school (.) isn’t it? 98. A: right (.) high school (.) high school (.) (high school ) and then → 99. M: = ah (.) (Kanji: Mary, Antonio, and Daniel. 15/9/05)

(high school) (lesson)

In lines 83 and 85, Daniel suggested that they use highlighters of different colours to indicate their level of understanding for each kanji. Mary was reluctant to agree to this; in fact, she continued to highlight the kanji with just one colour. On several occasions, Daniel was then observed correcting Mary’s highlighting with what he considered to be the correct colour. In line 89, Mary commented on her recognition of kanji. Even though she has been in Australia for 11 years, Mary is a Chinese kanji-background student from Hong Kong with good recognition skills of many kanji characters due to literacy skill in Chinese. Hence she has greater knowledge of kanji compared with Daniel and Antonio. In the follow-up interview, she commented that it was difficult for her to distinguish between the kanji as David preferred to do because she could often guess the meaning of the kanji. Mary explained her approach to the task: The task was not difficult because I know Chinese (laugh). So like even before I learnt kanji, I could guess the meaning for the kanji. I just try to think Japanese and, you know, just use the words I know in Japanese, not kanji. (Mary. 15/09/05)

As seen from her comments, Mary did not seem to have difficulty interpreting the meaning of the kanji. Therefore she focused on the readings (pronunciation) of the kanji and linking them to Japanese words. In line 95, Daniel asked the meaning of the kanji in English. However, Mary did not answer his question, but instead read him the kanji even though it was not correct. In line 97, Daniel noticed her mistake, and Antonio corrected the reading in line 98. Then, in line 99, Mary confirmed the reading. This extract shows that Daniel and Mary had different intentions in approaching the task which influenced their participation and their expectations. As in the above extract, throughout the task, Daniel tended to focus on the meaning, and Mary’s focus seemed to be on the reading and on relating the kanji (which she could already understand) to the Japanese words which they represented. However, as the task progressed, they began to work with each other and with Antonio in order to correctly read and translate the kanji. Having different focuses resulted in Daniel and Mary each contributing differently to the task, thereby extending its scope, and also contributing to each others’ learning. It cannot be said that the learners shared an understanding of the task from this example, as how to approach the task was not explicitly confirmed in the group. However, this example shows that even though Mary and Daniel approached the task

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differently in the beginning, they gradually adjusted their behaviour as they became aware of the needs and focuses of the other members. On the other hand, Guy (Group 2) exhibited a different type of negotiation with Rick. From the beginning, Guy actively participated in the task, but he seemed to focus more on whether he could recognise the individual kanji or not, and paid little attention to the kanji compounds which Rick was most interested in finding. In extract 3, Rick asked the meaning of a kanji compound for ‘hand-made’, which consists of two kanji, ‘hand’ and ‘to make’. However, Guy simply repeated the reading of each kanji independently, and there was no further discussion between them. In line 104, Michael gave the readings of individual kanji, though the word was a kanji compound which consisted of two kanji characters, and the kanji were read incorrectly in this context. In line 105, Rick tried to explain that the two kanji were in fact a compound, but this was not considered relevant by Guy, and in line 108, Guy’s attention had already moved to the next kanji. Extract 2

→

90. 91. 92. 93.

R: M: R: G:

what is (.) well (.) (hand) and n? and how do you read these? umm (.) take it easy (.) yeah? (.) that’s (to make) (laugh)

(to make) means?

(hand) and

··· 101. G: have you read the ***? 102. R: which one? 103. (2.2) (top)(.) and (hand) 104. M: this one is like (.) this one is 105. R: no (.) that’s (to be good at) (.) like (.) good at → 106. G: anyway (.) we know the kanji (.) so 107. M: I don’t know (.) well (.) let’s circle 108. G: what’s this? (Kanji: Rick, Michael, and Guy. 15/9/05)

One important skill when learning kanji is to guess the meaning of kanji compounds by combining the meanings of individual kanji. Even though the teacher instructed students only to highlight the kanji that they could recognise, some learners like Rick continued to try to recognise and analyse the compounds. On the other hand, Guy’s primary focus was to fulfil the teacher’s requirements concerning the task, and thus he focused only on the recognition of the individual kanji. In doing so, however, he may have unintentionally limited his opportunity for learning by not extending the task to achieve – and exceed – his own learning goals. Extracts 1 and 2 above suggest that learners approach a task with their own focuses which might differ from those of the others, but which are preferable for achieving their own goals. In some cases these differences may result in expansion of the task through the integration of multiple goals, as in the example of Mary’s group. However, in Guy’s case, active control of the learning process did not have a positive effect on his learning outcomes. In addition, Guy’s behaviour was unhelpful for Rick, whose interest had already gone beyond Guy’s goal. An extreme example of a peer’s non-participation was observed in the interaction in Mary’s group. As mentioned before, Mary’s approach to this task differed from the other members in that it focused on the readings of the kanji. In addition, her lively personality and advanced

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knowledge of kanji allowed her to take initiative in the group and she continued to read the kanji one by one. When she encountered kanji she already knew, she sometimes skipped the kanji and kept going on at her own pace. Another member of her group, Antonio, was less proficient in Japanese than the others, and seemed to be unable to keep up with Mary’s reading speed. He frequently asked Mary or Daniel about where in the text they were up to or what kanji they were talking about. However, Antonio’s contributions to the discussion were not always acknowledged and at times were even ignored by his peers; hence he became quiet and passive during his engagement in the task. Antonio reported that he preferred to work by himself rather than sharing the task with his group because Mary did everything and he was left with nothing to do. Initially, he managed to participate in the task by practising the kanji reading after Mary or by asking the rest of the group the meaning of unknown kanji. However, his failure to receive help and his inability to keep up with his peers seemed to cause Antonio to be dissatisfied with his participation in the task and therefore to evaluate the task negatively. MOMENT-BY-MOMENT CHANGES IN ACTIVITY The previous sections have described how each learner approaches the task differently, thereby resulting in the achievement of multiple goals during the course of the task. In addition to the complexity of multiple goals and approaches, an individual learner’s approach and participation seems dynamic and can change at different moments, rather than being definitive and fixed. Taking Rick’s case as an example, I have already illustrated his negative evaluation of the activity as it related to achieving his learning goals, which seemed to then result in his reluctance to participate in the task. In fact, the video data showed that for most of the time Rick was reading the textbook by himself. However, on some occasions, he did make a contribution, in particular when he was asked questions by his peers. In the following example, Rick was trying to teach the other members of his group a compound, not by giving them the answer directly but by assisting them gradually. In response to a request for help from Michael (line 161), who could not solve the problem with Guy, Rick gave him a hint in line 162. Lines 164 to 170 show that Rick knew the meaning of the compound, but continued to encourage his peers to work it out for themselves, even though he recognised they were still having problems. In line 166, Michael combined two meanings, and this enabled Guy to guess the meaning of the compound. In line 169, Michael linked the kanji compound with the Japanese word for ‘foreign countries’, and hence succeeded in understanding the compound. Rick finally confirmed the answer in line 170. Extract 3

→ →

158. 159. 160. 161. 162. 163. 164. 165. 166. 167.

G: M: G: M: R: G: R: G: M:

that is (1.2) we are doing this? (.) country? yeah (.) that’s country country (.) and that’s place (.) isn’t it? I think. Rick? oh (.) not place (.) but like location yeah (.) it should be(.) is that north? = no (.) outside (.) (outside) yeah (.) outside outside countries (.) yes (1.4)

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168. G: foreign countries? 169. M: oh (.) (foreign countries )? → 170. R: yeah (.) (foreign countries) (Kanji: Rick, Michael, and Guy. 15/9/05)

Even though Rick negatively evaluated the overall task, at that point in the exercise he seemed to have a specific goal; that is to answer his peer’s question. Other examples in the data also show that, when asked questions by his peers, Rick not only provided them with answers, but also attempted to explain the answers fully to them. At such times, it is obvious that his regard for his peers took precedence over his own study. The asking of questions by his peers, who identified themselves as novices, allowed Rick to see himself as an expert by comparison. Therefore, he invested his time and effort as such an expert, arguably taking on the role of teacher, and making the learning of his peers his new goal in the activity. In addition to the explicit roles of expert and novice seen in the example of Rick and his peers, the following extract shows that learners sometimes have multiple roles as a result of engaging in different activities at the same time. Also, learners’ roles can change moment by moment, hence the activities in which they engage differ accordingly. Extract 4 (mispronunciation) (.) aa (.) west (.) south (.) south nn (2.1) (.) (mispronunciation )? (west)? which one? (.) in the text? 161. D: (mispronunciation)? 162. A: I think we have in the text 163. M: =we have [yeah 164. A: [yeah → 165. D: =yeah (looking at the textbook) 166. M: nn (.) (now) (2.2) well (.) I know that (.) that (.) that (.) (highlighting) do you know the meaning? 167. D: Japanese movement? (.) and that’s to make 168. (2.2) (to start) [to start 170. D: 171. M: [ (to start) (.) to make (.) ( to make) → 172. D: (showing the textbook) (west)? (mispronunciation)? 173. M: 174. D: no (.) (west)(.) see (showing the textbook)(.) ok? 175. M: (mispronunciation) (.) no (.) (west) (laugh) (west) (laugh) 176. D: 177. M: (west)(.) west (south) (.) south(.) (south) → 178. A: what’s (mispronunciation)? → 179. M: (west) (.) west (.) 180. D: and south? (south) 181. M: → 182. D: right (.) and (west)? (Mary looked at Antonio) → 183. A: west (practice) (.) 184. M: well done (0.8) (reading) (practice) (Kanji: Mary, Antonio, and Daniel. 15/9/05) 160.

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M:

EFFECT OF INDIVIDUAL AND SOCIAL FACTORS ON LEARNERS’ GROUP WORK ACTIVITY PART THREE

In line 160, Mary had problems with the Japanese words for ‘south’ and ‘west’, and her peers Daniel and Antonio were also unable to solve the problem. In other words, they were all novices at this moment. In line 172, as Daniel found the words in the textbook, he became an expert compared with his peers, and his goal then shifted from searching for words to teaching them to his peers. In line 173, Mary was still a novice; however, having checked the textbook and practised with Daniel (lines 174 to 177), she seemed to master the words in line 177. However, Antonio, in line 178, still seemed to be a novice; hence Mary shifted her role from novice to expert in order to focus on teaching Antonio rather than practising for her own benefit in line 179. In line 180, Daniel tested Mary’s memory of the words; therefore Mary’s role shifted again from expert to possible novice. In line 182, Daniel again tested his peers; however this time, Mary seemed to assume the role of expert by looking at Antonio who was a possible novice at this stage. This extract shows not only that learners change their roles as a result of momentarily focusing on different goals, but also that these shifts are shaped by their positioning of themselves in relation to their peers. In other words, learners seem to actively create their own roles which arise from their relationships with their peers or from situational factors.

DISCUSSIONS AND PEDAGOGICAL IMPLICATIONS In this study, I illustrated how each learner perceived the task differently, and argued that learners’ perceptions seemed to be influenced by individual factors, such as their background and previous learning experiences, and in particular, their motive for learning kanji. These findings reconfirm the claims from previous studies that learners have agency and actively create their own learning. (e.g. Coughlan and Duff 1994; Roebuck 2000). Data indicate that not only does each group show a unique approach, but also there are multiple modes of participation depending on each learner within the same group. Regardless of the teacher’s intentions in setting the kanji learning task, learners in this study actively reinterpreted the task based on their goals in order to make the task more meaningful for them and for their peers. However, it was also revealed that learners’ active control over their learning did not always seem to bring a positive outcome for their language acquisition (Kobayashi 2005). This implies that learners’ active control is most likely to result in positive learning opportunities when they respond positively to the task. In addition, due to the nature of pair/group work in which multiple agencies exist, learners negotiated in order to accomplish the task as well as to pursue their own goals. As seen in Mary’s group, sometimes the different focus of the learners resulted in a broadening of the task; on the other hand, as in Guy’s case, there were occasions in which the learners’ narrow interpretation of the task goals not only resulted in ineffective learning, but also acted as a distraction for other learners as a result. Also, it was observed that learners’ participation in the task differed moment by moment as a result of being affected by their peers or by shifts of interest from one aspect to another in the activity of kanji learning. From an activity theory perspective, it can be argued that in the classroom, learners engage in multiple activities, or multiple aspects of a broader activity at the same time based on different goals, such as helping their peers, meeting the teacher’s requirements, focusing on their own or on other learners’ interests, or even maintaining good relationships with their peers. Spence-Brown (2001) explains the learners’ constant shifts in implementations of tasks using the

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concept of framing. According to Spence-Brown, learners frame the activity based on ‘socially derived understandings of different communication events’ and ‘constantly shifting and active construction of an event by participants’ (p. 474). For example, in this study, a student framed the activity as helping his/her peers on some occasions. In framing the task, the student assessed what is expected and required for the event. Based on her interpretation, the student oriented toward helping her peers, employing strategies such as waiting and giving hints. At other times, the student’s own learning frame predominated, and hence the student’s actions were based on her interpretation of what would be the most beneficial for her learning. Therefore, in pair/group work, learners negotiate not only with their peers, but also with themselves in order to decide in which activity frame they should participate moment-by-moment. When participants’ framings of the activity are similar, in other words, when their goals are shared or at least related to each other, states of intersubjectivity are achieved in which participants direct their attention in a common direction (Van Lier 1996). Therefore, this intra- and inter- negotiation process seems to be a key for learners to maximise the learning opportunities in pair/group work, as learners seem to learn more effectively in groups of a collaborative nature (Storch 2002; Kobayashi 2003). Although there are differences among individual learner’s interpretations of and intentions toward the task, and teachers cannot control learners’ interpretations, learners act through their assumptions and information from the teacher’s instruction (Roebuck 2000). Therefore, it can be said that learners try to create states of intersubjectivity, not only among the group members, but also between themselves and the teachers. Negotiating a teacher’s expectation of a group seems to contribute to achieving a state of intersubjectivity among the group members, as the teacher’s expectations are one of the factors that students negotiate to determine the direction of the task (Kobayashi 2003). By so doing, teachers and students are able to jointly focus on the activity with shared goals and direction. From a pedagogical perspective, teacher’s clarification of a classroom task is of course important to facilitate learners in understanding the task better. However, helping students to understand the purposes and goals of the task is another important point which teachers have to consider in task implementation in classrooms. Not only can a teacher explain the purpose of the task from his or her own perspective, but he or she can also encourage learners to find or make connections between the task and their own goals so they can expand the task to suit their own learning. For instance, Rick believes that he knows how to take control over his kanji learning, and this belief seems to be fixed through his past experience. However, his beliefs are in fact preventing him from having new experiences in learning, which might change his beliefs or goals. Therefore, opportunities for students to reflect and revise their learning experiences are necessary. This study shows how learners’ actual participation in tasks relates to individual factors, as well as interactive relationships with group members. Learning through peer interaction in the classroom is a complex and dynamic process, and group tasks have the potential to afford opportunities for learning, as well as to place constrictions on learning. Further studies are required to investigate aspects of the actual learning process, and the outcome of pair/group work, to facilitate better understanding of the dynamic process of learning in the classroom context.

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ENDNOTE 1

Chiharu Shima was a postgraduate student at Monash University at the time of writing this article.

REFERENCES Allwright, D. 1984. ‘Why don’t learners learn what we teach? The interaction hypothesis.’ In Language Learning in Formal and Informal Contexts, edited by Singleton, D. M; Little, D. G. Dublin: IRAL. Block, D. 1996. ‘A window on the classroom: Classroom events viewed from different angles.’ In Voices from the Language Classroom, edited by Bailey, K. M; Nunan, D. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Block, D. 1994. ‘A day in the life of a class: Teacher/learner perception of task purpose in conflict.’ System 22 (4): 473–486. Breen, M. P. 1987. ‘Learner contributions to task design.’ In Language Learning Tasks, edited by Candlin, C; Murphy, D. F. Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall International and Lancaster University. Cole, M; Engestrom, Y. 1993. ‘A cultural-historical approach to distributed cognition.’ In Distributed ¨ Cognitions: Psychological and Educational Considerations, edited by Salomon, G. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Coughlan, P; Duff, P. A. 1994. ‘Same task, different activities: Analysis of an SLA task from an activity theory perspective.’ In Vygotskyan Approachs to Second Language Research, edited by Lantolf, J; Appel, G. Norwood, New Jersey: Ablex Publishing Corporation. Donato, R. 2000. ‘Sociocultural contribution to understanding the foreign and second language classroom.’ In Sociocultural Theory and Second Language Learning, edited by Lantolf, J. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Duff, P. A. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation.’ In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1–1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001. Engestrom, ¨ Y. 1987. Learning by Expanding: An Activity-Theoretical Approach to Developmental Research. Helsinki: Orienta-Konsultit. Erickson, F. 1992. ‘Ethnographic microanalysis of interaction.’ In The Handbook of Qualitative Research in Education, edited by LeCompte, M; Millroy, W; Preissle, J. San Diego: Academic Press. Fan, S. K. 2002. ‘Follow-up interview.’ In Gengo Kenkyuu No Hoohoo (Methods in Language Study), edited by Neustupny, ´ J. V; Miyazaki, S. Tokyo: Kuroshio. Gass, S; Varonis, E. 1985. ‘Task variation and nonnative/nonnative negotiations of meaning.’ In Input in Second Language Acquisition, edited by Gass, S; Madden, C. Rowley, MA: Newbury House. Gillette, B. 1994. ‘The role of learner goals in L2 success.’ In Vygotskyan Approachs to Second Language Research, edited by Lantolf, J; Appel, G. Norwood, New Jersey: Ablex Publishing Corporation. Kobayashi, M. 2003. ‘The role of peer support in ESL students’ accomplishment of oral academic tasks.’ The Canadian Modern Language Review 59 (3): 337–368. Lantolf, J. P., ed. 2000. Sociocultural Theory and Second Language Learning. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lantolf, J. P; Pavlenko, A. 2001. ‘Second language activity theory: Understanding second language learners as people.’ In Learner Contributions to Language Learning: New Directions in Research, edited by Breen, M. Harlow: Pearson Education. Lave, J; Wenger, E. 1991. Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Leont’ev, A. N. 1981. Problems of the Development of the Mind. Moscow: Progress.

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Long, M. 1990. ‘Group work and communicative competence in the TESOL classroom.’ In Developing Communicative Competence in a Second Language, edited by Scarcella, R; Anderson, E; Krashen, S. Boston: Heinle & Heinle. Long, M; Porter, P. 1985. ‘Group work, interlanguage talk, and second language acquisition.’ TESOL Quarterly 19: 207–228. Mitchell, R; Myles, F. 1998. Second Language Learning Theories. London: Edward Arnold. Mori, J. 2002. ‘Task design, plan, and development of talk-in-interaction: An analysis of a small group activity in a Japanese language classroom.’ Applied Linguistics 23 (3): 323–347. Morita, N. 2000. ‘Discourse socialization through oral classroom activities in a TESL graduate program.’ TESOL Quarterly 34: 279–310. Neustupny, ´ J. V. 1990. ‘The follow-up interview.’ Japanese Studies Association of Australia Newsletter 10 (2): 31–34. Nunan, D. 1992. Research Methods in Language Learning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nunan, D. 1989. Designing Task for the Communicative Classroom. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ohta, A. S. 2001. Second Language Acquisition Processes in the Classroom: Learning Japanese. Mahwah, New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Ohta, A. S. 1995. ‘Applying sociocultural theory to an analysis of learner discourse: Learner-learner collaborative interaction in the zone of proximal development.’ Issues in Applied Linguistics 6: 93–121. Roebuck, R. 2000. ‘Subject speak out: How learners position themselves in a psycholinguistic task.’ In Sociocultural Theory and Second Language Learning, edited by Lantolf, J. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rogoff, B. 1990. Apprenticeship in Thinking: Cognitive Development in Social Context. New York: Oxford University Press. Spence-Brown, R. 2001. ‘The eye of the beholder: Authenticity in an embedded assessment task.’ Language Testing 18 (4): 463–481. Storch, N. 2002. ‘Patterns of interaction in ESL pair work.’ Language Learning 52: 119–158. Swain, M. 2000. ‘The output hypothesis and beyond: Mediating acquisition through collaborative dialogue.’ In Sociocultural Theory and Second Language Learning, edited by Lantolf, J. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Van Lier, L. 2000. ‘From input to affordance: Social-interactive learning from an ecological perspective.’ In Sociocultural Theory and Second Language Learning, edited by Lantolf, J. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Van Lier, L. 1996. Interaction in the Language Curriculum: Awareness, Autonomy, and Authenticity. London: Longman. Vygotsky, L. 1978. Mind in Society. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Yanagimachi, T. 2002. ‘Sociolinguistic/interaction-analytic perspectives on a JSL research: Focus on language use and its context.’ An Invitation to Second Language Acquisition Research in Japanese: In Honour of Seiichi Makino, edited by Hatasa, Y. A. Tokyo: Kuroshio.

Cite this chapter as: Shima, C. 2007. ‘Effect of individual and social factors on learners’ group work activity’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 13.1 to 13.16. DOI: 10.2104/ld070013.

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PART THREE

EFFECT OF MENTORING ON SECOND LANGUAGE COMPOSITION PROCESSES IN JAPANESE Masumi Kobayashi, Damascus University Masumi Kobayashi is a lecturer in the Japanese language department of Damascus University in Syria. Her research interests include second language acquisition and sociocultural theory. Correspondence to Masumi Kobayashi: [email protected]

Within the last few decades, shift has occurred in the study of second language writing, away from a focus on the written products and form of writing towards the process of writing. Within the fields of second language acquisition research and teaching pedagogy, increased attention has been paid to social interaction and social context, and a number of studies have examined the teacher-student conference and peer writing/revision activities in which collaboration and negotiation are used to assist the students’ composition. These studies provide a wide range of valuable insights in terms of sociocultural aspects, such as social mediation, and pedagogical aspects including suggestions for teachers in conducting writing conferences. However, very few studies have been conducted focusing on the effect of interaction on students’ composition in languages other than English and in contexts outside the classroom. This study aims to contribute to understanding learners’ composition processes, and in particular, how interaction effects second language composition and language learning, through examining informal mentoring for students preparing for a Japanese Language Speech Contest. Utilising informants’ interactional data in revision sessions with native mentors, their multiple drafts as the basis of these sessions and retrospective data from follow-up interviews, this study examines the processes of the students’ composition and their collaborative work with the mentors. It highlights the ways in which these processes provided rich opportunities for language learning.

INTRODUCTION This chapter focuses on the mentoring program which is conducted by an Australian university in order to support students who participate in a Japanese Speech Contest. This contest is held annually in Australia, aiming to encourage learners who are studying Japanese as a second/foreign language to practise their language skills, and has no relation to their grade in their regular Japanese classes. In order to assist students with their preparation for the contest, the university matches each student who wishes to participate with a postgraduate student who is a Japanese native speaker as a voluntary mentor. The mentors help the students prepare for the contest by discussing topics, revising the drafts of their speeches, advising them on pronunciation and delivery and so on. Most students have multiple meetings with the mentors to polish their speeches; and their preparation process tends to involve a sequence of activities.1 The purpose of this study is to investigate the nature of student-mentor interactions. It will also consider the influence of the mentoring on the process of composing the students’ speeches. The preparation of a speech involves two aspects of language: writing and speaking. This study focuses on the former, that is composing scripts, rather than the latter, practising oral skills.

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Utilising some concepts from sociocultural theory and activity theory (Lantolf and Appel 1994; Lantolf 2000, 2002), such as, mediation, collaboration and goals, special focus is placed on the collaborative nature of the interactions in relation to both learners and mentors’ intentions and goals. The analysis also seeks to give insight into opportunities for learning afforded by this kind of mentoring interaction. RESEARCH QUESTIONS This research seeks answers to the following questions: 1. 2. 3.

What is the nature of the interaction within the mentoring context? What contributions does each participant make to the composition process through mentorstudent interactions? What opportunities for learning occur in this setting?

This chapter adopts a case-study approach, and rather than seeking general answers to these questions, presents excerpts from two student-mentor dyads, which provide important insights into the nature of the mentoring activity and the learning opportunities which it affords.

THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK In the field of second language writing research, the importance of response to student writing and its effects has been acknowledged by educators and researchers (Ferris 2003). According to Ferris, not only the potential value of feedback but also the different forms of response, such as, teachers’ written comments in the margins, teacher-student conferences and peer feedback, have been highlighted in both L1 and L2 composition research over the past decade, as the process approach to writing has been popularised. In particular, the writing conference is seen as an effective teaching method that provides both teacher and student with opportunities to discuss academic and personal concerns about the issues of not only the paper in question but also writing strategies and critical ways of reflecting on one’s own work (Freedman and Sperling 1985; Walker and Elias 1987). However, a number of early empirical studies investigating L1 writing conferences have revealed the teacher-dominant nature of many teacher-student conferences. For example, in a study of conferences between university-level students and their tutors, the tutor took over the writing instead of the student, who had very limited knowledge in their subject matter, focusing on the tutor’s agenda rather than the student’s (Walker and Elias 1987). This study concluded that in unsuccessful conferences, which both participants were unsatisfied with, the agenda was the tutor’s expertise and the student’s lack of expertise. In contrast, in recent research on writing conferences (Goldstein and Conrad 1990; Haneda 2004; Patthey-Chavez and Ferris 1997; Sperling 1990), the collaborative nature of teacher-student interaction has been focused on, rather than instructional dialogue based on teaching-learning relationships. This has often been discussed in relation to sociocultural theory, using concepts such as collaboration, social mediation and Vygotsky’s notion of a zone of proximal development (ZPD). In sociocultural theory, which has been referred to as a theoretical background in these studies, the most fundamental concept is that the human mind is ‘mediated’ in some way. This refers to the idea that humans do not act directly on the physical world

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but depend on symbolic and/or physical tools, other people and the circumstances surrounding them (Lantolf 2000, 2002). According to Lantolf, with regard to second language acquisition, the process of mediation has been viewed from three general perspectives: social mediation by experts and peers; self-mediation; and artefact mediation, such as by computers or tasks. Learning is thought to occur through the process of social mediation by experts or more able peers (Lantolf and Appel 1994), such as collaborative activities between tutors and students in writing conferences. In terms of self-mediation, private speech is a typical example. The notion of social mediation, in particular, helps us to interpret the interactive, collaborative nature of writing conferences between teachers as experts, and students as novices. Sperling (1990) focused on collaborative aspects in writing activities and described teacherstudent collaboration in interactions in a study on writing conferences in a secondary school. One of the ninth-grade students in this study actively participated in the interactions with her teacher by restating the teacher’s expression, elaborating her ideas before being asked by the teacher, and cutting him off and completing the prediction, and wrote about the topic which she discussed with her teacher in her subsequent draft. According to Sperling, she was an active participant in the interactions; and her active participation resulted in her development as a writer. Although not relating specifically to writing conferences, in a paper focusing on collaboration in writing tasks with peers, Swain introduced the notion of ‘languaging’ as a key concept for understanding the nature of collaborative dialogue (Swain 2005). According to Swain, languaging means ‘the use of language to mediate cognitive activity’ such as problem solving activities about language including explaining and describing (p. 1). Moreover, Swain pointed out that languaging about language (talking about language during tasks) provided opportunities for learning a second language through collaborative dialogue. Learners who participated in pair work engaged in collaborative dialogue, experiencing social mediation by peers and also self-mediation by languaging about language. In order to understand the nature of such collaborative activities, it is necessary to view these activities from the perspective of the participants themselves. Thus, not only the discourse itself but also the participants’ motivation and goals need to be taken into consideration. In sociocultural theory, the theory of ‘activity’ highlights the importance of such psychological and situational aspects of interactions. According to Lantolf (2000), ‘activity’ in Leontiev’s theory, in which Vygotsky’s original idea has been refined, does not mean merely doing something but doing something motivated by biological needs or culturally structured needs.

SETTING FOR THE STUDY This study examined the nature of student-mentor interactions and opportunities for learning in a mentoring setting, which was different in nature from those of previous studies. Unlike most of the previous studies on writing conferences, the situation examined in the current study does not relate only to a one-off conference, but to an extended collaboration often involving several drafts. In their collaboration, the student and the mentor revised the drafts many times, with the discussions based on the same speech. In addition, unlike previous studies, the activity in which the students were engaged was for high stakes. The first prize in the national contest was an air ticket to Japan. The existence of this prize had an influence on the students’ motivation and enthusiasm. In addition, students were performing in front of an audience of friends, teachers

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Student Name (pseudonym) Level Major First language Mentor Name (pseudonym) Course

Pair 1

Pair 2

Jim Higher advanced Linguistics English

Eva Advanced Science Korean

Maki Yuka Applied Japanese Linguistics

Table 1: Profiles of the focal participants and the general public, and were often speaking about topics in which they had a strong personal investment.

PARTICIPANTS In this study, six student-mentor pairs were investigated. The students were learning Japanese as a second language and were enrolled in Japanese language units in an Australian university. The mentors were Japanese native speakers and postgraduate students, who were studying Japanese Applied Linguistics. The participation of both students and mentors in this system was voluntary. The proficiency levels of the learners’ Japanese were ranked from higher intermediate to higher advanced, based on the levels of Japanese classes in which they were registered at the university. For a close look at the interactions and composition processes, two pairs were selected from among them (details are shown in Table 1). The records of their interactions revealed interesting features in terms of collaboration between the students and the mentors. In particular, the two pairs contrasted with each other in the degree to which their interaction was collaborative. These two students, given the pseudonyms Jim and Eva, were in their early 20s. Jim had previously experienced study in Japan, a three-month short course, while Eva had not been to Japan. Both of the mentors, in their early 30s, were studying Applied Japanese Linguistics at Masters level.

METHODOLOGY Three types of data collection methods were used: collecting the drafts of the students’ speeches, audio-tape recording of meetings between students and mentors, and conducting retrospective interviews after the contest, incorporating interaction interview techniques and stimulated recall. All the drafts, including the mentors’ comments and revisions, were collected after the students finished writing the final drafts of their speech scripts. Some of the meetings between students and mentors were audio-tape recorded and transcribed. Recording their revision sessions helped to investigate the processes of revision in the interactions between students and mentors. After the contest, retrospective interviews were conducted with each participant, incorporating stimulated recall using the collected written drafts and the recordings of the mentoring

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sessions. The basic technique of interviews in the present study is retrospection, in which retrospective data are collected some time after the focal event has taken place (Nunan 1992). In order to enhance the validity of the data, stimulated recall was incorporated using the drafts and the recordings. Moreover, utilising an interaction interview technique (Asaoka 2002), the informants were asked to recall in sequence specific times or events in the interaction, and to recount their behaviours and thoughts at each point. The focal interactions and situations were identified in advance based on the analyses of the recorded data and the drafts, and then questions for interviews were prepared based on the specific points. Informants were also questioned about their overall experience during the mentoring process; for example, whether they thought they learned anything through the mentoring or not.

DATA ANALYSIS The dataset was analysed from two perspectives: 1) the collaborative nature of the studentmentor interactions and 2) revision processes observed between the drafts. These perspectives were set in the whole composition process. The effects of participants’ internal factors, such as their motivation and goals as described in the interviews, were also considered in relation to activity theory (Lantolf 2000, 2002). In terms of the collaborative nature of interaction, the degree of each participant’s contribution was examined. Thus, the role of each participant was focused on in the analysis of the interactions. The participants’ social-psychological factors, such as their motivation and goals, were also considered on the basis of the data collected in the interviews. As regards the process of revision, the study focused on how each participant made his/her revision in response to the mentors’ suggested revisions of the drafts.

FINDINGS Similar findings to previous studies on writing conferences were observed in the student-mentor interactions. For example, the mentors often provided scaffolding in seeking appropriate ways to express the students’ ideas; and they negotiated suitable forms and content for a Japanese speech. As in traditional classroom settings, instructional dialogue was also involved in this mentoring setting, such as questions and answers, mentors’ explicit explanations of grammatical items, and their corrections of the students’ grammatical errors and clumsy expressions. However, because of the specific nature of this mentoring setting, other characteristics were identified in the mentor-student interactions. In particular, in relation to students’ authorship, the students’ active participation in their composition was identified in the student-mentor interactions and also their revision processes. This study will present some episodes from two pairs, which characterise the specific nature of the student-mentor interaction: that is, the goal-oriented nature of the participants’ actions in their composition processes. In the first case, the dialogue reveals that Jim and Maki work collaboratively in order to elaborate Jim’s ideas in making the main topic sentence. The second case is the interaction between Eva and Yuka, focusing on the learner’s resistance to the mentor’s correction or suggestion, due to the gap between their different understanding and norms.

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JIM AND MAKI The recorded session between Jim and Maki revealed a continuum of collaboration in which both participants co-constructed the dialogue and the drafts, with both taking the lead at different times. Jim and Maki had similar and complementary aims for the mentoring process, and this resulted in a successful collaboration. Jim’s main goal, according to his interview, was to express his opinion clearly in his speech; and a subsidiary goal was to use Japanese in authentic contexts with a native speaker to improve his speaking. Maki was also conscious of the authorship of Jim’s speech. She said in the interview, ‘I encouraged him to make and revise as large a part of the speech as possible by himself to avoid my interference with his speech and to enhance his development in Japanese’ (my translation). Jim had three meetings with Maki, in which they talked in Japanese. In the first two meetings, he had not commenced his draft, and they discussed the content which needed to be included in his speech based on the topic, the relations between Japan and Korea. Jim was studying Japanese and Korean at the university, and had previously studied in both Japan and Korea. In the interview, he said ‘I discussed the issues between Japan and Korea with my friends in both Japan and Korea, and was impressed by their different perceptions’ (my translation). Based on this experience, he seemed to develop his ideas about the relationship between these countries. After he finished his first draft, Jim and Maki discussed and revised it in the third session, which was recorded. Then, he wrote the final draft based on the revised draft. In the recorded interaction, Jim and Maki often negotiated ways of expressing Jim’s ideas in the parts of the speech which needed to be elaborated or clarified. There were a lot of discussions between them in their revision session. In addition to the mentor’s frequent questions, Jim also often took the initiative in revising the draft by explaining his ideas and restating Maki’s suggestions in order to express his opinions accurately. The student’s agency, expressed in his active participation, can be seen as a key factor in the collaboration between the student and the mentor. Jim actively participated in the interaction in relation to his goal and accepted all the corrections made by the mentor after discussion. In the interview, Jim recognised the high degree of corrections and that his own language mostly disappeared. However, he said ‘I evaluated the mentor’s corrections positively, as being useful for revisions of the speech and also would be helpful for my learning Japanese in the future’ (my translation). He also said ‘I decided to accept all the corrections because I believed that you must learn new things in learning foreign languages’ (my translation). He seemed to view the corrections as fitting with his goals, which were expressing his ideas clearly and improving his Japanese, and tried to internalise Maki’s suggestions for his learning. Moreover, as Jim emphasised in the interview, Maki had a great influence on his language, but he considered that her contributions had no effect on his ideas. In this section, part of the collaborative dialogue between Jim and Maki is presented. Prior to the section of dialogue, they discussed historical issues about the relationship between Japan and Korea, such as, the controversy over history textbooks for Japanese primary and secondary schools. Then, Maki asked Jim about his main opinion. He answered that not only Japan but also Korea had to work to improve their relationship. A feature of the dialogue was Jim’s overlapping with Maki’s utterances to try to complete the sentence which Maki had begun to make. In this section of dialogue they worked together to jointly construct the main concluding sentence: ’

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(I think that both Japan and Korea must work hard in order to improve the relation between them). 1.

Maki:

2.

Jim:

3.

Maki:

4.

Jim:

5.

Maki:

6.

Jim:

Japan (.) Japan also Korea also Oh, OK. Both Japan and Korea (.) Why do they work hard? In order to improve relations. Good relations (.) oh yes, Japan and Korea Relations

In turn 2, Jim added another subject, Korea, to Japan which Maki raised in turn 1. His suggestion was based on his opinion that Japan’s effort alone was not enough, which was stated in the discussion before this dialogue. In turn 3, Maki seemed to notice that she forgot about the subject other than ‘Japan’ from Jim’s mention of ‘Korea’. Using a technique common in classroom instruction, she asked him a question to elicit the purpose (turn 3); and he answered (turn 4). She tried to restate his answer but failed (turn 5). Jim sustained the sentence following her words again (turn 6). The dialogue continued this point, developing further negotiations. 7.

Maki:

8.

Jim:

9.

Maki:

In order to improve relations both countries must work hard to achieve this. The countries must work 10.

Jim:

11.

Maki:

12.

Jim:

must work hard. must work hard, I think. I think. In turn 8, Jim’s contribution overlapped with Maki’s utterance, as he attempted to complete the sentence. She then restated his expression ‘ ’ as ‘ ’ (turn 9). There was further overlap in turn 10, with an attempt by Jim to complete the sentence again (turn 10), but rephrased by Maki again (turn 11). Even though his suggestion was restated twice, Jim did not give up participating in this revision activity but actively contributed to the collaborative dialogue. As Jim said in the interview, ‘I had passed all Japanese classes by myself for about three years without asking native speakers for help’ (my translation); such active participation by Jim seemed to be based on his confidence in his Japanese. In this dialogue, it is also evident that he was working

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within his ZPD – he was ultimately able to produce more complex utterances that he could produce on his own through the scaffolding and assistance provided by Maki. Moreover, after the completion of this sentence, he repeated the expression ‘ ’ (I think). In the interview, he pointed out that he explicitly learned Japanese ways of expressing ideas through the mentoring ’ (I think). Thus, his repetitions of Maki’s scaffolded expression sessions, such as ‘ can be seen as both an acceptance of the suggested phrase, and possibly as self-mediation through verbalisation, in which Jim confirms the phrase for himself. Their interaction and his consciousness of learning seemed to lead him to internalise the usage of the expression of ‘ ’ (I think). In summary then, a feature of this interaction was the active role played by the student. Jim did not only play a passive role, such as backchanneling or just listening to the mentor’s suggestions, but often played a leading role in the interaction with Maki by restating her expression and suggesting suitable words or phrases in context. He actively contributed to the collaborative dialogue and also the collaborative revision. Maki also encouraged him to achieve his goals based on her own goals. For example, she accepted his additional topic (turn 3), and asked him to confirm the content (turn 3, 4). Thus, the coincidence of their goals led to their collaboration in the interactions and the revision process, and also their collaboration provided rich opportunities for learning within the ZPD.

EVA AND YUKA Like Jim, Eva actively participated in the interaction with her mentor. However, their perceptions of their mentor’s corrections were different. Examination of the interaction between Eva and Yuka in relation to the subsequent revisions found an unusual type of response from Eva namely, the student’s resistance to the mentor’s corrections. Most of the students, including Jim, accepted all their mentor’s corrections, because of their authority as native speakers; and they co-constructed the speech scripts through collaborative dialogue. However, Eva sometimes disagreed with Yuka’s suggestions or corrections. On these occasions they sometimes discussed the gap between their perceptions, and at other times Eva changed Yuka’s sentence without any discussion. Eva had three meetings with Yuka in about two weeks before the contest. In addition, Eva sent her drafts twice by email and Yuka sent them back with comments and corrections. The topic of Eva’s speech was the Korean boom in Japan. At first she was interested only in the Korean boom and its reasons, but had gradually developed her ideas about the relation between Japan and Korea in relation to the boom in Japan through the discussion with Yuka. However, as was the case with Jim, Eva emphasised in the interview that her language had been changed through the interaction with the mentor; however, her ideas had not been influenced at all. Eva was a fluent speaker of Japanese and she and Yuka always talked with each other in Japanese in the recorded data. In their sessions, Eva actively participated in their conversation by explaining her ideas, suggesting expressions, making objections to Yuka’s corrections, and so on. She seemed confident in her ability in speaking Japanese. In the interview, Eva said ‘I thought I can communicate in Japanese; and so I thought it was enough’. Therefore, her active participation seemed to be attributable to her confidence in speaking Japanese. The main issue on which Eva and Yuka’s perceptions differed was about the appropriate length of sentences.

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Two episodes are presented in this section based on changes between the collected drafts. In the first example, Yuka paraphrased Eva’s ungrammatical sentence in the fifth draft, which was sent by email, into two sentences in the sixth draft. Then, in spite of the native speaker’s correction, Eva combined Yuka’s sentences into one without any discussion in the final draft: Draft 5: (Eva’s sentence) It was interesting but a little difficult to understand. Draft 6: (Yuka’s sentences) I was surprised. I thought it was interesting. Draft 7 (final draft): (Eva’s correction) I was surprised, and I thought it was interesting. In the interview, Yuka said that she noticed this change in the second rehearsal, but she did not correct it because she thought she did not need to change it again. In her interview, Eva revealed that she corrected Yuka’s suggestion, based on her interlanguage norm about the appropriate length of a sentence in a speech, despite the fact that the sentences were composed by a native speaker. Thus, in this case, Eva gave priority to her own norm rather than the native speaker’s suggestion, based on her authorship of the speech and her confidence in her Japanese ability. Eva (in the interview): I realised that it was a little bit too short, and I should say like ‘ and ‘ ’ I think it would be better, and so I changed it by myself (=without any discussion with Yuka). In the next episode, Eva changed Yuka’s expression again based on Eva’s own norm, in which a longer sentence was better than a shorter one. However, in this case, Yuka corrected Eva’s sentence again, just before the contest. In the fifth draft, there were some grammatical errors ’ (to change). Yuka corrected these errors, changed some with the use of transitive verbs, ‘ expressions and separated this sentence into two using a full stop in the sixth draft, which she sent back to Eva by email. Just before her speech on the very day of the contest when listening to her last rehearsal of the speech, Yuka recognised that Eva had changed Yuka’s sentences in this part without any discussion with her. In this case, Yuka corrected it again, because she thought Eva’s sentence was too long and less effective for the speech than her own version. In the interview, Yuka said that Eva finally agreed with her and accepted her suggestion about the length of this sentence. Draft 5: (Eva’s sentence) ... My way of thinking has changed, and my impression of Japan was also changed. Draft 6: (Yuka’s correction) ... My ways of thinking and perspectives on things have gradually changed. My impression of Japan was also changed.

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Yuka (in the interview, my translation): [On the very day of the contest] Eva combined these two sentences to one in the rehearsal just before the contest. I corrected it and explained the reason for this correction again. In the interview, Eva commented on this episode and mentioned the reason that she often tried to make longer sentences, even when this involved changing Yuka’s correction. According to the interview data, Eva seemed to believe that making sentences longer was more sophisticated, and that, on the other hand, using many short sentences sounded childish. Eva (in the interview): I wanna put it to one, this one (with pointing the above sentences in draft 6) like, ’ I just wanna put it like that. . . . If I put all of them like ‘ ’, ‘ ’ (=using many short sentences), it’s something like the children’s way to say. I think it’s a little bit childish, and so I made a longer sentence. In previous studies on collaborative aspects of writing conferences, students’ acceptance of teachers’ suggestions has been the primary focus. However, the collaborative nature of the composition process can be characterised not only by collaborative dialogue where changes are accepted, but also by occasions where suggestions are resisted or rejected. Yuka mentioned that she recognised Eva’s preference for long sentences through the interaction between them in the interview. There were some other repeated corrections in their drafts. From Yuka’s perspective, longer sentences were inappropriate and less effective in a speech; and therefore, she corrected repeatedly, even just before the contest. They discussed this gap between their perceptions many times in their meetings. Yuka insisted that shorter sentences had more impact in the speech, and explained that writing essays was different from speech scripts in the discussion with Eva. On the other hand, Eva sometimes thought Yuka’s sentences were too short and sounded childish; and therefore, she changed them on her own authority. Through many discussions with Yuka, Eva seemed finally to be convinced by her argument about the length of a sentence. Thus, Eva had opportunities to notice the gap between her interlanguage norm and the native norm in terms of the length of a sentence in a speech genre, through extended social mediation. If Eva had felt obliged to accept Yuka’s initial corrections, her speech would have been corrected at the surface level, but her misconception about Japanese style would have remained uncorrected. In terms of student’s agency and its contribution to understanding, Watanabe’s study on ESL students’ collaborative activities in writing tasks with peers demonstrated similar results to the case of Eva and Yuka (cited in Swain 2005). One of the students in Watanabe’s study, who actively participated in the collaborative dialogue, could answer correctly in the post test while another student, who did not actively participate in it, made the same mistake. Like the student of Watanabe’s study, Eva’s active participation in the interaction with her mentor seemed to contribute to her increased understanding of the language, as she noticed the gap through the process of mentoring. The interactions between Eva and Yuka involved positive collaboration, such as discussion and negotiation of form and meaning, but also episodes where each interactant maintained their commitment to their own version of the speech, such as Eva’s resistance to correction and Yuka’s perseverance with trying to reinstate corrections which Yuka had rejected. Their

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active participation can be attributed to their motivations and goals towards the contest and also the mentoring system. It seemed Eva’s goal was to use what she perceived to be sophisticated Japanese, even though it conflicted with the mentor’s suggestion. Therefore, it led her to resist Yuka’s correction, for which she couldn’t see the point. These social-psychological factors might have had an influence on her actions in the interactions with the mentor and also the nature of their interactions. On the other hand, Yuka’s goal of improvement of Eva’s speech seems to be one of the factors motivating her active participation in the composition process with Eva. As Yuka said in the interview, she kept correcting in order to improve Eva’s language in the speech even though Eva rejected her corrections. Yuka also seemed to notice her own norm through the discussions with Eva in the process of the mentoring. Both participants exercised agency in contributing to collaboration in their interaction, and also they influenced each other through their extended activities in the composition process. Moreover, Eva said in the interview that she was motivated in further learning of Japanese by the discussions with her mentor, which had revealed weaknesses in her Japanese of which she was not previously aware. Their meaningful interaction, including the conflict of their different opinions, seemed to have an influence on the learner’s motives and goals in her future learning.

CONCLUSION A close look at rich data from multiple sources has yielded some interesting observations regarding student-mentor interactions and their effects on the composition process in relation to social-psychological factors. Various kinds of collaborative activities between students and mentors were observed in the mentoring setting. As in the interactions between Jim and Maki, the students often played an active role in their revision activities, and made a great contribution to the composition process. Their active participation seems to be attributed to their motivation and goals and was often encouraged by the mentors. The mentors’ actions also seemed to be influenced by the mentors’ own intentions and goals. Each participant’s motivations and goals were interrelated with each other, and also had continuous effects on their interactions and revisions in a series of drafting processes. Their different norms sometimes conflicted with each other in the student-mentor revision activities, as in the case of Eva and Yuka. This is another interesting feature of the student-mentor interaction: the student’s resistance to the mentor’s corrections could also be seen as indicating the student’s agency and active participation in the interaction. In some such cases, the student was unwilling to accept a correction which conflicted with her norm for the length of sentences, and therefore, over successive sessions in which corrections were rejected and offered again several times, the interaction led to discussion of the conflicting perceptions of the student and mentor. This languaging about language – talking about language using the language through the interaction – in turn offered an opportunity for learning. There is no fixed prototype of interaction in such authentic contexts. As Duff (this volume) notes in her discussion of the various kinds of discourse socialisation in academic contexts, rather, the interactions, as complex social constructions, involve a variety of aspects, such as acceptance and rejection of the other person’s suggestions, negotiation of form and meaning, scaffolding, and so on, even in such a specific context focusing on a specific genre of writing.

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Moreover, the discourse and social-psychological factors are interrelated with each other and have effects on the interactions in the ongoing composition process. The extended nature of the mentoring can also have an influence on the interactions and the composition, and also on the value of the mentoring as an opportunity for learning. The student-mentor interaction and the composition process are seen as a context for the social construction of language. Through the mentoring process, both participants have an influence on each other, trying to reach a consensus through their interactions. They can notice the gap between their interpretations and norms, through the interaction and revision processes, and also produce collaborative dialogue and composition beyond their individual competencies. Incorporation of mentor suggestions and subsequent practice of the new forms in speech rehearsals seems to provide an ideal opportunity for internalisation of new knowledge. The mentoring process, including student-mentor interactions and repeated revision activities thus provides each participant with rich opportunities for learning.

APPENDIX TRANSCRIPTION CONVENTIONS Symbol [ (.) (..)(...) :: ? .

Meaning Left brackets indicate the point at which a current speakers talk is overlapped by another’s talk. A dot in parentheses indicates a brief pause. Multiple dots in parentheses indicate longer pauses. Colons indicate prolongation of the immediately prior sound. The length of the row of colons indicates the length of the prolongation. Indicates rising intonation. Indicates falling intonation.

Adapted from Ohta (2001), Riggenbach and Wennerstrom (1999), and Silverman (2000).

ENDNOTE 1

Masumi Kobayashi was a postgraduate student at Monash University at the time of writing this article.

REFERENCES Asaoka, T. 2002. ‘Dinaapaatii ni okeru nihonjin to oosutorariajin tono komyunikeeshon: Intaaakushon intabyuu no shiyoo.’ In Gengo Kenkyuu No Hoohoo, edited by Neustupny, ´ J. V; Miyazaki, S. Tokyo: Kuroshio shuppan. Duff, P. A. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation.’ In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1–1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001. Ferris, D. 2003. ‘Responding to writing.’ In Exploring the Dynamics of Second Language Writing, edited by Kroll, B. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Freedman, S. W; Sperling, M. 1985. ‘Teacher-student interaction in the writing conference: Response and teaching.’ In The acquisition of Written Language: Revision and Response, edited by Freedman, S. W. Norwood, New Jersey: Ablex. Goldstein, L. M; Conrad, S. M. ‘Student input and negotiation of meaning in ESL writing conferences.’ TESOL Quarterly 24 (3): 443–460. Haneda, M. 2004. ‘The joint construction of meaning in writing conferences.’ Applied Linguistics 25 (2): 178–219. Heid, R; Wennerstrom, A. K. 1999. Discourse Analysis in the Language Classroom. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Lantolf, J. P; Appel, G., eds. 1994. Vygotskian Approaches to Second Language Research. Norwood, New Jersey: Ablex. Lantolf, J. P. 2000. ‘Introducing sociocultural theory.’ In Sociocultural Theory and Second Language Learning, edited by Lantolf, J. P. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lantolf, J. P. 2002. ‘Sociocultural Theory and Second Language Acquisition.’ In Oxford Handbook of Applied Linguistics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nunan, D. 1992. Research Methods in Language Learning. Cambridge Language Teaching Library. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ohta, A. S. 2001. Second Language Acquisition Processes in the Classroom Learning Japanese. London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Patthey-Chavez, G. G; Ferris, D. R. 1997. ‘Writing conferences and the weaving of multi-voiced texts in college composition.’ Research in the Teaching of English 31: 51–90. Silverman, D. 2000. Doing Qualitative Research: A Practical Handbook. London: Sage Publications. Sperling, M. 1990. ‘I want to talk with each of you: Collaboration and the teacher-student writing conference.’ Research in the Teaching of English 24(3): 279–321. Swain, M. 2005. ‘Language, agency and collaboration.’ Paper presented at the ALAA conference, Melbourne University. Walker, C. P; Elias, D. 1987. ‘Writing conference talk: Factors associated with high- and low-rated writing conference.’ Research in the Teaching of English 21 (3): 266–285.

Cite this chapter as: Kobayashi, M. 2007. ‘Effect of mentoring on second language composition processes in Japanese.’ In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 14.1 to 14.13. DOI: 10.2104/ld070014.

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PART THREE

SOCIAL AND CONTEXTUAL FACTORS INFLUENCING L1/L2 USE IN LEARNERS’ SOCIAL NETWORK CONTEXTS A CASE STUDY OF LEARNERS OF JAPANESE IN AUSTRALIA Naomi Kurata, Monash University Naomi Kurata is a PhD candidate in the School of Languages, Cultures and Linguistics at Monash University. She is currently conducting research on L2 learning in out-of-class contexts. Her research interests include sociolinguistics, second language acquisition and teaching Japanese as a foreign language. Correspondence to Naomi Kurata: [email protected]

This chapter examines six Japanese language learners’ L1/L2 use in their social network contexts. Drawing on the concept of investment (Norton Peirce 1995; Norton 2000), this chapter focuses on how opportunities for L1/L2 use between learners and their social network participants are socially and contextually constructed. The principal analysis is based on the learners’ ethnographic interview data. The analysis reveals the wide variety in language use patterns in the learners’ social networks as well as numerous factors that affected these language use patterns. Among these factors, participant-related/social factors, including ‘investment in relationships as well as L2’, were found to be closely related to each other, and the combination of these factors seemed to play the most significant role in the learners’ language choice behaviour. It is argued that opportunities to use L2 were not necessarily created easily in the learners’ social network contexts. Rather, it was often natural and comfortable for both the learners and their network participants to use two languages in these contexts.

INTRODUCTION There have been a significant number of studies that highlight the importance of learners’ exposure to their L2 in out-of-class contexts (Rubin 1975; Seliger 1977; Stern 1983; Stoller et al. 1995; van Lier 1996; Archangeli 1999; Yorozu 2001). Very few of them, however, have been concerned with the social and contextual factors that affect the construction of opportunities for L2 use in these contexts. In addition, although L1/L2 use in language classrooms has always been a central focus in language learning research, L1/L2 use in the informal environment of learners’ social networks has received little attention to date. In particular, research on language use in social network contexts of foreign language (FL) learners, who study their target language (TL) in their home-country settings, has been underdeveloped. The current study, therefore, was motivated by the desire to consider how L1/L2 use is socially and contextually structured in learners’ social networks. Utilising six Japanese language learners’ ethnographic interview data as well as relevant samples of their actual interaction, I first examine the patterns of their language use, and then explore the social and contextual factors that influence these patterns.

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LEARNING DISCOURSES AND THE DISCOURSES OF LEARNING (2007) MONASH UNIVERSITY EPRESS

REVIEW OF THE RELEVANT LITERATURE One of the most influential studies that deal with the social factors affecting the opportunities for learners to use L2 outside classrooms is Norton’s examination of the L2 learning experience of immigrant women in Canada (Norton Peirce 1995; Norton 2000). In these works, Norton argues for the necessity of a comprehensive theory of identity that integrates language learners and the language learning context. She then proposes a theory of social identity by explaining three defining characteristics of learners’ social identity: identity as non-unitary and contradictory, identity as a site of struggle, and identity as changing over time. Norton maintains that these three conceptions of identity carry important implications for how the immigrant women in her study responded to, and created opportunities to practise English. Furthermore, her studies indicate that learning L2 is a social practice that engages the identities of learners in complex and sometimes contradictory ways as well as a skill that is acquired with dedication (Norton Peirce 1995; Norton 2000). Subsequent to Norton’s (1995, 2000) research, an increasing number of studies have investigated the negotiation of identities of L2 users or learners in relation to their linguistic competence and ability to claim a voice in an L2 (Goldstein 1996; McKay and Wong 1996; Siegal 1996; Angelil-Carter 1997; Morgan 1997; Harklau 2000; Miller 2000; Toohey 2000; Duff 2002a, 2002b; Blackledge 2004; Canagarajah 2004; Kanno 2004; Kinginger 2004; Miller 2004; Pavlenko 2004). Among these studies, there is only one case study that dealt with a learner in a FL learning setting (Kinginger 2004). In this study, Kinginger examines the characteristics of an American student’s dispositions toward learning French in terms of claims to a renegotiated identity. Drawing upon Norton’s (1995, 2000) concept of investment, this study suggests that this learner’s investment in language learning, and the meaning that she attributes to FL competence can only be understood by examining the sociocultural worlds from which they emerge, and their dynamism over time. Kinginger finally proposes that the categories emerging from research on language learning as social practice, such as the concept of investment, are relevant to the FL area. As regards studies carried out into using or learning Japanese as a FL in out-of-class informal settings, there has been very little empirical research to date. A significant study related to these settings, but not directly concerned with the social contexts that affect learners’ L1/L2 use, was conducted by Ogawa (1998). Ogawa found that through interaction with Japanese native speakers (NSs) in Australia, the learners in her study seemed to expand their sociocultural knowledge about Japan as well as their linguistic knowledge. She calls for more research into the relation between interaction with Japanese residents in the learners’ home country, and the development of learners’ Japanese competence. Subsequently, I undertook an examination of the social networks of four upper-intermediate level Japanese language learners studying at an Australian university (Kurata 2002, 2004a, 2004b). The results of this study revealed that the learners made significant investments in interaction in clusters (segments of networks which have relatively high density) and, in turn, that they were exposed to Japanese culture as well as Japanese language usage in natural settings. It was argued that this exposure would increase the learners’ linguistic and non-linguistic awareness. Although the above-mentioned studies have provided insights into the link between learners’ out-of-class social contexts and L2 learning, these studies tell us very little about the learners’

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actual language use and language choice between L1 and L2 in these contexts, particularly, in FL settings. In addition, we have not yet gained a satisfactory understanding of the social and contextual factors influencing the learners’ language use and choice. Therefore, this study will examine L1/L2 use of six Japanese language learners at an Australian university as they interact with their Japanese friends or acquaintances as well as other learners of Japanese in their natural social network settings.

RESEARCH QUESTIONS Specifically, this study addresses two questions:

1. 2.

What types of L1/L2 use occur in Japanese language learners’ social networks in their homecountry settings? How is this L1/L2 use socially and contextually constructed?

CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK As a means of examining the factors influencing L1/L2 use in learners’ social networks, Grosjean’s (1982) factors in language choice in bilingual settings are drawn upon in the present study. Grosjean presents four categories, and he further itemises a number of factors under these categories as follows:

1.

2.

3.

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Participants • language proficiency • language preference • socioeconomic status • age • sex • occupation • education • ethnic background • history of speakers’ linguistic interaction • kinship relation • intimacy • power relation • attitude toward languages • outside pressure; Situation • location/setting • presence of monolinguals • degree of formality • degree of intimacy; Content of discourse • topic • type of vocabulary; and,

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Function of interaction • to raise status • to create social distance • to exclude someone • to request or command.

Based on these four categories, the current study attempts to discover the factors that account for L1/L2 use between six learners of Japanese and their respective social network participants. Grosjean (1982) proposed these categories and factors based on the previous studies that dealt with speakers in bilingual communities, such as German-Hungarian bilinguals in Austria. Therefore, it is expected that the factors affecting the language use of the informants in the present study might be significantly different from those of Grosjean. A number of the social factors that account for the informants language use were analysed by utilising Norton’s notion of investment (Norton Peirce 1995; Norton 2000). Norton conceptualises this notion with economic metaphors, stating that learners invest in their L2 with the understanding that they will obtain a broad range of resources, which will in turn increase the value of their cultural capital. Norton further explains that the concept of investment signals the socially and historically structured relationship of the learners to their L2 and their occasionally ambivalent desire to learn and practise it. This concept thus facilitates an in-depth analysis of the social factors that play a crucial role in the informants’ language use, focusing on their socially constructed relationship to their L2.

METHODOLOGY INFORMANTS The current study involves six first-year undergraduate students who were enrolled in intermediate level Japanese subjects at an Australian University. First-year students were selected in order to investigate the features of their social networks that they established in the first year of their university lives as well as those of the L1/L2 use in these networks. Intermediate level learners were chosen because it might be reasonably expected that students at these levels, in comparison with less advanced students, would be more likely to pursue informal out-of-class contacts. The personal details of the informants are presented in Table 1. They have been assigned pseudonyms for the purpose of anonymity. PROCEDURE In order to elicit detailed information regarding language use in the informants’ interaction with their network participants, an ‘interaction interview’ format was employed, as recommended by Neustupný (1994). This type of interview avoids general questions about what informants usually do and concentrates on specific questions to find out what actually happened in a particular situation, usually within a set period of time (Neustupný 1994: 19). Neustupný suggests that such a style of questioning can reveal actual human behaviour more accurately than can general questions. I conducted interviews with each informant every alternative month, that is, five or six times over a period of nine months (two university semesters in 2004) to closely examine

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Table 1 Background of the informants * Each level represents one semester of study. Level 5 is the entry level for students who have studied Japanese at high school, whereas Level 7 is available to students with higher competence, usually those who have spent time in Japan.

how their language use would change as well as what social and contextual factors affected this language use. A number of samples of the informants’ natural interaction in their social network settings were also collected. These include email messages, on-line chat scripts, SMS messages and audiorecorded conversations. The informants were also requested to record details associated with their exposure to Japanese in out-of-class contexts in a diary for approximately one week. Subsequent to the collection of the samples of the informants’ interaction and their diary entries, follow-up interviews were also conducted to elicit their reflections on the language use in their social networks based on these data.

FINDINGS LEARNERS’ SOCIAL NETWORKS AND PATTERNS OF L1/L2 USE Table 2 presents the varieties of language use between the informants and their network participants. The network participants in this table include not only native speakers of Japanese but also non-Japanese participants with whom the informants used Japanese regardless of the amount

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of their Japanese use. CJF1 refers to Cindy’s Japanese female network participant No. 1; CNM1 is Cindy’s non-Japanese male network participant No. 1. All the non-Japanese network participants, except for JNM3, are native speakers of English, and JNM3, whose home language is Chinese, immigrated to Australia when he was a high school student. The names of network participants in bold letters (for distinguishing purposes) indicate that their interaction was with an informant through the written channel, such as email or on-line chat. The informants’ bilingual language use was categorised into three types: ‘the basically Japanese variety’, ‘the basically English variety’ and ‘the mixed variety’ based on categories suggested by Nishimura (1992). Nonreciprocal use of languages between the informants and their network participants, such as where one participant used the basically English variety and the other used the basically Japanese variety, was categorised as ‘nonreciprocal use’. Language use marked with an asterisk (*) was confirmed on the basis of actual interactional data; no asterisk indicates that the categorisation was based on interaction interview data. In terms of informants’ social networks, what Table 2 clearly displays is that all the informants, except for Grace, became acquainted with Japanese students who were studying at the same university during the informants’ first year of university. All the informants also had non-Japanese network participants with whom they used Japanese at their university. The informants’ social networks in Japan and outside university, on the other hand, do not include any non-Japanese network participants, apart from one of Jim’s network participants outside university, that is, his sister. As expected, Cindy, Grace and Patty who had resided in Japan for over one year had more Japanese network participants in Japan than the rest of the informants who had limited or no in-country experience. The informants’ network participants at university were all students. They became acquainted through friends, social clubs, classes, private Japanese tuition, volunteer work and language exchange lessons. The relationships between the informants and their network participants outside university, on the other hand, varied, and included a former host sister, a former teacher of Japanese at high school, co-workers at a hotel where the informant worked part-time, and neighbours. The network participants in Japan were mostly the informants’ former host family members or former classmates with whom the informants had regular contact during their stay in Japan and with whom they had maintained contact afterwards. With respect to language use, Table 2 illustrates the wide range of language use patterns of each informant, even with network participants who belong to the same category, such as native speakers of Japanese at the university. Max, for instance, had interaction in the basically English variety with the majority of his Japanese network participants at the university, although he used the basically Japanese variety or the mixed variety with the rest of them. Moreover, there are multiple language use patterns between an informant and each of his/her network participants in most cases, and they change according to contexts. The three types of varieties in which Cindy and CJF3 interacted are typical examples of this tendency. Interestingly, all the informants, except for Max, show the pattern of nonreciprocal use of varieties with a number of their network participants. This pattern occurred mainly in the written channel, including email and letters. Unlike face-to-face interaction in which speakers usually choose one language to communicate, these written channels do not involve real-time transmission of messages. Therefore, interactants are more likely to select their preferred language, which might be different from the language that their network participants chose to write to them. For example, PJM3 asked about models

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of mobile phones in Australia in the mixed variety, but Patty replied to his email explaining about the models in English. In her interaction interview, she claimed that she had chosen English in order to avoid using katakana for English words. There are, however, a few cases of nonreciprocal use of varieties in the spoken channel. Grace, for instance, spoke English when she talked with her former host sister (GJF2) on the phone. On the other hand, GJF2, who had arrived in Australia for the purpose of studying English, spoke Japanese to Grace. Grace claimed that she chose English with the intention of helping GJF2 practise English, but GJF2 seemed uncomfortable using English with Grace since they used to interact only in Japanese when Grace was an exchange student in Japan. Closer examination of the language use patterns by the categories of network participants reveals that opportunities to use the basically Japanese variety were not created in most of the interactions in which the informants engaged with Japanese students at their university, and the majority of interaction was in the basically English variety. In contrast, the language use with the Japanese network participants outside the university includes more instance of the basically Japanese variety. One of the main factors that seem to affect this difference is the informants’ perception of the relatively low English proficiency of the Japanese network participants outside the university. Unexpectedly, almost half of the instances of the interactions with the network participants who resided in Japan were in the basically English variety. This trend is partly associated with the type of channel through which the informants and their network participants in Japan interacted with each other. More specifically, the majority of the interaction between them was by the written channel, mainly email. There are a number of cases of interaction in which some of the informants used Japanese with their Japanese network participants in face-to-face interaction, whereas both of them preferred to use English for email messages. FACTORS AFFECTING LANGUAGE CHOICE BETWEEN LEARNERS AND THEIR NETWORK PARTICIPANTS As discussed earlier, there is a wide variety of language use patterns which vary according to the participants as well as the contexts. These patterns are very complex, and numerous factors influence the language choice. In addition, some of these factors seem to be related to each other and the combination of several factors may contribute to language choice. Drawing on, but extending Grosjean’s (1982) categories of factors influencing language choice in bilingual settings, the following factors were found relevant to the informants’ L1/L2 use in the current study: Participant-related factors • Perceived L2 proficiency of learners and their social network participants • Investment in L2 by learners and their social network participants • Investment in relationships with network participants as well as in L2 • Awareness/sensitivity to network participants’ language needs and their identities in relation to their L2 proficiency • History of linguistic interaction; Situation-related factors • Location/setting • Presence of monolinguals • Fatigue and lack of time • Channel/use of new technology

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Discourse content-related factors • Topics • Type of vocabulary Interactional function-related factors • Exclusion • Assistance to an L2 learner. Although interesting examples and issues were found regarding ‘discourse-related’ and ‘interactional function-related’ factors, in this study I will focus on those factors listed under ‘participant-related’ and ‘situation-related’, where I have identified several new subcategories. The factors under these two categories are discussed and illustrated in turn in the following sections. PARTICIPANT-RELATED FACTORS

As Grosjean (1982) stated, the language proficiency of the speaker and of the interlocutor plays a significant role in their language choice. In his investigation into the linguistic behaviour of the second-generation children of Italian migrants in Germany, Auer (1988) also found that their imbalanced bilingual competence – their lack of competence in Italian – is related to their switching from Italian into German. Similarly, a number of the informants of the current study reported that their Japanese proficiency did not allow them to produce certain utterances in Japanese and they thus switched to English or that their Japanese network participants’ limited English proficiency led them to choose Japanese in several cases in their interaction. Interestingly, however, closer investigation of their interaction reveals that it is the informants’ perceived relative L2 proficiency of the informants themselves and their network participants that predicts their language choice more reliably. In other words, the difference in L2 proficiency that the informants perceived between them and their network participants seem to be more important than the absolute level of language proficiency of the speaker and the interlocutor, which Grosjean (1982) regards as a major factor of language choice. A particularly telling case is that of Jim. As shown in Table 2 above, the language choice between Jim and JJF1 was basically English, whereas the choice between Jim and JJF2 was both basically English and the mixed variety. Jim had undertaken formal study of Japanese over 10 years and invested a lot of time and effort in his Japanese learning (cf. Table 1). JJF1 was a Japanese undergraduate student who had resided in English-speaking countries for many years. JJF2, on the other hand, was an international undergraduate student who had studied in Australia for just a few months. Comparing the English proficiency of JJF1 and JJF2, Jim claimed that JJF2 was practising her English as her second language just as he was practising his Japanese; on the other hand, JJF1 was a bilingual, fluent in both languages. Jim also explained that this difference contributed to how comfortable he was interacting with each of them. More specifically, Jim felt more relaxed and comfortable in interacting in Japanese with JJF2 than with JJF1 because he perceived that his Japanese proficiency was considerably lower than JJF1’s English proficiency, but was relatively similar in level to JJF2’s English. Therefore, Jim’s perception that JJF1’s L2 proficiency was much higher than his seemed to result in a sense of inferiority, which in turn led him to feel inhibited and disinclined to speak Japanese to her. There is further evidence from the other informants to support this factor: the learner’s relative perception of his/her L2 proficiency and that of his/her network participants. This includes Grace’s reluctance to speak Japanese to her first host mother and

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sister whose English proficiency level was very high, and Cindy being intimidated by another learner’s very high Japanese proficiency. Grosjean (1982) considers the participants’ attitude toward a language and thus toward the group that speaks it as another important participant-related factor. He gave the example of the children of a minority community who may decide not to use their native language so that they are not differentiated from the children of the majority group. The setting of this example is very different from that of the current study. This factor, however, does seem to apply to the foreign language learning area. Drawing upon Norton’s concept of investment, I wish to argue that this factor should not be regarded as simply a property of the learners but should include an awareness of the socially and historically constructed relationship of learners to their L2 (Norton Peirce 1995; Norton 2000). As previously explained, Norton proposed the concept of investment, which conceives of the language learner as having a complex social history and occasionally ambivalent desire to learn and practise the language (Norton Peirce 1995; Norton 2000). She also claimed that this concept helps explain the contradictions between the motivation of the immigrant women in her study to learn English and their ambivalent desire to speak it. Although the settings of the informants in my study are quite different from those in her study, I found that all of my informants also felt uncomfortable using Japanese or sometimes refused to use it under certain conditions, despite being highly motivated to learn Japanese. Norton further asserts that the learners’ investment in their target language is closely related to the ongoing production of their social identity, and the notion of social identity as multiple, a site of struggle, and changing over time allows her to explain the conditions under which her participants were comfortable or uncomfortable speaking English. As mentioned, the informants in my study were learners of Japanese at an Australian university, that is, foreign language learners in their home country (except for Max), and most of their network participants were those in the same social position as well as the same age bracket as the informants. In this study, therefore, it seems appropriate to focus on the informants’ identity in relation to their Japanese proficiency in order to consider their investment in Japanese as one of the important factors influencing the complex process of their language selection. The series of interactions of two of my informants, namely Jim and Simon, will be highlighted to support my argument, particularly by focusing on Simon’s ambivalent desire to use Japanese and his identity in relation to his L2 proficiency. These two learners became acquainted through a social club to which they belonged, and they regularly attended club activities together. Based on their diary entries and interaction interviews, it is clear that both Jim and Simon were eager to be exposed to Japanese and pursued social contact with native speakers of Japanese. Jim engaged in volunteer work at a Japanese comic book library at the university where a lot of native speakers of Japanese frequently gathered. He was also very keen to learn Japanese colloquial expressions through websites and attempted to use them in his interaction with Simon and some of his other network participants. Simon, on the other hand, had private tutors (SJF1 and SJF2) to improve his Japanese and he persistently attempted to talk to me, being a former teacher of his, in Japanese, even though I spoke to him in English for the purpose of the research interviews. As shown in Table 2, the language use patterns between Jim and Simon cover four types: basically English, basically Japanese, mixed varieties and nonreciprocal usage (Jim: basically Japanese; Simon: basically English). These patterns changed, depending on the context of the interaction, such as location/setting and presence of monolinguals. These factors will be discussed

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below. It was also found that the patterns changed across time, and this transition was closely connected with Jim and Simon’s investment in Japanese, in particular, Simon’s ambivalent desire to use Japanese and his identity in relation to L2 proficiency. In the following discussion, I demonstrate how and why their language use patterns changed over time by analysing their investment in Japanese and how this factor interacts with the previous factor, namely learners’ perception of relative L2 proficiency. In the third interview with Simon in June, he reported that Jim loved Japanese so much that as soon as he found that Simon could speak Japanese, Jim initiated a Japanese conversation. Simon also claimed that they used the mixed or sometimes the basically Japanese varieties during their club activities and it was fun for them to talk in Japanese. In the next interview in September, however, Simon reported that Jim started to use Japanese slang expressions and strange lexical items with which Simon was not familiar. In addition, Jim started to correct Simon’s Japanese utterances. Regarding the language use on the day of their common friend’s birthday party in September, Simon claimed that although Jim was very keen to speak Japanese to Simon, Simon did not listen to Jim’s Japanese and told him to speak in English. This example illustrates their nonreciprocal use of languages, with Jim speaking in the basically Japanese variety but Simon refusing to do so and responding in English. Simon further explained that on that day he felt intimidated by Jim’s Japanese and thus disinclined to speak Japanese, but at the same time he wished to utilise this type of interaction to improve his Japanese so that he could speak like Jim. This episode exhibits Simon’s ambivalent desire to use Japanese. In other words, in this situation he refused to speak Japanese to Jim, despite his eagerness to use this interaction to practise and learn Japanese. Further in-depth interviews with Simon illuminated the factors contributing to his ambivalence about using Japanese. He claimed that Jim’s frequent correction of his Japanese utterances made him feel embarrassed and Jim’s persistent use of Japanese colloquial expressions also intimidated him. Simon explained that since Jim was studying Levels 5 and 6 and Simon was studying Levels 7 and 8, Simon’s level of Japanese proficiency was supposed to be higher than Jim’s. Simon, however, perceived his Japanese proficiency was lower than that of Jim and this led him to think ‘I should know what Jim knows’ whenever Jim produced unfamiliar Japanese vocabulary/expressions or he corrected Simon’s Japanese. It seems that Simon’s perceived relatively lower L2 proficiency in relation to Jim contributed to the construction of Simon’s identity as an inadequate user of Japanese for Levels 7 and 8. This construction of his identity, in turn, seemed to result in his failure to reciprocate Jim’s use of Japanese. Nevertheless, Simon’s identity as an inadequate user of Japanese was not established and fixed but was a site of struggle and change across time, similar to the experience of the immigrant women in Norton’s study (Norton Peirce 1995, Norton 2000). In the fifth interview in November, he described Jim’s use of slang expressions as ‘a bit showing off’ and said: ‘I did it (felt intimidated by Jim’s Japanese) at first, I didn’t like it, but now, it’s OK, because I am not so intimidated’. In the following interview by email, he explained what made him less intimidated: ‘Although speaking with Jim in Japanese was intimidating, I thought that I shouldn’t be always intimidated by not understanding him and use the opportunity to talk with him in Japanese because I could use it to learn and get better’. He also explained that this change was his own conscious decision; that is, he changed his opinion about Jim’s Japanese and his own use of Japanese in reciprocation deliberately. These statements of Simon show that he was able to reconstruct his identity from

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an inadequate user of Japanese to a positive learner of Japanese, who became more tolerant of his own perceived lack of L2 proficiency and who was able to accept Jim’s Japanese use as an opportunity to learn. Simon’s investment in Japanese, therefore, was significantly structured by his identity in relation to his perceived Japanese proficiency. Jim, on the other hand, in the third interview in June, evaluated his interaction in Japanese with Simon as enjoyable and as a good opportunity to practise. Towards the end of the year of data collection, he noticed Simon’s change regarding his language use as follows: ‘Simon used to, he doesn’t so much these days, but he’d always just tell me to speak in English, so I would be reluctant to speak in Japanese, but now he’s speaking more and more in Japanese’. Jim, however, did not know the reason for Simon’s change and stated, ‘I think he’s getting used to it’. As mentioned earlier, Jim himself felt inferior to JJF1 due to her high English proficiency and was thus disinclined to use Japanese to her. In spite of this experience, he did not realise that Simon had been intimidated by his own use of Japanese. This point, whether interactants are sensitive to each others’ identity in relation to L2 proficiency, will be discussed below as another important factor. Simon described in more detail what made him decide to be less stressed about Jim’s intimidating linguistic behaviour, including his frequent correction of Simon’s Japanese use. It was when Simon realised that Jim was not aiming to show off with his Japanese competence but was trying to assist him to learn Japanese, as an older brother would. Simon realised this because he had seen that Jim was persevering patiently in his efforts to use Japanese. This was consistent with Jim’s claim that he faced difficulties in understanding the way Simon constructed some Japanese sentences. In this situation, Jim simply told Simon that he did not understand what Simon said and then they constructed Japanese sentences together, with Simon’s occasional English explanation about what he meant. Here, what seems to be a salient point is that both Jim and Simon invest in their friendship as well as in their L2. Since to correct interlocutors’ L2 can become face-threatening behaviour, interactants tend to avoid it, especially if they are not close to each other. Moreover, as Miller (2004) notes, in spoken interaction both a listener and a speaker share the responsibility for keeping the communication alive, and the collaboration of the listener is necessary for the speaker to claim the right to speak in an L2. Simon realised that Jim had not meant to show off his Japanese competence but sincerely sought to practise and learn Japanese with Simon as well as to assist him to learn it. Simon also noticed that it required considerable patience for Jim to interact with him in Japanese, and that Jim’s patience indicated his caring for Simon and their developing friendship. Their investment not only in Japanese learning but also their friendship seems to have been essential for the reconstruction of Simon’s identity in relation to his perceived Japanese proficiency. Therefore, this factor, investment in relationships with network participants, also plays a significant role in L1/L2 use in learners’ social networks. This factor will be discussed next in more detail. Grosjean (1982) itemises the degree of intimacy as an important factor. The current study, however, highlights the necessity of an investment in a relationship as well as in L2 for the negotiation of language use, rather than just the degree of intimacy. An example which supports this point is evident in the interaction between Cindy and CJM2. As shown in Table 1 above, Cindy sojourned at a university in Japan as an exchange student where she met CJM2 who studied the same subject as herself and with whom she had social contact outside class during her stay in Japan. It is clear that Cindy was a highly motivated learner of Japanese since she had regular

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private Japanese lessons with CJF1 as well as language exchange with CJF3. In addition, she often participated in the activities of a Japanese social club and enjoyed interacting in Japanese with her social network participants who were NSs of Japanese and those who studied Japanese as well. Cindy remembered that CJM2 also wished that he had had more people with whom he could speak in English and she described him as ‘the one who wants to improve his English’. During the year of the data collection, they exchanged email only once, and she described the frequency of interaction as ‘very rare’ in her first interview. Regarding his email that she received a couple of weeks before the third interview in July, she could not remember the content but explained that it was short and a ‘sort of catch up letter’ written in English. Two months later, she replied to his email in Japanese. Therefore, as indicated in Table 2, their language use was nonreciprocal. Cindy claimed that she was surprised rather than happy to receive CJM2’s email because she had not contacted him for a while. She also reported that she did not intend to stay in contact with him because they did not have any common interests, except for their respective L2s. As a result, she believed that the content of their email was always boring for both of them. As mentioned above, it is clear that both of them had a strong desire to learn their respective L2s and invest in them, but they did not seem to invest in their relationship. More specifically, Cindy appeared to perceive that CJM2 had sought an instrumental relationship with Cindy or had regarded his interaction with her as a means to practise English. Cindy, on the other hand, was reluctant to have an instrumental relationship with him and seemed to resist the position of an English trainer by replying to him in Japanese. Accordingly, investment in relationships as well as in L2, is one of the most crucial factors that accounts for language use in learners’ social network contexts. As mentioned above, participants’ sensitivity/insensitivity to their interlocutors’ language needs and identity in relation to perceived L2 proficiency has an impact on their language use. The interaction between Simon and SNM2, who was a member of Simon’s social club, is a good illustration of this. In his third interview in June, Simon claimed that it was easy for him to talk to SNM2 in Japanese because they had the same level of Japanese. In the fourth interview in September, however, Simon stated that after being intimidated by Jim’s use of Japanese and sensing that Jim had not realised how Simon felt about his Japanese, Simon started wondering how SNM2 found using Japanese with him. In other words, Simon suspected that it was easy for him but not for SNM2 to interact in Japanese together, because SNM2 was studying Levels 3 and 4, which were two levels lower than Simon’s. He therefore started to attempt to use expressions that he thought would be taught up to Levels 3 and 4 so that SNM2 could understand. These claims reveal that Simon’s perception of SNM2’s Japanese proficiency level changed and he also became more aware of SNM2’s language needs and identity in relation to his Japanese proficiency. In other words, Simon deliberately altered his language use to suit SNM2’s level of Japanese proficiency, having SNM2’s identity in relation to his Japanese competence under consideration. The last factor concerning participants’ attributes is the history of their linguistic interaction. Grosjean (1982) explains that it is very common to find bilingual speakers who have an agreedupon language of interaction when the situation or topics do not force them to choose a particular language. As a typical instance, he cites children of immigrant families who tend to continue to speak their minority language to their grandparents or parents, even if the children became

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more proficient in their majority language. For the informants who were foreign language learners as well as their network participants in the current study, it is difficult to identify which pairs of interactants had an agreed-upon or a customary language pattern. This is because the language use between most of these pairs varied, depending on various contextual and social factors, including those that I discussed above. However, I found two cases of the basically English variety use between two of the informants and their respective Japanese tutors (Cindy and CJF1; Simon and SJF1). Since both pairs always used the basically English variety during their lessons, it seemed customary for them to use it even when they socialised outside their lessons. As mentioned earlier, both Cindy and Simon were highly motivated to learn Japanese and pursued interaction in Japanese with their network participants. Nevertheless, they seemed to find it natural and comfortable to interact with their Japanese tutors in the basically English variety, regardless of the context of the interaction. There is an interesting case which indicates participants’ agreed-upon nonreciprocal language use, which is different from the customary use of one particular language that was discussed above. Grace, another highly motivated learner of Japanese, interacted with two of her Japanese friends in Japan (GJF5 and GJF6) once or twice a month mostly by email during the nine months of data collection. Table 2 indicates that the patterns of language use between Grace and GJF5 and those between Grace and GJF6 were the same: the basically English, the basically Japanese varieties and nonreciprocal use. Most of the email messages that they wrote, however, belong to the category of nonreciprocal use. More specifically, Grace wrote messages to them in English only once due to her time constraints before her exams and GJF5 and GJF6 wrote in Japanese only once as well. It seems reasonable to claim that their customary language use was nonreciprocal, that is, Grace used the basically Japanese variety and GJF5 and GJF6 used the basically English variety. One of the actual email samples that Grace gave me shows that her message to GJF6 was all in Japanese, except for their common friends’ names and a few other lexical items with which she was not familiar, and on the following day, GJF6 replied to Grace’s message completely in English. Grace commented about their nonreciprocal language use saying that she was keen to use Japanese in her email messages to them, particularly to use lexical items she had learned as much as possible, and she was not very sure but she speculated that GJF5 and GJF6 might enjoy using English. She also claimed that she never minded about their English use, although she wrote to them in Japanese and she had a strong desire to be exposed to Japanese. Grosjean (1982) notes that nonreciprocal language use normally results in embarrassment and even anger between bilingual speakers because, amongst other things, it can signal lack of group solidarity. In the case of email exchange, however, nonreciprocal use of languages does not seem to lead to such serious conflict over language preferences as face-to-face interaction. In addition, in the case of Grace and these two network participants, it was rather natural and comfortable for them to write email in their preferred language and receive it in the other language. In other words, it seemed that they tacitly agreed on this nonreciprocal language use and this language use pattern became customary. SITUATION-RELATED FACTORS

Two of the situation-related factors that Grosjean (1982) lists were found to be influential in determining language use in a number of the cases in the current study: location/setting and presence of monolinguals. Jim, for example, interacted with JJF2 in either the basically English

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or the mixed variety (cf. Table 2). It was found that when Jim happened to see JJF2 on a bus or on their campus, they tended to use the mixed variety. In the club activities in which they engaged together, they always spoke in the basically English variety. Jim claimed that he thought that English use would be more appropriate in the situation of a club gathering because JJF2 was very keen to meet Australian people and to demonstrate to these Australian students that her English was good. Jim also mentioned that most of these students did not speak Japanese, so their presence as monolinguals affected his language choice as well. Interactants’ fatigue and lack of time is one of the factors affecting language choice, particularly in written channels. Not surprisingly, the frequency of interaction between all the informants and the majority of their network participants, particularly those in Japan, tended to decrease before the informants’ exams and the due dates for their assignments. In the third interviews that were conducted just after their exams around the end of June, most of the informants claimed to have been busy and tired due to their commitments to study. I suggest that these factors, namely tiredness and lack of time, affected their language use. As mentioned earlier, Grace wrote email messages to GJF5 and GJF6 in English only once, due to time constraints before her exams, although she did so in Japanese all the other times. Similarly, just before his exams, Jim chose English when he had a short on-line chat with JNM3 with whom he used the basically Japanese variety when they had long conversations once or twice a month. Last but not least, a factor which does not seem to belong to any of Grosjean’s categories, but which is relevant to participants’ situation, is type of channel, and in particular, the use of new technology in the informants’ interaction. Not surprisingly, all the written interaction between the informants and their network participants inside and outside their university was by email, SMS or on-line chat and it did not include any interaction by letter. All the written interaction with those in Japan was also by these new means of communication, except for letter exchanges between Cindy and CJF6, Grace and GJF3, Grace and GJF8, and Patty and PJF4 (cf. Table 2). The pair of Cindy and CJF6 and that of Patty and PJF4 exchanged letters a number of times, but they chose letters rather than email because they posted some gifts together with these letters to each other. It is clear that these new means of communication were dominant forms within the written channel in the informants’ social network contexts. My data suggests that the use of new technology including not only email and on-line chat but also electronic and web dictionaries and Japanese input method editor (IME) on computers help the informants reduce the time and effort that is required when interacting in Japanese with their network participants, and in turn, facilitated their Japanese use. In his second interview in April, for example, Simon claimed that it was too much effort to use his dictionaries when he wrote Japanese email to his former host sister, SJF4, so he tended to produce messages within the limits of his present vocabulary. In the following interview in June, however, with his new electronic dictionary, he was willing to try new lexical items as much as possible since it was so much fun and quick to use it. Grace highlighted the usefulness of Japanese IME and on-line communication, stating that unlike writing letters, it was easy to produce kanji by email and online chat because it was not necessary to know each stroke of kanji when using the IME. Jim and Cindy utilised the IME pad in which they drew unfamiliar kanji that their interactants wrote, which helped them find out the reading and meaning of it easily, without using a kanji dictionary that usually involves a complicated procedure to consult. Moreover, Cindy accessed the search engine, Google, in order to apologise properly for not emailing CJM1 for a long time. She looked

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up ‘writing letters in Japanese’ and came across a few websites that she could use as reference materials. She also cut and pasted some of her Japanese expressions into Google to see how many hits she obtained and then she looked at some of them to find out how these expressions were used in different contexts. I suggest that without these types of new technology, the frequency of interaction in the informants’ social network contexts would decrease, and their L2 use through the written channel in these contexts might be more limited.

CONCLUSION Through close and detailed examination of the six informants’ L1/L2 use with their network participants, the variety in their language use patterns and the complexities involved in language choice have become apparent. The findings of this study also clearly demonstrate that numerous factors affected the informants’ language use, and some of these factors interacted with each other. In spite of the differences between the settings of the current study and those that Grosjean (1982) refers to, a number of factors, including ‘history of linguistic interaction’ and ‘presence of monolinguals’, were common to both settings. Furthermore, Grosjean points out that some factors are more important than others and thus play a larger role when combined with other factors, depending on the bilingual community. In the case of the FL settings of the current study, participant-related factors, such as ‘perceived L2 proficiency’, ‘investment in relationships as well as L2’, and ‘sensitivity to network participants’ language needs and their identities’, were found to be closely related to each other, and the combination of these factors seemed to play the most significant role in learners’ language choice behaviour. The findings of the current study, however, exhibit considerably more complex features of the social/participant-related factors that account for language choice than those presented by Grosjean (1982). The difference in L2 proficiency that the informants perceived between them and their network participants helped me explain their language use patterns in a great deal of their interaction more accurately than by simply labelling such influences as ‘language proficiency’, as listed by Grosjean. I have also argued that Grosjean’s factor of ‘attitude toward languages’ should not be just a property of the speakers, but should include an awareness of their socially and historically constructed relationship to their L2. More specifically, the learners’ investment in an L2, which seems to be structured by their identity in relation to their relative L2 proficiency, contributes to the learners’ actual L1/L2 use in their social networks. Furthermore, as the analysis of Cindy’s case demonstrates, ‘investment in relationship as well as L2’ appears to be essential for the negotiation of language use between learners and their network participants. The current case study has provided useful insights into the construction of opportunities to use L2 in the learners’ social networks. As previously stated, it indicates that these opportunities are not necessarily created easily in the learners’ home-country networks nor in in-country settings. Bilingual interaction, including the mixed variety and the nonreciprocal use of two languages, is common and the process of language selection is influenced by numerous social and contextual factors in very complex ways. As Liebscher and Dailey-O’Cain (2005) point out, it is not possible for L2 learners to become monolingual speakers of L2, but only to become bilingual speakers of both an L1 and L2. Consequently, it is necessary for both learners and language teachers to be aware of the complexities of the process of language choice in social network contexts, and, in turn, the fact that opportunities to use only L2 are not easily constructed. Rather, it is often

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natural and comfortable for both learners and their network participants to use two languages just as do the speakers in bilingual communities that Grosjean (1982) cites. However, more investigation into learners’ L1/L2 use in social networks is required – in particular, the microanalysis of their natural interaction – in order to investigate what opportunities for L2 learning occur in this L1/L2 use.

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Miller, J. 2004. ‘Identity and language use: The politics of speaking ESL in schools’. In Negotiation of Identities in Multilingual Contexts, edited by Pavlenko, A; Blackledge, A. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters Ltd. Miller, J. 2000. ‘Language use, identity, and social interaction: Migrant students in Australia’. Research on Language and Social Interaction 33 (1): 69–100. Morgan, B. 1997. ‘Identity and intonation: Linking dynamic processes in an ESL classroom’. TESOL Quarterly 31 (3): 431–450. Neustupný, J. 1994. ‘Nihon kenkyuu no hoohooron: deeta shuushuu no dankai (A methodology for Japanese studies: a stage of collecting data’. Machikaneyama Ronsoo: nihongakuhen 28: 1–24. Nishimura, M. 1992. ‘Language choice and in-group identity among Canadian niseis’. Journal of Asian Pacific Communication 3 (1): 97–113. Norton, B. 2000. Identity and Language Learning: Gender, Ethnicity and Educational Change. London: Longman. Norton Peirce, B. 1995. ‘Social identity, investment, and language learning’. TESOL Quarterly 29 (1): 9–31. Ogawa, K. 1998. ‘Impact of an interaction-oriented Japanese course on learners’. Australian Review of Applied Linguistics 15: 123–138. Pavlenko, A. 2004. ‘“The making of an American”: Negotiation of identities at the turn of the twentieth century’. In Negotiation of Identities in Multilingual Contexts, edited by Pavlenko, A; Blackledge, A. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters Ltd. Rubin, J. 1975. ‘What the “good language learner” can teach us’. TESOL Quarterly 9: 41–51. Seliger, H. 1977. ‘Does practice make perfect: A study of interaction patterns and L2 competence’. Language Learning 27: 263–278. Siegal, l. 1996. ‘The role of learner subjectivity in second language sociolinguistic competency: Western women learning Japanese’. Applied Linguistics 17 (3): 356–382. Stern, H. 1983. Fundamental Concepts of Language Teaching. London: Oxford University Press. Stoller, F; Hodges, R; Kimbrough, J. 1995. ‘Examining the value of conversation partner programs’. Applied Language Learning 6 (1&2): 1–12. Toohey, K. 2000. Learning English at School: Identity, Social Relations and Classroom Practice. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters Ltd. van Lier, L. 1996. Interaction in the Language Curriculum: Awareness, Autonomy and Authenticity. New York: Longman. Yorozu, M. 2001. ‘Interaction with native speakers of Japanese: What learners say’. Japanese Studies 21 (2): 199–213.

Cite this chapter as: Kurata, N. 2007. ‘Social and contextual factors influencing L1/L2 use in learners’ social network contexts: A case study of learners of Japanese in Australia’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 15.1 to 15.19. DOI: 10.2104/ld070015.

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PART THREE

NEGOTIATION OF LANGUAGE SELECTION IN LANGUAGE EXCHANGE PARTNERSHIPS Yuko Masuda, Sophia University Yuko Masuda lectures in Japanese at Sophia University, Japan. Her research focuses on language contact situations and code-switching. Correspondence to Yuko Masuda: [email protected]

This study examines interaction in Language Exchange Partnerships (LEPs), one type of out-of-class language use opportunity for language learners. The expansion of interaction in and across cultures has enabled universities to create more opportunities for language learners to meet and interact with their counterparts from different areas or countries. LEPs are one of the settings that provide language learners with second language (L2) use opportunities within university contexts. LEP refers to a pair of language learners or users who meet each other regularly, primarily for the purpose of improving their language skills and of increasing understanding of one another’s cultures. Since participants each have an interest in using their L2, how pairs negotiate their selection of language is of central interest. This chapter reports on the language selection which characterises one LEP involving a learner of Japanese and a Japanese native speaker who was undertaking a course at the same Australian university. In particular, it analyses how the participants negotiate their use of English and Japanese. The data consists of the audio tape-recorded interactions of the Japanese-English exchange partnership in conjunction with diary entries by the participants as well as interviews with them. The study employed a conversation analytic approach to bilingual interaction in order to explore the interactional sequences that occur in LEPs (Auer 1984a, 1988, 1998). Although both participants are aware that LEPs offer one another an L2 use opportunity, asymmetrical use was observable in their actual language use. The analysis also identified various factors relevant to the language alternation by the participants.

INTRODUCTION Language selection is an important issue for speakers in bilingual contact situations. Recent research within the field of bilingual interaction has reported upon language use/selection within various speech communities, with a particular focus on the language alternation taking place. Most studies have dealt with bilingual settings where considerable social and linguistic divergence exists. In contrast to these studies conducted in non-institutional bilingual settings, the foreign language (FL) classroom has also been of interest to researchers interested in second language acquisition, who have primarily considered the language used by learners and/or teachers (e.g. Polio and Duff 1994). Language Exchange Partnerships (LEPs) offer a third kind of bilingual interactive setting where language learners use their foreign or second language (L2) with their partner, who is a native speaker (NS) of that language and an L2 speaker of their native language, outside the classroom.1 Language exchange partnerships constitute important social contexts where L2 learners and users interact outside of classroom settings. Since language exchange partners meet with each other primarily for the purpose of practising/using their L2, how they negotiate their selection of language is of central interest. Despite the importance of the topic of language selection in

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bilingual interactive settings, the nature of the interaction has been minimally treated by the existing studies of this kind of language use setting. In this chapter, an attempt is made to explicate the patterns of language selection occurring in one such bilingual interactive setting. In particular, the following questions are addressed: 1. 2.

When and why do language exchange partners alternate languages? and, How do language exchange partners negotiate their language selection?

I will begin by briefly describing the nature of LEPs, and differentiate them from other bilingual contact situations. After outlining the conceptual framework and methodology employed, examples of language alternation in an LEP will be examined.

LEPs (LANGUAGE EXCHANGE PARTNERSHIPS) The internationalisation of university education has increased the opportunities for language learners to use their L2 with their counterparts from different parts of the world. Accordingly, many universities now set up programs which introduce local students and overseas students to one another. Examples of such programs are presented by a number of studies that report on attempts made by Japanese universities to set up schemes that enable overseas students and speakers of Japanese, such as university students or people in the local community, to interact with each other (Matsumoto 1999, 2001; Mimaki et al. 1999; Tamaoka 1999; Muraoka and Mimaki 2000; Kaneda 2001; Inokawa 2002; Tasaki 2003). A similar kind of language use setting is represented by LEPs. LEPs include two language learners who are native speakers of the language their partner is learning; for instance, an Australian learner of Japanese, and a Japanese student who is studying at an Australian university and who is interested in improving his or her competence in English. This type of interaction allows partners with a reciprocal interest in establishing contact to meet each other, practise their language skills and share knowledge about their respective languages and cultures. A few previous studies have described these types of language use settings at universities, although different names have been employed to refer to the programs. These studies have demonstrated the benefit that is gained through these types of language use opportunities (cf. Fragiadakis and Licwinko 1986; Stoller et al. 1995; Voller and Pickard 1996). While this kind of bilingual context can be differentiated from both institutional and non-institutional bilingual settings, LEPs can be said to represent quasi-institutional bilingual settings. At the same time, it should also be noted that, in contrast to a partnership where learners are paired up through a university scheme, it is also possible that students find a partner through their own private social networks or through a language teacher’s introduction and start to meet each other for language practice or some other purpose (cf. Masuda 2005). LEPs differ from other formal L2 learning settings, such as classroom learning or tutoring situations. While LEPs appear to have some common characteristics with tutoring situations where one-to-one interaction takes place, they are different from tutoring in that they do not necessarily replicate a teacher-student learning situation. This kind of interaction is not therefore characterised by one-way language learning since both participants are primarily interested in using and improving their L2. This focus on language use and learning also differentiates LEPs from ordinary informal conversation that may take place between a NS and a non-native speaker

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(NNS), although again there are similarities. Even though the important role of social interaction in language development has been recognised in a considerable body of literature that draws on sociocultural theory (cf. Ohta 2000: 51), to date very little attention has been given to social contexts like LEPs.

CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK This study adopts a conversation analytic approach to bilingual interaction in order to explore the interactional sequences that occur in LEPs (Auer 1984a, 1988, 1998). Li Wei claims that one of the fundamental features observable in this approach is that of uncovering ‘the underlying procedural apparatus by which conversation participants themselves arrive at local interpretations of language choice’ rather than depending upon analysts’ own interpretations of language alternation (Li Wei 2005: 381). We can predict that there will be a bilingual use of two languages in LEP settings. As a result, it is highly likely that language alternation will be observed as a recurrent behaviour in this kind of bilingual interaction. The term ‘code-switching’ has been used in the research literature with a variety of conceptualisations (Clyne 2003). The terms ‘code-switching’ and ‘language alternation’ will be used interchangeably in this study in accordance with Auer’s use of these terms (Auer 1984a, 1988). For Auer, “‘language alternation” is a cover term for all instances of locally functional usage of two languages in an interactional episode’ (Auer 1984a: 7). Auer (1984a,1988, 1998) makes a distinction between two types of language alternation according to its function: participant-related and discourse-related. The participant-related language alternation serves to signal the attributes of the speaker (e.g. preference and competence) while the discourse-related one provides cues for the organisation of the conversation (e.g. topic change and change in participant constellation). This distinction appears to be useful in examining the interaction in LEPs where partners with differing language proficiency levels employ two languages. A considerable number of studies have been undertaken to date which adopt a conversation analytic approach in exploring bilingual interaction in a wide range of settings (cf. Auer 1998; Li Wei 2005). For example, Auer’s (1984a, 1988) study was conducted in the former West Germany, with a focus on the children of Italian migrant workers with a Southern Italian background. Such settings are rather different in social and linguistic terms to those in LEPs where the interactants have different ethnic and linguistic backgrounds. Because of this, language exchange partners are both novice and expert in their own L2 and first language (L1) respectively. Although LEPs are bilingual interactive settings which are growing in frequency and importance, particularly for second language acquisition, there is hardly any conversation analytic research that examines language selection within them.

METHODOLOGY PARTICIPANTS The data for the study was collected by investigating six pairs involved in LEPs. Each pair consists of an Australian student (including one New Zealand citizen), who was studying Japanese or who had studied it in the past, and a Japanese student, who was studying at the same

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Participants (pseudonym)

Yuri

David

First Language Country of Origin Sex Age Year Level at University Length of Japanese/English Learning Lengths of Stay in Target Language Country

Japanese Japan Female 20 2nd year 8 years

English Australia Male 21 3rd year 10 years 2 weeks exchange in a group when in Year 9 (1999)

Target Language Proficiency

1 year in the US (as an UG student), 8 months in Australia (as an exchange student from the American university) TOEFL 243

Lengths of LEP

2nd time

Upper intermediate level at university 2nd time

Table 1: Background of the participants Australian university, either as an exchange or an overseas student. Five out of these six pairs were introduced to each other by the Language Exchange Program organised within the university, with the other pair being arranged through the introduction of the language teacher. In this chapter, I will focus on one pair, Yuri and David. The background of this pair is shown in Table 1. DATA COLLECTION The data used in this study is of three kinds: audio-tape recordings of language exchange meetings, diary entries by the participants, and individual interviews with the participants. The participants were given an audio tape recorder by the researcher and were asked to record one of their language exchange meetings. Direct observation by the researcher was not conducted, in order to allow the participants to have interaction that was as natural as possible. The data was then transcribed by the researcher, employing a modified system developed by Du Bois et al. (1993). The participants were asked to keep a diary on the day they met their partner. They were instructed that they could write whatever they felt about their meeting, either in English or Japanese, choosing whichever they felt was most effective to express their thoughts. Diary entries by the participants are considered to be useful in the present study to supplement the follow up interviews as a way of accessing participants’ unobservable thought processes. These diary entries provided the participants with the scope to reflect on their own meeting and write freely about their interactions. The individual interviews consisted of two parts and were conducted in the form of semistructured interviews. The first part of the interview aimed at gathering general information as to the participants’ expectations and evaluations of the partnerships and function of the LEP. In the second part of the interview, a follow-up interview was employed where the participants were asked in detail about the interaction that they had had with their partner. The follow-up interviews were conducted as soon as possible after their language exchange meeting to ensure

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the accuracy of their memory (cf. Gass and Mackey 2000; Neustupny´ and Miyazaki 2002). Auer considers that the use of participants’ comments is controversial (Auer 1984a, 1984b). However, participants’ comments are useful in this study in conjunction with analysis of the participants’ behaviour in relation to language selection. As Gumperz claims, the information obtained from participants becomes a rich source when treated with caution (Auer 1984b: 112).

FINDINGS Before starting an examination of the participants’ language use, it is important to note that each participant uses his or her L2 in a different context for a different purpose. For Yuri, English is the main language used for living and studying as an exchange student in Australia. On the other hand, David is in the process of learning the language in a formal language program and the context where he uses Japanese is Australia, where he generally uses English in his daily life. In LEPs, as has been stated above, the language use in the interaction between two participants is of fundamental interest. In this regard, guidelines of the Language Exchange Program at the university suggest that partners concentrate on one language each week or use half of the meeting time for each language. Yuri and David did not set any rules about their language use in their meeting, and the bilingual use of English and Japanese was observable in the data. In his interview, David confirmed that they have no rules, explaining that if he finds something hard to explain in Japanese, he would explain it in English. Similarly, Yuri reported that she is content with having no rules although, at first, she had considered whether they should set rules. In keeping with the conversation analytic approach, I explore when and why the participants alternate between their L1 and L2 by sequentially examining examples of participant- and discourse-related language alternation, and then demonstrate how they negotiate their selection of language. The language alternations by David will be discussed first, and those by Yuri will follow. The first example is taken from a conversation in which David is explaining the book that he read on the weekend, which is written in English about Japanese history. The conversation up to the beginning of this extract was mainly conducted in Japanese. Transcript conventions can be found in the Appendix. Extract 12 1. D:

2.

Y:

3.

D:

(D = David. Y = Yuri) chchchchch= = Mm=, for example=, um=, XX chchchchh=, um= submarine. . . (1) inside the submarine Mm Um=

4.

Y:

5.

D:

6.

Y:

. . . (2) bomb there is a bomb

bomb this bomb is

Mm =. . . (1) Umm. . . Bomb?

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7.

D:

8.

Y:

9. 10. 11. 12.

D: Y: D: Y:

13.

D:

14.

Y:

15.

D:

16. 17.

Y: D:

18.

Y:

((uttering each sound slowly))↑ . . . (1) No, makaze . . . (1) Ah= Biological weapons↑ Mm↑Mm↑ X the book’s called, uh, black wind↑ Mm It’s about all these um . . . (1) biological weapons [that I don’t, I don’t know] [ ] Mm . . . (2) I don’t know much about it, I don’t know if Is that true? there was any, e, <X even X> such thing [2 i-- 2] [2 Is 2] that used by Japan? ↑ Mm, they them, but <X said X> that they . . . (1), the book, the book’s X, no, non-fiction, so it’s not [real] [ =] Mm=

In line 9 of (1) above, David switches to English, which he will maintain (except for his question ‘is that true?’ in line 15) until the end of this speech event, i.e. an explanation of the book he had read. Regarding this shift to English, David explained in the follow-up interview that he was trying to explain in Japanese but switched to English as he could not continue in Japanese. His account revealed that he was having trouble with explaining in Japanese about the bomb or (black wind)’. Furthermore, the fact that he was struggling with biological weapons called ‘ explaining in Japanese is identified by the following prosodic cues: several pauses appear across his turns before the switch in line 9, there is use of a filler in line 1 (chchchchch=), recurrent use of interjections ‘um’ across his turns, and the presence of English words in lines 1 and 3. Therefore, it can be said that David’s lack of ability to explain his ideas in his L2, Japanese, is presented through this participant-related switch. Extract 2 seems to be a discourse-related alternation and is taken from a conversation in which Yuri and David talk about the football finals. The preceding interaction was mainly conducted in Japanese. Extract 2 1. Y: The other day, was that um, football match wasn’t it? It was a

16.6

2.

D:

3.

Y:

4.

D:

very big match,wasn’t it? The last one, the final? Yes . . . (1) How was it? F>
X]

NEGOTIATION OF LANGUAGE SELECTION IN LANGUAGE EXCHANGE PARTNERSHIPS PART THREE

5.

Y:

6.

D:

7.

Y.

8.

D:

9.

Y:

10.

D:

11.

Y:

12.

D:

13.

Y:

14.

D:

15.

Y:

16.

D:

17.

Y:

18.

D:

19.

Y:

[ ][8 ?↑8] A good game? 8] . . . (1) ((mispronounced [8 Very close ((mispronounced “close”?))

?))

Mm, mm mm Sydney team So, the Sydney team . . . (1) Mm, mm won .h <@ how do you say @> they won?↑ . . . (1) Winning? Winning Yeah They won == Mm . . . (1) Yeah David It wasn’t the team that you support? Essendon team That’s right (it wasn’t) the Essendon team Mm

When asked by Yuri about the match, David initially responds in Japanese in line 8, constructing the first part of a sentence. After Yuri’s backchannelling in Japanese, David shifts to English, in line 10, to say that the Sydney-based team ‘won’, which is followed by .h (in-breath). Then, with some nervous laughter which may indicate his shyness, he asks Yuri how to say ‘(they) won (the match)’ in Japanese. Yuri, who is now taking the role of an expert, provides the correct (winning)’, which is confirmed by Yuri in expression. David repeats the Japanese word ‘ the next turn. In line 14, he transforms the retrieved word, which was originally in noun form, into a verb so that it completes the predicate in the previously half-constructed sentence (line 8). The conversation then continues in Japanese, which makes David’s choice of English in line 10 salient. When asked about his use of English here, David confirmed that it occasionally happened that he would ask Yuri about an expression that he could not produce in Japanese. The important point here is the fact that the surrounding stretch of talk is in Japanese. Based on the fact that David did not switch to English from Japanese when asking Yuri for particular Japanese lexical items in other sequences in the conversation data, it can be said that David’s switch to English in line 10 takes on a discourse-related function, marking his request for Yuri’s assistance with the Japanese word he did not know, rather than participant-related one (that is, due to David’s lack of competence in producing a question sentence in Japanese). It can thus be

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said that his shift to English serves to separate his request for the required linguistic information from their current conversation that is taking place basically in Japanese. A similar example was found in Liebscher and Dailey-O’Cain (2005). Extract 3 comes from a stretch of conversation about the assignments and exams that Yuri and David have towards the end of the semester. The interaction up to the beginning of this extract occurred mainly in English: Extract 3 1. D: 2. Y: 3. D: 4. Y: 5.

D:

6.

Y:

7.

D:

8.

Y:

9.

D:

10.

Y:

11.

D:

12.

Y:

Uh, . . . (1) <X that X> one really big assignment Mm↑ <X during the X> last week . . . (1) and, <X got X> the Japanese aural-oral↑ = . . . (1) Mm, oh <X pretty X> difficult, . . . (2) so <X I might be X> practise . . . (1)((sound of something)) Yu Yuri Um=, Yu, with Yuri Mm . . . (1) I think I will practise [

aural-o[ral for aural-oral

[4 Ah, ah, ah, ah , ah, ah, final? No? 4][5 X= 5] ((filler)) [4 No [5 5] uh, is there anything apart from final? final = = Yeah, final exam, exam is

] 4]

Yeah

After several turns of interaction in English, David shifts to Japanese when he suggests that he would practise with Yuri for his aural-oral test in Japanese (line 5). This choice of Japanese is accepted by Yuri who utters a minimal response. Regarding his switch to Japanese in line 5, David commented in the follow-up interview as follows: Extract 4 I just use every opportunity to speak Japanese so I can . . . cos if I spoke in English, I’d just keep speaking in English, I wouldn’t gain much from it, so whenever I, I always try and speak Japanese first, and if I struggle, or find it really hard to explain something, and then I’d speak in English

In addition, in his diary on the day of the language exchange meeting, he described his language use in the meeting in the following way: Extract 5 I tried to explain in Japanese and managed to help Yuri understand what I was saying. Only a few times did I use English to explain myself and that was mainly because either the topic was complicated, or my Japanese was a bit rusty.

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Extracts (4) and (5) above clearly illustrate David’s strong linguistic preferences for Japanese as well as his attitude towards the LEP as an opportunity to practise his Japanese. In fact, the transcribed data of the interaction between Yuri and David contained more Japanese than English. The data also contains many examples of his strong preference for Japanese where he persistently uses Japanese without aligning with Yuri’s choice of English. It can thus be said that his switch to Japanese is participant-related; however, a closer look at the conversation provides a possibility for interpreting this code-switch as also serving a discourse-related function. What David raises in lines 5 and 7 of Extract 3 is his idea of practising with Yuri for his aural-oral test, which requires Yuri to provide him with linguistic assistance. David does not explicitly ask Yuri for help in his Japanese turns in this context. This can be seen in line 7, where he does not use a request-form in Japanese; rather it is a statement of his intention that he will practise with Yuri. However, contextually he seems to be suggesting his request for Yuri’s help. Then, he initiates an utterance in Japanese, uttering ‘ (practise)’, followed by a pause and the interjection ‘ = (um=)’. It is thus likely that a request for Yuri’s assistance was made with David’s code-switch to Japanese. In other words, David’s request emerged as a new subject in their ongoing interaction with his shift to another language. The following example is observed in the conversation that took place nearly at the end of their language exchange meeting. The conversation preceding this Extract 6 occurred mainly in Japanese: Extract 6 1. Y: It’s getting cold, isn’t it? 2.

D:

3.

Y:

4.

D:

Mm, that’s right, strong wind

5.

Y:

6.

D:

7.

Y:

8.

D:

9.

Y:

10.

D:

11.

Y:

But if we go inside, would it be noisy? . . . (1) Yeah, very noisy, but, . . . (1) . . . (1) you are very busy, but Mm X now, um,

. . . (4) today,

so,

um,

=

= Yuko (I/we) call Yuko (the researcher)

Mm . . . (1)I mean you don’t have to speak very long today Do you think? if you want, if you’ve got assignment to do, we can go X . . . (1) ] Uh, that’s fine, ya,[ Yeah ] [5 5] [ Yes, I understand [ 5 5] Yeah, is that okay?

[6

6] I’m sorry

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12.

D:

[6 X 6]

XX today, I am

yeah, so, 13.

Y:

14.

D:

15.

Y:

16.

D:

Mm XXXX ((meant to say “also”?)) busy Mm, mm ?X> Is that OK? 17.

Y:

18.

D:

<@ That’s fine, we are both busy today ] [@@@ Right

@>[@@@@@]

In lines 6 and 8 of Extract 6, David asks Yuri if he (or they) should call the researcher now (he was supposed to call the researcher when he finished his language exchange meeting to be interviewed by the researcher). In line 8, one second after his utterance in Japanese, David shifts to English. Yuri accepts this choice in line 9, except for her last word uttered in Japanese. In the following turn, David shifts back to Japanese, which is maintained until the end of the meeting. In order to understand his temporary shift to English in line 8, attention should be given to the signalling that starts to appear from line 4. David’s statement in line 4 about Yuri’s being busy and his question in line 6 stretching over to the first part of line 8 demonstrate that David indirectly suggests their finishing the meeting, which might interrupt the flow of their interaction. Moreover, several pauses in lines 4 and 8 and the interjections ‘um’ in lines 4 and 6 mark his hesitation in making a suggestion that seems difficult to bring up. It may thus be that David’s attempt to bring up an awkward suggestion is demonstrated through his switch to English in this basically Japanese sequence, which then affects the development of the ongoing interaction. An aspect worthy of consideration here is the interaction of David’s Japanese proficiency and speech act (i.e. signalling the end of conversation in this example). It seems possible that for David to bring up such a delicate suggestion appropriately in Japanese is difficult. Therefore the suggestion was made through a temporary shift to his L1, in which he feels more confident, followed by a shift back to Japanese which consists of the overlap between Yuri and David himself. David’s switch to English thus seems to be discourse-related as well as participantrelated. In three of the above four examples, David’s use of his L1 (English) was observed in his interaction with Yuri, the NS of his L2. This may appear to contrast with his usual language choice (Japanese) within the language exchange setting, as has been evidenced in the above conversational extracts as well as from David’s own comments quoted earlier. The sequential analysis, however, suggests that it is not simply that David is breaching his policy of using Japanese but that his shift to his L1 is concerned with the development of the ongoing conversation (Auer 1998). The following example of Yuri’s code-switching also seems both participant- and discourserelated. The interaction preceding Extract 7 was mainly conducted in Japanese:

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Extract 7 1. D: 2.

Y:

3.

D:

4.

Y:

5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12.

D: Y: D: Y: D: Y: D: Y:

13. 14.

D: Y:

15. 16.

D: Y:

X assessment [ ] There are various assessment criteria in Japanese class Mm, mm, mm, mm

17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

D: Y: D: Y: D:

Compared with other subjects, very [4 = 4] . . . (3) . . . (2) Mm that’s true, isn’t it. Yesterday, this Malaysian girl . . . (1) the girl↑who, are from Malaysia↑ Mm↑ ask me to check her Ja--, stuff in Japanese class↑ [Mm] [and he] is in level 2↑, she is in a level 2↑ . . . (1)[5 le-- 5] [5 Level 2 5] 2? Ya Japanese 2? Ya, and, she had, the oral examination for final↑ Mm↑ a=nd, she and her pa--, partner . . . (1) make, the, . . . (1) conversation↑, Japanese conversation↑ . . . (1), a=nd she wanna ask me to . . . (1) whether the, the Japanese are correct or not↑ Mm↑ =((becoming louder towards the end)) but it was hard like . . . (2)what, what I, want, mm=, . . . (2) the most, ↑ the expressions were like m . . . (2) the best word . . . (1) That you wanted to say was above their leve[l]?↑ [Ye]ah, yeah, but, she said that, this word, we haven’t learned yet↑ [6 Yeah 6] [6 so we 6] can’t use it . . . (1) Yeah

In line 4 of Extract 7 above, the topic shifts from David’s Japanese assignment to Yuri’s friend who is also learning Japanese at the same university. This topic shift takes place within Yuri’s turn. After a pause of three seconds, Yuri starts a new topic, initially in Japanese. She then switches to English after one second within the same turn. This choice is accepted by David, and English is maintained until Yuri shifts back to Japanese in line 16. Yuri reports on her switch to English in line 4 as follows: Extract 83 I thought if (I would speak in) Japanese, it would be difficult (for David), but it became hard for me to speak in English halfway, then David provided me with assistance, so I thought I could get it across somehow.

Yuri accounted for her switch to English in relation to her consideration for David’s competence in Japanese. In fact, she recurrently reported on her use of English in the interaction in reference

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to her consideration for David’s competence in Japanese. For instance, when asked about her English use in another sequence, she confessed that she was not very sure about how much David could actually understand Japanese, which led Yuri to use David’s L1, i.e. English. These accounts make her switch look like a simple case of a participant-related language alternation related to competence of the other participant. This explanation, however, does not seem sufficient to capture the dynamic nature of the conversational sequence. A conversation analytic approach to this example provides further insights in this regard. Lines 14 and 16 contain several pauses that mark her speech as somewhat stumbling. Together with these pauses, the shift to Japanese in line 16 may also indicate that Yuri is having difficulty in explaining in English. Although it is observable from the conversation as well as the above report from Yuri that she is in trouble, she continues in English (with a temporary shift to Japanese, which returns to English). She finally succeeds in conveying her message to David with assistance from him, as is confirmed in Yuri’s account quoted above. Yuri’s preference for her L2, English, is thus presented by her switch to English in line 4. We can thus claim that this participant-related code-switching works in two directions, one for David and the other for herself. As opposed to viewing this switch as participant-related, there is another possible explanation for the phenomenon found in Extract 7 above. The topic shift can be said to be marked by Yuri’s switch to English (Alfonzetti 1998). It is important to note here that, even though the initial topic shift was carried out in Japanese in line 4, Yuri repeats her original utterance translating it into English. This explanation thus provides an interpretation that the switch under discussion is discourse-related. The following is another example where Yuri’s participant-related switch to English works in two directions. This sequence follows a conversation mainly in Japanese, in which David explains to Yuri about his aural-oral test in his Japanese class.

Extract 9 1. D:

2.

Y:

3.

D:

4.

Y:

5.

D:

6. 7.

Y: D:

8. 9.

Y: D:

]

...(1) aural-oral [ the easiest so, for aural-oral, um, topic = = this topic, (you have to) explain and, um, teachers and friends Mm

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<X X> [ Answer the questions, have to answer [ ] Mm, mm

]

you have to Have you already decided which topic [you X]?↑ [ ] No No?↑ . . . (2) XX ↑ . . . (1) . . . (2) Um, on Thursday XX Yeah, in week 12, we sign up [sign up ]

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10.

Y:

11.

D:

12.

Y:

13.

D:

[X X↑ ] . . . (2) ?↑ . . . (1) m so, next week? or the week after next [8 8] [7 7] X Next, X the week after next [8 8] The week after next . . . (2) The week after next, yeah

In line 6 of Extract 9, Yuri, with the switch to English, asks David if he has already decided the topic for the test. The answer is then provided by David in Japanese. Yuri repeats his answer translating it into English. After a pause of two seconds, David initiates, in a slightly digressive way, talking about when he will sign up for the test, again in Japanese. This time, the following turn by Yuri in line 10 is provided in Japanese, the language that David has consistently used. As a consequence, the language in the interaction changes to Japanese after some divergent choices made by the two interactants have occurred. Regarding the selection of English in line 6, Yuri accounted for it as follows: Extract 10 I think Japanese would be easier for David to understand, and also, when I consider this is language exchange program, I sometimes feel like using English a bit more, so I would ask in English. . . . Sometimes I forget that David is learning Japanese, so I speak in English unconsciously.

In addition to the consideration for David’s competence in Japanese, Yuri acknowledges her desire to use English in the context of the language exchange. Both the consideration for the interlocutor’s competence and her own desire or preference for using English are represented by this participant-related code-switching. When focusing on the notion of preference, however, a careful analysis demonstrates a conflicting language preference occurring between Yuri and David. As has been confirmed by Yuri in her comments, the code-switching in line 6 signals her desire to use English with David in the language exchange setting. This desire is persistently displayed in line 8 by the fact that Yuri repeats David’s answer, which was originally provided in Japanese, in English. This may indicate her expectation that David should accept her use of English and switch to that language as well. Through an examination of the sequential interaction in this example as well as Yuri’s comments, it is observable that her participant-related language alternation works in two directions: one concern is with the co-participant’s competence, and the other, her own personal preference. It should also be noted that Yuri reported above that she sometimes forgets that David is learning Japanese, which consequently results in her using English. Temporary unconsciousness of the partner’s position as a language learner can thus be seen as another determinant of language selection. Extract 9 above is important in that it also presents a clear case of negotiation of language selection (cf. Auer 1984a, 1995, 1998). As has been revealed earlier, David has a strong desire to speak Japanese as much as possible in his meetings with Yuri, which contributed to the presence of more Japanese than English in the spoken data. In Extract 9, his persistent use of Japanese obviously conflicts with Yuri’s use of English in lines 6 and 8. This discordance is caused by the gap between David’s explicit preference for using Japanese and Yuri’s use of English, which is

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based on her perception of David’s competence and her own preference. The conflict is resolved when Yuri agrees to David’s use of Japanese in line 10 by accommodating to David’s preferred language. In this regard, it is relevant to quote Yuri’s comment about her accommodation of David’s use of Japanese observed in a similar negotiation sequence to that of Extract 9 within the data: Extract 11 Maybe Japanese would be better for him. The language people speak here (in the university, in Australia) is English, isn’t it? So I can use English in other occasions if I want, on the other hand, I think there are fewer people who speak Japanese. So if we could have as much time (for David to speak Japanese) as we could, (speaking in) Japanese is better, I suppose.

The above comment suggests that Yuri is aware of the context where David is situated as a learner of Japanese, which is different from her own context. Yuri is situated in an L2 setting where English is used dominantly in the society and had already spent a year in the U.S. before she came to Australia. She could thus perceive David’s need to practise Japanese as being greater than her own need to speak English in their meeting. There were several negotiation sequences of a similar kind across the data that terminate with Yuri accommodating to David’s choice of Japanese. What is now clearly important is to consider the issue of language selection along with the partners’ evaluation of their language use in their meeting. Yuri stated in her diary that she feels comfortable in using two languages without any rules on language use although she admitted in the interview that, in their first meeting, she had been more conscious of selecting English and Japanese in considering David’s language development. A diary entry by David presents his view towards using two languages in their meeting by describing it as ‘a funny mix of English and Japanese’ where Yuri tries to speak English while he tries to reply in Japanese. What emerges from their perspectives is that both evaluate the status quo (using two languages without any explicit rules) positively, or at least neutrally. In this regard, it is important to acknowledge that the focal pair was relatively new and that they were still in the process of establishing their LEP. The perspectives of the partners on their language use/selection may thus change over time. Due to the limited scope of the current study, this issue could not be addressed in this chapter. However, future study needs to take this point into consideration.

CONCLUSION This chapter has explored when and why language exchange partners alternate languages in an LEP and how they negotiate their language selection. Employing the categorisation of types of language alternation suggested by Auer (1984a, 1988, 1998), the sequential analysis has been able to show several aspects relevant to the language alternation by the participants. Firstly, both competence and preference of self as well as those of the co-participant were found to be important factors in participant-related alternation. Furthermore, the analysis discovered some examples of participant-related alternations that could be ascribed to the co-occurrence of both consideration for co-participant’s competence and self preference of the speaker. Secondly, I identified several instances where code-switches are used in discourse-related functions within the conversational sequences.

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Considering that participants in LEPs are primarily interested in using their L2 with their partner, the use of L1 appears to be a contradictory behaviour. However, the analysis has revealed that the use of L1 does not necessarily indicate the participants’ waiver of the opportunity to use L2. Rather, the examples have shown the cases of L1 use to be related to the speaker’s lack of competence, consideration for the partner’s language preference, and the development of the ongoing interaction. Similarly, the use of L2 was observed not only as a consequence of the participants’ preference for using L2 but other factors were also identified, such as consideration for the co-participant’s competence, topic shift and temporary unconsciousness of the co-participant’s position as a language learner. A range of evidence has been provided that Yuri is aware of the preference and/or needs of David for using Japanese. David also acknowledged the reciprocal nature of LEPs by stating in his diary that it is important that both can practise together. Although both participants are aware that the LEP offers one another an L2 use opportunity, asymmetrical use was observable in their actual language use. As has been stated previously, Japanese was used more often than English during the whole duration of their meeting. In addition, the sequential analysis has identified the occurrence of negotiation of language selection where the linguistic preferences of the participants are in conflict. Considering the importance of an opportunity to use L2 outside the classroom, more work on language use/selection in LEPs needs to be done. Further research also requires longitudinal study, which will examine the relationship between language use/selection in LEPs and the language development of the individual participants. Such studies will also have implications for universities in enhancing their support for both local and overseas students studying in the same academic communities (Duff, this volume).

APPENDIX TRANSCRIPT CONVENTIONS Symbol -[] [2 2] ? ↑ = . . . (number) @ <@ @>

(( )) <X X> X

Meaning Truncated word Speech overlap When there are many overlaps in very close succession, brackets indexed with numbers ([2 2]) are used. Appeal Rising Intonation Lengthening Pause more than a second Laughter Laugh Quality Loud Quiet Researcher’s comment Uncertain hearing Indecipherable syllable

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... Omission .h In-breath Based on Du Bois et al. (1993).

ENDNOTES 1

Yuko Masuda was studying for an MA in Applied Japanese Linguistics at Monash University at the time of writing this article.

2

The conversation data gathered in Japanese were translated into English by the researcher, shown in italics. Code-switched words are not in italics in the translation.

3

The original interview data with Yuri were gathered in Japanese and were translated into English by the researcher. Words in (parentheses) were added by the researcher in order to enhance comprehensibility.

REFERENCES Alfonzetti, G. 1998. ‘The conversational dimension in code-switching between Italian and dialect in Sicily.’ In Code-switching in Conversation: Language, Interaction and Identity, edited by Auer, P. London: Routledge. Auer, P., ed. 1998. Code-switching in Conversation: Language, Interaction and Identity. London: Routledge. p Auer, P. 1995. ‘The pragmatics of code-switching: a sequential approach.’ In One Speaker, Two Languages: Cross-disciplinary Perspectives on Code-switching, edited by Milroy, L; Muysken, P. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Auer, P. 1988. ‘A conversation analytic approach to code-switching and transfer.’ In Code-switching: Anthropological and Sociolinguistic Perspectives, edited by Heller, M. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Auer, P. 1984a. Bilingual Conversation. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Auer, P. 1984b. ‘On the meaning of conversational code-switching.’ In Interpretive Sociolinguistics, edited by Auer, P; di Luzio, A. Tublingen: Narr. ¨ Clyne, M. 2003. Dynamics of Language Contact: English and Immigrant Languages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Du Bois, J.W; Schuetze-Coburn, S; Cumming, S; Paolino, D. 1993. ‘Outline of discourse transcription.’ In Talking Data: Transcription and Coding in Discourse Research, edited by Edwards, J; Lampert, M. D. New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Duff, P. A. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation.’ In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1–1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001. Fragiadakis, H; Licwinko, A. 1986. ‘The conversation exchange program: Foreign and American students together.’ Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages, Anaheim, CA. Available from CSA database (ED274194). Accessed 29 April 2005. Available from: http://www.csa.com/. Gass, S; Mackey, A. 2000. Stimulated Recall Methodology in Second Language Research. New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Inokawa, M. 2002. ‘Tanki kookan ryuugakusei to nihonjin gakusei no kooryuu jugyoo no kokoromi – Borantia sanka gata jugyoo to goodo jugyoo’ (‘Experimental exchange class for short-term exchange students and Japanese students – Class with volunteers and joint class’). JALT Journal of Japanese Language Education 6: 67–72.

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Kaneda, T. 2001. ‘Gakusei borantia seido no genjoo to shomondai – “Hiroshima daigaku kokusai kooryuu borantia” hossoku kara ninen han o hete’ (‘Present situation and problems of student volunteer system – After two and a half years from the establishment of “international exchange volunteer system” at Hiroshima University’). The Bulletin of Hiroshima University International Student Centre 11: 47–58. Liebscher, G; Dailey-O’Cain, J. 2005. ‘Learner code-switching in the content-based foreign language classroom.’ The Modern Language Journal 89 (2): 234–247. Li Wei. 2005. ‘“How can you tell?” Towards a common sense explanation of conversational code-switching.’ Journal of Pragmatics 37: 375–389. Masuda, Y. 2005. ‘Interaction in language exchange partnerships.’ Unpublished paper. Melbourne: Monash University. Matsumoto, K. 2001. ‘Kaiwa paatonaa puroguramu – Ryuugakusei to nihonjin gakusei no soogo rikai ni mukete’ (‘Conversation partner program – For mutual understanding between overseas students and Japanese students’). The Bulletin of Hiroshima University International Student Centre 11: 79–93. Matsumoto, K. 1999. ‘Ryuugakusei to nihonjin gakusei no shokyuu kaiwa goodoo kurasu –Soohookoo gakushuu ni yoru ibunka komyunikeeshon nooryoku no ikusei’ (‘Elementary level joint conversation class of overseas students and Japanese students – Fostering intercultural communicative competence by bi-directional learning’). Journal of Nagasaki University International Student Centre 7: 1–33. Mimaki, Y; Takeuchi, Y; Nishiguchi, K; Namba, K; Hamada, M. 1999. ‘Nihongo gakushuusha to nihonjin kyooryokusha ni yoru soogo katsudoo – “nihongo paatonaa” doonyuu’ (‘Reciprocal activity between learners of Japanese and Japanese cooperators – Introduction of “Japanese language partner”’). Research Report of Osaka University International Student Centre, Tabunka Shakai to Ryuugakusei Kooryuu 3: 101–119. Muraoka, T; Mimaki, Y. 2000. ‘Osaka daigaku toyonaka kyampasu ni okeru “nihongo paatonaa” no tokusei to katsudoo – 1999 nen dai ichi gakki no jissen hookoku oyobi koosatsu’ (‘The features and activities of “Japanese language partner” at Toyonaka campus, Osaka University – Report and examination in semester one, 1999’). Research Report of Osaka University International Student Centre, Tabunka Shakai to Ryuugakusei Kooryuu 4: 55–65. Neustupny, ´ J. V; Miyazaki, S., eds. 2002. Gengo Kenkyuu No Hoohoo: Gengogaku, Nihongogaku, Nihongo Kyooikugaku Ni Tazusawaru Hito No Tame Ni (Methods in Language Research: For Those Engaged in Linguistics, Japanese Linguistics and Japanese Teaching). Tokyo: Kuroshio Shuppan. Ohta, A. S. 2000. ‘Rethinking interaction in SLA: Developmentally appropriate assistance in the zone of proximal development and the acquisition of L2 grammar.’ In Sociocultural Theory and Second Language Learning, edited by Lantolf, J. P. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Polio, C. G; Duff, P. A. 1994. ‘Teachers’ language use in university foreign language classrooms: A qualitative analysis of English and target language alternation.’ The Modern Language Journal 78 (3): 313–326. Stoller, F. L; Hodges, R; Kimbrough, J. 1995. ‘Examining the value of conversation partner programs.’ Applied Language Learning 6 (1&2): 1–12. Tamaoka, K. 1999. ‘Ryuugakusei shidoo bumon: “Taisho” gata no shien katsudoo kara “yoboo” gata no kooryuu katsudoo e no tenkan’ (International students tuition section: Change from “coping with” type support to “preventive” type exchange activities’). Hiroshima University Journal of International Education 3: 112–121. Tasaki, A. 2003. ‘Nihonjin gakusei no ibunka komyunikeeshon nooryoku no yoosei – Eigo o kyootsuu gengo to shite okonau ryuugakusei to no guruupu waaku o tooshite’ (‘Training of Japanese students’ intercultural communicative competence – Through group work with overseas students using English as a common language’). Hiroshima University Journal of International Education 7: 45–53.

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Voller, P; Pickard, V. 1996. ‘Conversation exchange: A way towards autonomous language learning.’ In Taking Control: Autonomy in Language Learning, edited by Pemberton, R; Li, E. S. L; Or, W. W. F; Pierson, H. D. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press.

Cite this chapter as: Masuda, Y. 2007. ‘Negotiation of language selection in language exchange partnerships.’ In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 16.1 to 16.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070016.

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PART THREE

WASHBACK OF HIGH-STAKES ASSESSMENT YEAR 12 JAPANESE Akiko Ryumon, Monash University Akiko Ryumon is a Japanese Studies tutor in the School of Languages, Cultures and Linguistics at Monash University. Her research interests include language testing, curriculum development and program evaluation. Correspondence to Akiko Ryumon: [email protected]

This chapter will examine the Victorian Certificate of Education (VCE) Japanese Second Language assessment in terms of the notion of ‘washback’ and its effects on teaching. The study investigates how the VCE curriculum is implemented in classrooms, and examines the relationship between curriculum, teaching and assessment. In order to explore the nature and scope of the washback, interviews were conducted with VCE teachers of Japanese. Factors that may be affected by washback (such as implemented curriculum, teaching materials, content of teaching, and teaching approach and method) and factors that may affect washback (such as teacher variability, the school, and the perceived stakes of the assessment) are discussed. The current study identifies a gap between externally prescribed curriculum and courses implemented by individual teachers, and argues that this discrepancy derives to a large extent from the washback of the assessment on teaching.

INTRODUCTION It is widely believed in the fields of education and applied linguistics that testing influences teaching and learning. This concept is referred to as ‘washback’ (Wall and Alderson 1993), ‘backwash’ (Hughes 1993, cited in Bailey 1996: 262–264), or ‘test impact’ (Bachman and Palmer 1996). According to Eckstein and Noah (1993), washback exists in any type of assessment in which test results affect test-takers’ futures, and thus are regarded as high-stakes tests. Examples of such tests are the Scholastic Assessment Test (SAT) in America, the Higher School Certificate (HSC) in New South Wales, Australia, and the Victorian Certificate of Education (VCE) examinations in Victoria, Australia, which are used for university selection. Although the importance of washback studies has been recognised, research to date has not fully established the nature and scope of washback on teaching and learning. Moreover, whereas the majority of washback research has been undertaken within the field of English language teaching, washback research on languages other than English has not received as much attention. In addition, washback research has often ignored the relationship between externally prescribed curriculum, assessment and implemented curriculum by individual teachers, although prescribed curriculum and assessment would be the powerful determinants of implemented curriculum (Adamson 2004; Little 2003). The focus of this study is on the relationships between the prescribed curriculum, assessment and implemented curriculum in the context of year 12 Japanese programs in Victoria. The two questions that are addressed in this study are:

LEARNING DISCOURSES AND THE DISCOURSES OF LEARNING (2007) MONASH UNIVERSITY EPRESS

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1. 2.

What is the washback of the assessment? What is the relationship between the prescribed curriculum, the requirements of the assessment and actual programs implemented by teachers?

OVERVIEW OF THE VCE JAPANESE SECOND LANGUAGE PROGRAM The Victorian Certificate of Education refers to the final two years of schooling in Victoria, Australia. Curriculum and assessment are set by a central authority, and students’ results in their final year (year 12) contribute directly to the score utilised by universities for selection into courses. Thus, the VCE assessment can be said to be high-stakes. Japanese is one of a number of Languages Other Than English (LOTE) which are offered, and which share a common curriculum and assessment design. The VCE curriculum emphasises ‘the overall education of students’ in the areas of communication, cross-cultural understanding, cognitive development, and literacy and general knowledge’, which would provide students with ‘access to the culture of communities which use the language, and promote understanding of different beliefs and values within and beyond the Australian community’ (Victorian Curriculum and Assessment Authority [VCAA] 2004: 7). To achieve these aims, the VCE curriculum recommends ‘[a]ny communicative teaching method or combination of methods’ (p. 41). This might be based on the belief that communicative language teaching (CLT) brings about increased use of TL for purposeful language use in the classroom, which matches with the communication aims of the curriculum. The VCE LOTE examinations are comprised of two parts, the School-Assessed Coursework (SAC) that makes up 50 per cent of the final mark, and the external examinations, that include the oral examination (12.5 per cent) and the written examination (37.5 per cent) (VCAA 2004). The nature and number of SACs, as well as the marking criteria for assessment, are prescribed externally, but the tasks themselves are set and marked internally by the classroom teacher. The VCE Japanese examinations are held annually, and are taken by approximately 1,200 candidates each year, usually in the final year (year 12) of their secondary schooling (VCAA 2005).

WASHBACK RESEARCH Although the existence of washback is widely acknowledged, not much attention was paid to identifying the nature of washback until Alderson and Wall (1993: 120–121) presented 15 hypotheses on washback, which are as follows:

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

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A test will influence teaching. A test will influence learning. A test will influence what teachers teach; and A test will influence how teachers teach. A test will influence what learners learn; and A test will influence how learners learn. A test will influence the rate and sequence of teaching; and A test will influence the rate and sequence of learning. A test will influence the degree and depth of teaching; A test will influence the degree and depth of learning. A test will influence attitudes to the content, methods, etc. of teaching and learning.

WASHBACK OF HIGH-STAKES ASSESSMENT PART THREE

12. 13. 14. 15.

Tests that have important consequences will have washback; and conversely Tests that do not have important consequences will have no washback. Tests will have washback on all learners and teachers. Tests will have washback effect for some learners and some teachers, but not for others.

Subsequent to Wall and Alderson’s study, Alderson and Hamp-Lyons (1996: 295–296) in their research on TOEFL preparation classes, presented an expansion of the fifteenth Washback Hypothesis:

15’. Tests will have different amounts and types of washback on some teachers and learners than on other teachers and learners. This expansion of the Washback Hypothesis has taken into account the variability of teachers, learners and educational contexts to better understand the complexity of washback. A number of studies (e.g. Alderson and Hamp-Lyons 1996; Alderson and Wall 1993; Andrews et al. 2002; Cheng 1999; Shohamy et al. 1996; Wall and Alderson 1993; Watanabe 1996a; Watanabe 1996b) have examined the impact of assessment on teaching and learning, and suggested that it can lead to positive or negative washback, depending on whether or not the processes it encourages contribute to learners’ actual interlanguage development (Alderson and Wall 1993: Bailey 1996). Spratt (2005) was concerned with factors affected by washback such as curriculum and materials, and factors affecting washback such as teachers, the schools and the exam itself. With respect to curriculum, Wall and Alderson (1993) reported that both positive and negative washback were observed in the content of teaching. The positive washback they identified was that teachers taught the content in the textbook to bring about higher marks in the examination. The negative washback was that teachers did not teach the textbook thoroughly, since they realised that some skills would not be assessed in the examination. On the contrary, no evidence of washback on teaching methodology was identified in Cheng’s research on the revised high school examination in Hong Kong. Cheng (1999: 268–269) argued that the reason why teachers did not change teaching methodology was that the examination did not influence teachers’ beliefs about teaching and learning. On the other hand, Alderson and Hamp-Lyons (1996) found that the examination influenced both the content and teaching method, but the effect varied from teacher to teacher. Spratt (2005) contended that instructional materials may be influenced by washback, as had earlier been identified in Alderson and Hamp-Lyons (1996: 285). The authors claimed that in order for learners to be well prepared for the examination, teachers utilised commercial materials that had the same format as the TOEFL examination. Watanabe (1996a) reported that some teachers employed self-made materials in the exam preparation class to help students achieve higher results in tests. In this respect, Smith (1991: 10) claimed that teacher-designed materials might result in ‘narrowing of the curriculum’. In relation to teacher variability, Watanabe (1996a) investigated two teachers teaching the same courses, and reported that they employed quite different teaching methodology. He argued that teachers’ educational background affects the way they teach. Another study by Watanabe (1996b: 232) suggested that not only teacher variability, but also the difference between schools

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was significant in washback. Shohamy et al. (1996) emphasised the role of the school, which can either promote or inhibit positive washback, since the type and degree of the support that teachers could receive differed in schools. Popham (1987) argued that a high-stakes test would drive the teacher to prepare students for the test. Shohamy et al. (1996) investigated the washback on the modification of two tests, Arabic as a Second Language (ASL) and English as a Foreign Language (EFL) in Israel. Whereas the modification in ASL did not produce any observable change, the slight modification in EFL yielded a significant change in terms of classroom activities, materials, increased time allotment, enhanced anxiety, fear and pressure on teachers, students and parents. Shohamy et al. claimed that this is because the ASL test was considered a low-stakes test as opposed to the EFL test, which was viewed a high-stakes test. The general picture that emerges from the literature above is that the phenomenon of washback is much more complex than it first seems. It would seem that there are a diverse range of factors influencing and influenced by washback, and they are all interrelated and interacting with each other (Cheng 1999: 2). Furthermore, Cheng contends that an examination carried out in different educational contexts taken by different participants at different times would reveal quite different pictures, since washback is a complex phenomenon in which various factors interact with each other (pp. 7–8).

DETAILS OF THE STUDY Few of the above studies closely examined the linkage between externally prescribed curriculum and assessment, and their effects on teaching, although it can be expected that curriculum and assessment would be two of the most powerful determinants of teaching (Adamson 2004; Little 2003). Consequently, the present study aims to investigate how the externally prescribed curriculum is implemented and how the assessment tasks and examinations, which have been designed for and with that curriculum, affect its implementation. I will draw on Alderson and Wall’s (1993) Washback Hypotheses and Spratt’s (2005) categorisation of factors affected by washback, such as implemented curriculum, and teaching approach and method; and factors affecting washback such as teacher variability, the school and the perceived stakes of the assessment. The study utilises curriculum evaluation, analysis of instructional materials, and semi-structured interviews to examine how the externally prescribed curriculum is implemented in classrooms, and the relationships between curriculum, assessment and teaching. Interviews with three female teachers (two Anglo-Australian teachers and one native Japanese teacher) were undertaken to examine not only materials, but also teachers’ perspectives on their teaching, students’ learning, and the difference in their teaching contexts. Table 1 presents information about the background of informants. For convenience, the informants are named A1, A2 and J1 (A = Australian; J = Japanese).

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Table 1 Background of the informants

FACTORS AFFECTED BY WASHBACK IMPLEMENTED CURRICULUM CHOICE AND USE OF INSTRUCTIONAL MATERIALS

The interviews revealed an interesting aspect of washback on material production and selection. The teachers employ teaching materials, which they believe would help their students be well prepared for the VCE assessment. In most secondary schools in Victoria, including all the schools where my informants teach, Kookoo Seikatsu (life in senior secondary school) Book 1 (Aitchison 2001a) and 2 (Aitchison 2001b) are used as the main textbooks for VCE students. However, the use and dependency on the textbook varies across the teachers. A1 uses the textbook to introduce grammatical patterns, and her students complete the drill exercises in the textbook, but skip most of the reading texts.

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A2 also skips some of the reading texts if she thinks the texts do not suit her students, in terms of the difficulty, length and content, or if the texts are not compatible with the SACs that A2 writes. On the contrary, J1 attempts to cover not only grammatical patterns, but also the reading texts in the textbook. This is because J1 believes that the more learners read Japanese texts, the better they could be prepared for tests. Consequently, it seems that dependency on the textbook varies across teachers and it is influenced by washback. The fact that the washback is different for different teachers relates to their different perceptions of the demands of the assessment tasks, and of the best ways of preparing for them. In order to supplement the weaknesses of Kookoo Seikatsu; that is, the points on which teachers judged the textbook to be incompatible with or insufficient as preparation for the VCE assessment, the teachers introduced other instructional materials in the classroom. For example, A1 produces her own materials with the help of her Japanese husband and the Japanese husband of her colleague and a native Japanese assistant, in order to explicitly introduce certain text types, which appear in the SACs that she writes. A1 said that she needs to produce materials, especially listening and reading texts, since she writes listening and reading SACs. A1 first writes the SACs, and then creates some texts that contain the same text types and the same or similar vocabulary, grammar elements, and kanji so that her students can be well prepared. J1 reported that she always conducts two or three practice SACs, which have the same format and contain similar elements to the SACs. As a consequence, it seems that the production of instructional materials is significantly affected by washback. In this respect, Smith (1991: 10) claimed that teacher-designed materials that focused on certain tests, could result in ‘narrowing of the curriculum’, which could be the case with my informants in their VCE class. However, it could also be said that the materials that the informants in the current study produced are widening the curriculum, compared to the textbook. The interview showed that not only material production, but also material selection was affected by washback. For example, A2 reported that since the main textbook does not introduce a sufficient number and types of text types and kinds of writing, she utilises other commercial textbooks to provide her students with a range of texts. A1 stated that although she employs a variety of authentic materials for her year 7, 8, 9 and 10 students such as websites, advertisements and various realia to motivate her students, she does not use any authentic materials in her VCE class. This is because A1 believes that authentic materials are not utilised in any VCE examinations. Furthermore, although the use of ICT is strongly advocated in the study design, A1 does not use it in the VCE class. A1 noted that she utilises computers in her junior classes such as typing Japanese script, searching information for cultural projects or using PowerPoint for presentation, yet, she does not do so in her VCE class, because computer skills such as Japanese typing skills are not tested in any VCE assessment. In terms of listening materials, Kookoo Seikatsu does not include any listening exercises. Thus, all the three teachers utilise a textbook, Excel (Reekie 2000) which is published for the Higher School Certificate (HSC) in NSW. The listening tapes are available for Excel, yet the format of the listening questions follows the HSC, in which all the questions are to be answered in English, which is incompatible with the VCE. Moreover, some teachers in the VCE complain that the speech speed of the listening texts in Excel is too slow in comparison to the listening section in the VCE written examination. All the teachers in this study reported the utilisation of the listening materials, ‘Listening tasks for senior school students of Japanese’ published by the

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MCJLE with the help of a group of Japanese teachers in Melbourne (MCJLE 2001). This listening pack comes with three CDs, questions and the script of the texts. This listening material was produced to meet the needs of VCE teachers and learners. Before this listening pack was released, many VCE teachers complained that there were no adequate listening materials, which could prepare their students for the examination, since the listening tasks in the examination were far more difficult than any available materials. Further, the content of the listening pack reflects the VCE written examination, in terms of a range of text types, complexity of texts, speech speed and contact situations. Moreover, this listening package has the same format as the listening section in the written examination. CONTENT OF TEACHING VOCABULARY AND KANJI

All the informants believed that enhanced vocabulary and kanji are crucial skills for students to achieve a higher score in the assessment. The teachers acknowledged that the best way for their students to learn vocabulary and kanji is by learning them in contexts such as in listening, reading or speaking. However, the tight curriculum schedule of year 12 students do not allow the teachers to implement what they think is the best for their students. A2 commented that ‘Conversation using (newly introduced) vocabulary would help, but no time. It’s important, but so many other things to do, so run out of time’. A1 stated, ‘Repetitive reading is the one, and they can make cards, but I’m not really into that. We haven’t got enough time for games. The more you read the text is the best way’. A1 also said that she uses quizzes to encourage her students to build vocabulary. She said, ‘Start from the early years in quizzing. Year 10 still quizzing vocab. I don’t quiz as much as I should in year 12, still do, once a fortnight’. The use of quizzes is also reported by the informants in teaching of kanji. The interviews revealed that the most common way of teaching kanji is quizzing. A2 reported that for junior year levels, she employs games to promote kanji learning, but for year 10, 11 and 12, A2 introduces three kanji in each lesson, and conducts a kanji quiz every five lessons. J1 reported that her students have to buy the Kookoo Seikatsu kanji book (Aitchison 2000). Her students learn 10 kanji every week by themselves, and the 10 kanji are tested in a weekly kanji quiz in J1’s class. J1 said that in this way, her students learn all the 200 prescribed kanji by the end of term 1, year 11, which leaves more time for her students to be familiarised with and to practice the prescribed kanji in contexts such as in reading or writing texts. In this respect, the washback of the VCE assessment in relation to teaching of vocabulary and kanji extends beyond year 12 into previous years. GENRE

The VCE curriculum prescribes 43 text types, involving 22 text types that students might be required to produce in the written examination, and 21 text types for receptive skills. A2 commented that although she introduces as many text types as possible in year 10 and 11, it is still quite challenging for her year 12 students to master text types, since rules on the use of genkooyooshi (squared paper traditionally used for formal compositions) vary from one text type to another. All informants reported that students are required to produce only certain kinds of text types in the assessment such as personal letter, formal letter, speech script, story, diary entry and per-

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sonal account. Consequently, they only focus on these text types in the classroom. It is interesting to note that although teachers acknowledge that text types such as story, diary entry and personal account frequently appear in the writing section in the written examination where students need to select one out of five questions, they tell their students to avoid choosing questions that involve such text types. This is because these text types require more linguistic and cognitive skills than other text types such as personal letter, formal letter or speech script. Thus, in the classroom, A2 consciously focuses on letter and speech script, but not other text types. Such a focus on certain text types demonstrates ‘narrowing’ of the content of teaching, which is influenced by washback. The study design provides a generic guide for all languages other than English (LOTEs) on the main characteristics of common text types and kinds of writing (VCAA 2004: 66–67). The VCAA also published a supplementary booklet for the VCE Japanese, which provides advice on the use of genkooyooshi (lined paper for writing Japanese) for some of the prescribed text types (VCAA 2000). Yet, the booklet does not cover some of the prescribed text types such as email. Moreover, although the features of kinds of writing vary across LOTEs, the curriculum does not provide any language specific advice on kinds of writing. This might create confusion for teachers and students of all LOTEs, especially, LOTEs such as Japanese which is non-roman alphabetical and character language, coming from a very different cultural background to English. A great number of VCE teachers raised concerns about the use of genkooyooshi. The interviews revealed teachers’ frustration in teaching text types, relating especially to the rules for use of genkooyooshi. A1 commented that: There really isn’t, with using genkooyooshi, I suppose come from experience and enough books tell you how to use it. Hardest one of the text types is email, and how to set in genkooyooshi. It is really silly. The person really should know the rules. Letters too. In reality, there is no set format. I probably go with whatever PDs I’ve been to, how to set out genkooyooshi. The text types, excel (name of a text book) has a variety of text types, article, diary. That’s really the way I go. There is no ‘This is it’. I don’t think it should be either. We have to be flexible. For example, article comes with variety. Examiners need to be flexible in using genkooyooshi. I think they are.

A1 expressed the view that it is not always appropriate to use genkooyooshi, because most of the prescribed text types ‘would not naturally be written on genkooyooshi, so writing the acceptable format and conventions is very difficult’ (MCJLE 2006a). Despite this, A1 teaches the rules of genkooyooshi, because the assessment employs genkooyooshi. As seen in A1’s comment above, she does not know what rules or standards examiners apply for the acceptable use of genkooyooshi, since A1 has never been appointed as an assessor for the written examination. In response to concerns about this situation and a lack of response from the authorities, the MCJLE published a booklet on the use of genkooyooshi in 2006 (MCJLE 2006b), although this booklet is not endorsed by the VCAA. This genkooyooshi booklet could be said to be a by-product of the washback of the VCE assessment in that it actually established rules for genkooyooshi that will never be used outside of the VCE assessment context. The publication of instructional materials by the MCJLE is consistent with Hughes’ (1993, cited in

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Bailey 1996: 262–264) trichotomy of the backwash model which suggests that the ultimate product of washback is learners’ interlanguage development, but also it could include the production of new materials by publishers. The study of genres can be employed to facilitate learning of linguistic elements in relation to culture, since genres embody culturally influenced social practices involving language. However, in teaching genres such as text types, the informants focused only on linguistic items and the use of genkooyooshi. This might be because, as reported in this section, the informants were teaching to the assessment. TOPIC

The teachers claimed that decisions about the scope and sequence of the content are deeply affected by the VCE assessment. Although the externally prescribed curriculum provides teachers with teaching content such as themes and topics, grammatical elements, text types and kinds of writing, it does not prescribe the scope and sequence of the content. In other words, the rate, sequence, degree and depth of teaching are left up to teachers. A1 reported that in her year 11 class, she teaches sub-topics that might not appear in the written examination, and introduces frequently appearing sub-topics in greater depth in her year 12 class. A1 added that she spends more time in class when she teaches some topics such as technology and school life, which, she claims, appear frequently in the written examination. This is because she believes that this will help her students to perform better in the written examination. Further, J1 said that she covers one of the prescribed themes, the personal world, in her year 11 class, since the first half of the oral examination requires students to talk about their personal world. If her students complete this theme in year 11, they are able to start conversation practice for the oral examination well in advance. J1 maintained that in assessing her year 10 and 11 students, she utilises the year 12’s marking criteria. J1 claimed that the employment of the year 12 assessment scheme in year 10 and 11 tests would increase the awareness of the VCE assessment in earlier years, which would lead her year 10 and 11 students to achieve higher results in the VCE examinations. This is another example of the washback of the VCE assessment extending beyond year 12 into previous years. The above findings revealed that the washback of the VCE assessment is significant in teaching topics. As reported above, washback was found in the rate, sequence, degree and depth of teaching, thus, of learning. This is consistent with Alderson and Wall’s (1993: 120–121) Washback Hypotheses, which are: ‘A test will influence the rate and sequence of teaching’, hence, ‘A test will influence the rate and sequence of learning’; and ‘A test will influence the degree and depth of teaching’, consequently, ‘A test will influence the degree and depth of learning’. SYLLABUS DESIGN

The curriculum emphasises that all areas of study such as themes and topics, text types, kinds of writing, vocabulary and grammar, should be introduced in an integrated way in implemented courses, to help VCE students achieve the curriculum outcomes (VCAA 2004: 12). In other words, the curriculum documents suggest the employment of topical, situational, functional, genre-based, structural and task-based focuses in the design of the syllabus. It is individual teachers’ responsibility to select an appropriate syllabus for their VCE program, which should derive from the situational analysis of their teaching contexts.

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However, all the informants reported the employment of a primarily structural syllabus in their classrooms. This is because the teachers believe that the prescribed assessment criteria emphasise mastery of grammar, kanji and vocabulary. In order to help their students to achieve a higher mark in the assessment, the teachers employed a structural syllabus as the basis of their curriculum design. The informants were also conscious that they focus on the prescribed topics, text types and kinds of writing. Thus, it appears that the teachers utilised topical and genre-based sub-syllabuses, although a structural syllabus was the dominant syllabus focus in the classrooms. These findings are consistent with four of Alderson and Wall’s (1993: 120–121) 15 hypotheses: ‘A test will influence teaching’, consequently, ‘A test will influence learning’; and ‘A test will influence what teachers teach’, which leads to ‘A test will influence what learners learn’. TEACHING APPROACH AND METHOD

To help students to achieve a higher mark in the assessment, the teachers focused on teaching of test taking strategies. A2 reported that ‘It is difficult to focus on the written exam, since I don’t know what’s in there. But I focus on techniques, the same in reading. Skim read, looking for answers’. A1 noted that she always encourages her students to employ strategies when completing listening exercises. When A1’s students do listening exercises in class, they are always reminded to read the questions first, and not to attempt to understand the whole text, but to pick up key words responding to the questions. A1 maintained that her year 12 students are well prepared for the written examination, since they are exposed not only to the language skills that they might be required in the examination, but also to the strategies of how to respond to the tasks appropriately and effectively. Faerch and Kasper (1983) claimed that second/foreign language learners utilise communication strategies to compensate for their lack of linguistic knowledge. They argued that communication strategies employed by L2 learners might include ‘topic avoidance’, which occurs when a chosen topic requires a speaker to employ linguistic forms that are problematic to the speaker. Instead, the speaker changes the topic to achieve communicative goals. Informal conversations with experienced VCE teachers of Japanese revealed that test taking strategies such as topic avoidance, are emphasised in the classroom. Students are trained to lead assessors to ask questions on certain topics that they are well prepared for, by strategically changing the subject. Teaching of test taking strategies in the VCE classroom might be encouraged by the teachers’ belief that the assessment does not test underlying communicative skills so much as carefully prepared conscious knowledge. This might lead the teachers to believing that CLT is not the best way to prepare learners for the assessment in the limited class time, even though CLT is recommended in the study design (VCAA 2004: 41). A2 commented that she utilises CLT in her junior year classes, but not in the VCE level, since she believes that the VCE assessment requires students to accurately demonstrate linguistic skills. Another reason the teachers did not employ CLT is that they believe that accuracy is emphasised in the assessment. This conflicts with CLT which stresses fluency, while accuracy is less strongly emphasised. The failure to employ CLT in the VCE classroom is clearly apparent in the preparation process for the oral examination. It is probable that test developers included the oral component to promote the development of communication skills, which reflects the curriculum aims. However, in preparing for the oral examination, A2’s students write drafts, and learn the script by heart, which allows them to conduct a conversation in Japanese. This strategy seems to be a common

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practice among Japanese teachers and students, according to informal conversations with a number of VCE teachers. Drafting and memorising conversation scripts encourages rote learning, but not the development of communication skills, which is intended by curriculum developers. This rote learning might help students speak Japanese, yet may encourage the use of formulae, but not flexible, fluent and meaningful use of Japanese. The rote learning might be due to the nature of the oral examination, because teachers and students know the topics covered in the oral examination in advance. The VCE curriculum implies that teachers need to employ a teaching approach/method that allows students to achieve nonlanguage outcomes listed in the prescribed curriculum such as problem solving, teamwork, communication, use of information and communications technology, planning and organising, self-management and initiative (VCAA 2004: 43). In particular, it seems important for students to learn ICT skills such as electronic forms of communication and wordprocessing, in that such skills are essential in communicating with people in the modern world. Nonetheless, no nonlanguage outcomes are tested in the assessment, and thus teachers do not pay a great deal of attention to teaching methods that would bring about the achievement of the nonlanguage outcomes. Instead, teachers utilise an ‘academic’ style teaching approach designed to equip learners with the knowledge and skills which they need for the assessment. This is another example of how teaching methodology is greatly affected by washback. The findings of the current study regarding the teaching approach contrast with Wall and Alderson’s (1995) and Cheng’s (1999) research, which identified that while content of teaching was affected by washback, teaching methodology was not influenced by washback. However, the findings of the current study are consistent with the fourth and sixth of Alderson and Wall’s (1993: 120) Washback Hypotheses: ‘A test will influence how teachers teach’; hence, ‘A test will influence how learners learn’, as well as the eleventh hypothesis; ‘A test will influence attitudes to the content, methods, etc. of teaching and learning’.

FACTORS AFFECTING WASHBACK TEACHER VARIABILITY The influence of the assessment on implemented curriculum has been discussed above, and it is clear that not all teachers were influenced by the assessment tasks in exactly the same way. Teachers’ variability was also identified with reference to what and how teachers teach. A1 reported that she always tells students that everything they have learned in class will be on the SACs, thus harnessing the washback to motivate students. It is in this way that A1 attempts to engage her students with SACs. The interviews provided the researcher with the impression that among the informants, A1 is the one who is most affected by the impact of the tests. This could be seen by the utilisation of past examination papers. A1 commented that she frequently uses tasks from past examination papers as a class exercise, so as to familiarise her students with the written examination format. On the other hand, A2 and J1 usually only employ past examination papers for practice examinations during the school practice examination period. Thus, it is clear that the washback effect differs from teacher to teacher. This finding is consistent with Alderson and Hamp-Lyons’ (1996: 295–296) expansion of the fifteenth Washback Hypothesis; ‘Tests will have different amounts and types of washback on some teachers than on other teachers’.

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THE SCHOOL The school plays an important role in washback in terms of support for or pressure on teachers. Pressure from the school was reported by J1 who work at a prestigious private school. At J1’s school, after the study score is released, the school principal checks the study score of each student and each subject against the general achievement test (GAT) score to see whether the student achieved as well as they could have. J1 reported that if any of J1’s students obtain a lower score than expected, as compared with GAT, J1 has a meeting with the principal to discuss the matter. According to J1, this quality assurance procedure pushes J1 to teach to the tests. Thus, it appears that the school can be a factor affecting washback. On the contrary, A2 reported that her school does not evaluate her based on her students’ study score. She commented that the school does not put any pressure on her to produce a higher score in the VCE assessment, and she highly values this freedom and confidence shown in her by the school. A2 added that she believes that teachers can help students to learn, but students should take responsibility for their own learning. To sum up, it appears that there is a significant difference between schools in terms of support for and pressure on teachers even within this small and biased sample. THE PERCEIVED STAKES OF THE VCE ASSESSMENT Washback experienced by schools and teachers was discussed in the preceding sections. It is probable that this washback effect found in schools and teachers is due to the high-stakes nature of the VCE assessment. For example, as mentioned previously, if the schools consider the assessment as high-stakes, they treat the study score seriously, which was identified in J1’s school reported earlier. Furthermore, my informants also perceived the assessment as high stakes, which led them to teaching for the SACs and external examinations to produce the highest possible marks. The interviews also identified that the washback of the high-stakes assessment is exerted not only on schools and teachers, but also on students, which was reported by A2. She commented that: The biggest effect that it has is that it (the VCE assessment) makes them (students) very depressed. Because they (the VCE examinations) are very difficult… they (students) want to be able to understand everything, and they want to be able to read something easily. Well, it’s not gonna be like that. For them (students) it’s a very threatening thing. Because when we do the practice ones, every exam, I tell them that it’s silly if they didn’t expect there to be something in the exam they didn’t understand, but it’s about conquering the fear and focusing on the answers on questions and things like that… One of our students was very distressed because she said that ‘There’s nothing. I don’t have anything that I can study for the end of year exam’.

The washback of the VCE assessment on A2’s students was identified in the form of enhanced anxiety, fear, pressure and a desire to focus study efforts on items that are relevant to examination performance, effects which were also found in Shohamy et al.’s (1996) study. To sum up, it would appear that the washback of the high-stakes VCE assessment, is consistent with the twelfth of Alderson and Wall’s (1993: 120) Washback Hypotheses, ‘Tests that have important consequences will have washback’.

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CONCLUSION The current study explored the washback of the VCE assessment, and the relationship between the externally prescribed curriculum, assessment and implemented curriculum by individual teachers. Utilising Wall and Alderson’s (1993) Washback Hypotheses and Spratt’s (2005) washback categorisation, I examined factors affected by washback such as implemented curriculum, and teaching approach and method, and factors affecting washback such as teacher variability, the school and the perceived stakes of the assessment. With reference to implemented curriculum, each VCE teacher is required to write a VCE course based on the externally prescribed curriculum, by reflecting their own teaching context. To deliver the required content and help students achieve higher marks, the teachers put significant effort into designing and implementing their own curriculum, through choice and use of instructional material, content of teaching, and teaching approach and method, and this study revealed that implemented curriculum was significantly influenced by washback. Aspects of the external curriculum which were not assessed (such as ability to use technology) were ignored or even avoided by teachers, whereas those aspects considered important to test performance (such as grammatical accuracy) were a key focus in planning for the implemented curriculum. The current study also found teacher variability in washback. Not all teachers were influenced by the assessment tasks in the same way, which might have emerged from the difference in the perceived stakes of the assessment, as well as other differences in teacher beliefs. The variability was also identified in schools. Some schools put more pressure on teachers for their students to obtain higher scores, which led teachers to teach to the tests. This might be derived from the high-stakes nature of the assessment. Not only schools and teachers, but also students were affected by the high-stakes nature of the tests. This was identified in the form of increased anxiety, fear, pressure and a desire to focus study efforts on items that are relevant to examination performance. The findings in the current study suggest important implications for curriculum planners and LOTE teachers. Notably, as identified in the current study, washback is very strong in the VCE context. Thus, curriculum developers ought to take washback into careful consideration in writing assessment specifications in order to promote positive washback and inhibit negative washback. Moreover, this study revealed gaps between the prescribed curriculum and implemented curriculum. The former is developed by VCE curriculum planners and the latter by VCE teachers. Hence, it would seem to be beneficial for both curriculum planners and teachers to have an opportunity to directly exchange their views on the curriculum and assessment. This would help identify problematic and ambiguous areas related to the VCE system such as the intention and interpretation of the curriculum, and feasibility of prescribed curriculum in practice. This would facilitate bridging the currently existing gaps between the externally prescribed curriculum and implemented programs. The washback literature (e.g. Cheng 2000; Watanabe 2004) indicates that teachers’ perceptions obtained by interviews may not be reliable since what teachers think they do might be quite different from what they actually do. Longitudinal classroom observation ought to be utilised to investigate washback in the VCE context in the future. Such research, in conjunction with followup interviews with teachers and students, will yield the nature and scope of washback in more detail, and offer valuable insights into the relationship between the externally prescribed curriculum, assessment and programs implemented by teachers.

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REFERENCES Adamson, B. 2004. ‘Fashions in language teaching methodology’. In The Handbook of Applied Linguistics, edited by Davies, A; Elder, C. Malden, Massachusetts: Blackwell. Aitchison, K. 2001a. Kookoo Seikatsu Book 1: Japanese for Secondary Students. South Melbourne: Macmillan. Aitchison, K. 2001b. Kookoo Seikatsu Book 2: Japanese for Secondary Students. South Melbourne: Macmillan. Aitchison, K. 2000. Kookoo Seikatsu Kanji Workbook: Japanese for Secondary Students. South Melbourne: Macmillan. Alderson, J. C; Clapham, C; Wall, D. 1995. Language Test Construction and Evaluation. Cambridge: Cambridge University. Alderson, J. C; Hamp-Lyons, L. 1996. ‘TOEFL preparation courses: A study of washback’. Language Testing 13 (3): 280–297. Alderson, J. C; Wall, D. 1993. ‘Does washback exist?’ Applied Linguistics 14 (2): 115–129. Andrews, S; Fullilov, J; Wong, Y. 2002. ‘Targeting washback – A case study’. System 30: 207–223. Bachman, L. F; Palmer, A. S. 1996. Language Testing in Practice: Designing and Developing Useful Language Tests. Oxford: Oxford University. Bailey, K. M. 1996. ‘Working for washback: A review of the washback concept in language testing’. Language Testing 13 (3): 257–279. Cheng, L. 2000. ‘Washback or Backwash: A Review of the Impact of Testing on Teaching and Learning’. ERIC ED442280. Cheng, L. 1999. ‘Changing assessment: Washback on teacher perceptions and actions’. Teaching and Teacher Education 15: 253–271. Eckstein, M. A; Noah, H. J. 1993. ‘The politics of examinations: Issues and conflicts’. In Secondary School Examinations: International Perspectives on Policies and Practice, edited by Eckstein, M. A; Noah, H. J. New Haven: Yale University Press. Faerch, C; Kasper, G. 1983. Strategies in Interlanguage Communication. London: Longman. Little, D. 2003. ‘Learner autonomy and public examinations’. In Learner Autonomy in the Foreign Language Classroom: Teacher, Learner, Curriculum and Assessment, edited by Little, D; Ridley, J; Ushioda, E. Dublin: Authentik. Melbourne Centre for Japanese Language Education. 2006a. ‘New resource!!!!! Writing rules!! A text type guide for senior secondary students’. MCJLE News 33 (February): 2. Melbourne Centre for Japanese Language Education. 2006b. Writing Rules!! A Text Type Guide for Senior Secondary Students. Clayton, Victoria: Melbourne Centre for Japanese Language Education. Melbourne Centre for Japanese Language Education. 2001. Listening Tasks for Senior School Students of Japanese. Melbourne: Melbourne Centre for Japanese Language Education. Popham, W. J. 1987. ‘The merits of measurement-driven instruction’. Phi Delta Kappa 68 (9): 679–682. Reekie, F. 2000. Excel Senior High School Japanese: Study Guide and Exam Preparation. Glebe, New South Wales: Pascal Press. Shohamy, E; Donitsa-Schmidt, S; Ferman, I. 1996. ‘Test impact revisited: Washback effect over time’. Language Testing 13 (3): 298–317. Smith, M. L. 1991. ‘Put to the test: The effects of external testing on teachers’. Educational Researchers 20 (5): 8–11. Spratt, M. 2005. ‘Washback and the classroom: The implications for teaching and learning of studies of washback from exams’. Language Teaching Research 9 (1): 5–29. Victorian Curriculum and Assessment Authority. 2005. Statistical Information: VCE Assessment Program. East Melbourne: VCAA. Victorian Curriculum and Assessment Authority. 2004. Japanese Second Language: Victorian Certificate of Education Study Design. East Melbourne: VCAA. Victorian Curriculum and Assessment Authority. 2000. VCE Bulletin Supplement 1 – October 2000. East Melbourne: VCAA.

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Wall, D; Alderson, J. C. 1993. ‘Examining washback: The Sri Lankan impact study’. Language Testing 10 (1): 41–70. Watanabe, Y. 2004. ‘Methodology in washback studies’. In Washback in Language Testing: Research Contents and Methods, edited by Curtis, A; Cheng, L; Watanabe, Y. Mahwah, New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum. Watanabe, Y. 1996a. ‘Does grammar translation come from the entrance examination? Preliminary findings from classroom-based research’. Language Testing 13 (3): 318–333. Watanabe, Y. 1996b. ‘Investigating washback in Japanese EFL classrooms: problems of methodology’. Applied Linguistics Association of Australia, Series S. 13: 208–239.

Cite this chapter as: Ryumon, A. 2007. ‘Washback of high-stakes assessment: Year 12 Japanese’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 17.1 to 17.15. DOI: 10.2104/ld070017.

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PART THREE

ARE SECOND LANGUAGE CLASSROOMS GENDERED? Julie Bradshaw, Monash University Julie Bradshaw lectures in the Linguistics Program, School of Languages, Cultures and Linguistics at Monash University. Her research interests include gender and second language learning, community language maintenance, and language needs of immigrant communities.

Teachers of Languages other than English (LOTE) and others with an interest in languages lament the low participation rate of boys in post-compulsory secondary (year 9 and above) language classes, though there seems to be some evidence of a return to language study by some boys at tertiary level in certain languages. This phenomenon is documented using Victorian government statistics to examine the participation rates of boys and girls in post-compulsory language instruction. The question of whether languages are differently gendered is addressed using the participation data and students’ retrospective self-report to identify some reasons why boys’ engagement in language study declines. Notions of hegemonic masculinity, the gendered language classroom and classroom activity types are posited as possible reasons.

INTRODUCTION It is an unexamined assumption of much contemporary political discourse that education is in crisis (the literacy crisis, the numeracy crisis, the crisis in masculinity, or in civic values), and generally blame for these crises is directed at teachers, for failing to teach values, for teaching the wrong values, for not teaching phonics, or for being too female. Martino and Pallotta-Chiarolli (2005: 6) discuss the current pre-occupation in research on gender and education, amounting to a media-driven panic, about a putative crisis in masculinity, a preoccupation which led the federal government to introduce the Success for Boys Program (Australian Government 2007). The evidence popularly cited for a crisis in masculinity in schools (see Martino and PallottaChiarolli 2005: 10ff for a detailed discussion of the factors) includes the comparative rise in girls’ success in schools, higher retention rates for girls and their increasing success in gaining university places.1 One reason often given for the relative decline in boys’ school success is the preponderance of female teachers, particularly in primary school, which is said to deprive boys of male role models and create a feminised classroom environment. Much of the debate on school performance and gender focuses on literacy (Carr and Pauwels 2006: 2) and clearly literacy underpins performance in all other areas. The focus in this chapter is more particularly on the issue of gender and second language learning. Oddly enough the crisis rhetoric is not invoked in relation to second language learning: we have not heard the Federal minister of education bemoaning the problems with retention rates in second language study or the ranking of Australia internationally in language proficiency. Second language learning, it appears, is not high on the conservative political agenda. The low priority given to languages in the federal government’s education policies may be a factor in the low rates of language study beyond the compulsory years, but it is likely that both policy and participation rates relate to a wider community discourse which values literacy and numeracy but attaches no such value to bilingual skills.

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LEARNING DISCOURSES AND THE DISCOURSES OF LEARNING (2007) MONASH UNIVERSITY EPRESS

As will be shown below, participation in post-compulsory language study is low, and the figures show differential engagement of girls and boys in the study of second languages. A number of writers in the U.K. and Australia have noted the disengagement of boys from language study (McGannon and Medeiros 1995, Baker 2002, Barton 2002, Carr and Pauwels 2006). The principal aim of this chapter is to document the current participation of girls and boys in the study of languages other than English in the Victorian government sector, based on data drawn from the annual report, ‘Languages Other Than English in Government Schools 2005’.

BOYS AND LANGUAGE STUDY It is well-known that participation of boys in language study declines once it ceases to be compulsory, and the main goal here is to document the extent to which asymmetries emerge in the LOTE classrooms of Victorian government schools. A second goal is to determine whether the asymmetries are comparable across languages, or whether there are differences in the general retention rates of different languages, and in their retention of boys in particular. In addition, in the light of Barton’s (2002) suggestion that teacher gender is important in motivating foreign language students, the question of the gender balance among LOTE teachers across the different languages is also examined. In professional development programs for LOTE teachers, a frequent plea is for ‘something to do with Year 9 boys’. While boys increasingly withdraw from language study, those who stay, whether by choice or under duress, are reported to respond badly to the classroom activities which seem to work well with girls. What is going on with boys in language study and is the gendered classroom an issue? Piller (2002: 5) mentions the commonly-held belief that girls are better language learners than boys, which she contrasts with the view that immigrant women don’t learn the dominant language. This apparent paradox suggests that social rather than biological factors are at play here, and work by Norton (2000) on second language learning and identity supports this view. The social factors may include the discursive construction of individual languages, and the language classroom as sites of gendered activity. Zammit (1992) suggests that languages are seen as girls’ subjects (cf. Marriott et al. 1994). A construction of LOTE study as feminine would partially explain differential engagement with language study but such a construction would itself need to be explained. Martino and Pallotta-Chiarolli (2005) warn against essentialist assumptions which treat boys and girls as members of homogeneous groups and suggest that other social variables (such as social class, poverty, belonging to an indigenous community) are likely to have a greater impact on educational outcomes than gender. They caution that we need to ask ‘which boys’ and ‘which girls’ (Martino and Pallotta-Chiarolli 2005: 7), and to try to understand the issues of school and gender through the accounts of individuals, both boys and girls (cf. also Carr and Pauwels 2006). The statistical data analysed below are therefore supplemented by personal accounts of language learning gathered from a group of university language students who wrote reflective accounts of factors that contributed to their success or failure in second language learning in secondary or tertiary education. These accounts provide some insights into the subjective experience of language learning.

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LANGUAGE STUDY IN VICTORIAN GOVERNMENT SCHOOLS IN 2005 In government primary schools in Victoria, most students have some exposure to language instruction, though contact hours vary a great deal. Overall, 84.1% of primary students had some LOTE instruction in 2005, ranging from 74.7% in the preparatory year to 89.1% of year 6 students (LOTE Report 2005: 20). The LOTE Report (2005: 22–23) shows that 21 languages were offered in primary schools, but over three quarters of students (76.1%) studied one of the main three languages, Italian (28.8%), Indonesian (25.9%) or Japanese (21.3%). Far fewer students studied the next ranking languages: German (7.9%), French (7.3%), Chinese (3.4%) or Auslan (1.8%). Language programs were provided at 94.2% of the 311 government secondary schools in 2005, and further language instruction was provided also at 39 centres by the Victorian School of Languages (VSL), particularly at years 11 and 12 (LOTE Report 2005: 14). It was possible to study a language to year 10 in 65.2% of secondary schools, but only 51.5% provided a sequence through to year 12. Students from other schools who want to go on with languages beyond year 10 need to be highly motivated to study through the VSL, which provides year 12 language instruction for 32.1% of government LOTE students. Over half (51.0%) the students in government secondary schools were studying a LOTE in 2005 (LOTE Report 2005: 14) and while there have been fluctuations the figure is lower than 1998 when the proportion was 54.6% (LOTE Report 1998). While primary schools offered 21 languages, secondary schools offered 19,2 and the rank order in terms of enrolments is somewhat different. The richness and diversity of language offerings can create problems with transition from primary to secondary school, as the language studied in primary school may not be offered at secondary level, and there may also be problems of continuity within schools as a result of staffing problems. Table 1 gives a rank ordering of participation in different languages at primary and secondary school in 2005.

Table 1 Languages with highest enrolments in primary and secondary schools, 2005

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The top six languages (Italian, Indonesian, Japanese, French, German and Chinese) are the same in primary and secondary schools but the order is somewhat different. The highest secondary numbers in 2005 were in Indonesian, and this is consistent with this cohort’s primary school experience, where Indonesian was the most widely studied language (LOTE Report 1998). A striking difference between the primary and secondary figures is the large number of secondary students studying French and the relative decline of Italian in the rank order and market share. However, the secondary figures are heavily weighted to the lower years of secondary when language study is compulsory, so they predominantly respond to language availability in schools rather than student choice. In order the understand choices made by boys and girls we need to examine the figures for the years when LOTE study ceases to be compulsory.

THE POST-COMPULSORY YEARS Schools vary in the extent to which a LOTE is compulsory in the senior years of secondary schooling. In 2005 LOTE study was compulsory at year 7 in 88.5% of government secondary schools (a fall from 95% in 2003), and 78.8% at year 8. Table 2 shows the percentage of LOTEoffering schools which make it compulsory. As Table 2 shows, language study becomes increasingly optional across the secondary years. By year 10 only 8.8% of secondary schools require their students to study a LOTE. This phasing out of compulsion is accompanied by a falling off of participation in LOTE study, as Table 3 shows. By comparing the proportion of colleges which require LOTE study with the participation rate we get a very rough measure of choice (rough because the colleges are not of equal size). Table 4 shows a dramatic decline in the study of languages as it becomes elective. However it is not clear whether this decline affects boys and girls equally. Apart from gender issues, a number of factors contribute to the decline. Schools may cease to offer languages, or be unable to offer continuity of study. Regional schools experience a far more dramatic fall in LOTE participation after the compulsory years than metropolitan schools (LOTE Report 2005: 69) and this may be partly a result of availability and continuity of teaching. At year 9, 32.2% of regional students studied a language compared to 61.9% of metropolitan students, and there was a narrower range of languages studied in the country. By year 12 the figures were more even (9.4% of metropolitan students, 7.3% of regional students). Timetable clashes may make it difficult to combine language study with, for example, sciences, and career aspirations may require particular combinations of subjects to the exclusion of others. Students may also choose subjects partly on the basis of friendship groups, or personal feelings towards members of the teaching staff. That is, choosing not to study a LOTE may result from a combination of factors other than attitudes to the languages themselves. It is clear though that the 2005 figures confirm earlier observations that boys are more likely to abandon the study of second languages. Carr and Pauwels (2006: 10) look at Australia-wide figures from 1999 and show that the proportion of boys in language education declines from 50.2% in primary school to 38% in final year of secondary school. The Victorian figures shows that in years 7 and 8 when LOTEs were studied as compulsory subjects, there were slightly more male than female students. Table 5 gives the numbers of girls and boys studying a LOTE in each year level of secondary school. In year 7, 50.8% of LOTE students are boys. By year 12 girls

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Table 2 Number and percentage of secondary colleges where a LOTE is compulsory by year level 2001–2005

4

* The original table gives the figure of 88.2%, which appears to be a typographical error.

Table 3 Number of secondary students in government schools studying LOTE by year level, 2002–2005 Source: LOTE Report 2005: 88.

Table 4 Proportion of schools with compulsory LOTEs & LOTE students, years 7–12.

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Table 5 LOTE students by gender, years 7–12

predominate (68.7%). Expressed as a ratio, in Year 7, the ratio of boys to girls is 1 to 0.97 in year 7, but 1 to 2.20 in Year 12. The figures in Table 5 reveal a progressive feminising of the LOTE classroom, suggesting that language study may be seen as gendered. Zammit (1992) noted that boys are more likely to find language study difficult, to report negative experiences with learning LOTEs, and to claim that they do not need languages for future study or travel. A surprising 97% of students in her study (1992: 15) disagreed with the statement that LOTE is a girls’ area of study. However it may be that it was the categorical nature of the statement that was rejected. LOTEs were perceived as more difficult than English, mathematics or science, and this view was more strongly held by boys (Zammit 1992: 52). This raises the question of whether the perceived difficulty rests with the languages themselves or with the way they are taught, an issue I will touch on briefly later. The data in Table 5 leave unanswered the question of whether the decline in male LOTE study is consistent across different languages (a question also addressed by Carr and Pauwels 2006). This is addressed in Table 6, which gives the overall figures for boys and girls for different languages in secondary schools. As Table 6 shows, Macedonian has the highest proportion of boys (57.9%), followed by Greek (56.7%), Turkish (54.5%), Khmer (53.8%), Korean (53.3%), Vietnamese (51.0%) and Ancient Greek (50.0%). At the other end of the scale, fewer boys than girls study Gunai (28.0%), Arabic (31.1%), Auslan (33.9%), French (43.5%) and Spanish (44.2%). These figures are indicative of trends towards different gender uptake of languages, but in order to see how choice operates we need to break the languages down by years of study, to examine the non-compulsory years. In order to make the data manageable I have grouped it into three tables. Table 7 gives the figures for languages where girls predominate in classes across years 7 to 12, Table 8 shows languages where boys outnumber girls initially, but girls predominate by years 11 or 12, and Table 9 gives the sole language where boys outnumber girls throughout. French is of note in having a large cohort at year 12, of whom only 21.2% are male. Table 7 shows that the proportion of boys is particularly low for Arabic in year 12, but while interesting, the figures are very small and therefore possibly idiosyncratic. In what follows I will mainly focus on languages with more than 50 students in the final year. Table 8 is the largest group of languages, with an early predominance of boys but with girls outnumbering boys by years 11 or 12. Bold figures indicate higher numbers of boys. A striking contrast is offered by Greek, where male students predominate throughout the secondary years (Table 9).

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Table 6 Secondary LOTE enrolments by gender and language, 2005

6

Table 7 Languages in which girls predominate

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Table 8 Languages with more boys in earlier years, fewer in later years

Table 9 Language in which males predominate

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No clear trend is evident with Chinese, Khmer, Korean, which show varied gender participation across the years. If we extract the top six languages (in terms of student numbers) from the tables above it is possible to construct a hierarchy of masculinity based on student numbers at year 12. The hierarchy presented in Figure 1 seems to suggest a tendency towards greater female engagement with Romance languages, while German is relatively less feminine (though all these languages, unlike Greek, have more female students). Of the large languages, Chinese is furthest from the female end of the continuum. This may reflect the role of Chinese as a community language, spoken by recent immigrant families. It is likely that gender factors operate differently with foreign languages and community languages, possibly as a result of family influence, the availability of male role models or alternative peer group values among heritage language speakers. This issue will be taken up later in the chapter, but first it would be useful to consider more local effects, such as teacher gender.

Figure 1 Gender continuum based on percentage of male students at Year 12

LOTE TEACHERS AND GENDER Some insights into the role of the teacher gender come from Barton’s study of the effectiveness of single sex foreign language classes in mixed sex schools. Barton (2002) interviewed secondary students in the U.K. and found a preference for teachers of the same sex as the class. Boys felt male teachers would engage their interest, as revealed in the following example (from Barton 2002: 10): It is different with Mr. F because when we’ve finished our work we just read French comics, and they’re Mr. F’s, he brings them in… I don’t think Ms. T would bring in comics like Superheroes and that…

Barton shows that boys tended to appreciate male teachers for their common interests, while girls valued female teachers for the ability to empathise with them. A number of students showed misapprehension of grammatical gender, in their claims that in single sex classes there was no need to waste time learning what they saw as the language associated with the opposite sex, which they thought they would not need to employ. As one boy comments (Barton 2002: 10): I think there’s a need for [single-sex teaching] in French and German because you’ve got different words for feminine and masculine. The stuff that we’re taught is mostly masculine… we get told the feminine stuff and we put it down in our vocabulary book, but we don’t use it.

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This is a very revealing insight into the closed world of the foreign language classroom, where languages are seen as having no use beyond the instructional setting. If students feel more positive about same gender teachers it is possible that languages with more male teachers may be more attractive to boys. I therefore examined the teacher gender balance across the languages. Primary LOTE teachers were predominantly female (88.3% in 2005), (as were most other primary teachers) though there were more men teaching Asian languages (13.5%) than European languages (10.0%) (LOTE Report 2005: 32). In secondary colleges in 2005, 77.7% of LOTE teachers were female (LOTE Report 2005: 65). Table 10 gives the breakdown of secondary LOTE teachers by gender.

Table 10 Secondary LOTE teachers by gender

7

Taking the top six languages it is possible to construct a teacher gender continuum based on the percentage of male teachers. This is given in figure 2.

Figure 2 Gender continuum based on percentage of male teachers in secondary schools

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If we compare the teacher hierarchy in Figure 2 with the student gender hierarchy in Figure 1, there seems to be modest evidence of a teacher gender effect though there is no direct correspondence between teacher and student gender balance for different languages. Italian and French occupy the feminine end of both continua, with the Asian languages and German further from the feminine end. Japanese is closer to the masculine end on the basis of teacher numbers. While it may be possible that female teachers create a feminised culture around LOTEs, and have a slight differential effect across different languages, it may equally be the case that the preponderance of female teachers may be a result rather than a cause of the gendered culture of language learning, in which case another cause needs to be sought. It may not be the gender of the teacher, but the role of the language in the world, or the nature of classroom activities that motivate girls more than boys towards language study.

LANGUAGE CLASSROOM ACTIVITIES Brouwers (1999) studied the motivation of Year 9 boys in French and Japanese classes in an allboys school and found the strongest motivation came from the bonus mark awarded to LOTEs on the Tertiary Entrance Ranking. The boys also saw the language as being useful in the future, particularly for getting a job. These factors, along with enjoyment of language learning, were seen as more important than the influence of parents or encouragement by teachers. Integrative factors were of much less importance. In class, students enjoyed activities based around cooking, watching videos and oral work but were less keen about grammatical analysis and written tasks such as translation. The language programs were designed with a very practical focus, to capture boys’ interest in food, learning to drive, sports wear and so on, however Brouwers (1999) suggests that boys see language instruction as not catering to their ‘interests, needs and learning styles’ (p. 14). The importance of teaching methods and classroom activities becomes evident in self-report data collected from male university students who were asked to reflect on factors which had contributed to or detracted from their effectiveness as language learners. One student who began studying Japanese at the age of 12 noted the importance of lively classroom activities. As a child he had been given games in Japanese, and he chose to study the language in order to understand the games. In class, the teacher used lively activities, with rewards in the form of Japanese food and Japanese toys for memorising vocabulary. This led to success which increased motivation, and the rewards created positive attitudes towards Japanese culture. His second year of Japanese learning was less successful. The teacher tried to speak only Japanese but the students found it difficult to adapt to, and did not understand instructions and explanations. Comprehension difficulties were compounded by dislike of the teacher, frequent tests, a lack of rewards, and little focus on cultural aspects of Japan and a monotonous style. The students were bored, unmotivated, less willing to learn. ‘The empathy and positive attitudes towards the culture fostered during my first year kept me and other students motivated and interested in learning. Providing rewards and making learning interesting seemed to be effective for those at an adolescent age at least. In contrast, the second year teaching style seemed less effective because the input was not comprehensible and quite difficult, which in turn made us less motivated. The lack of motivation and lack of incentive to learn Japanese also affected the extent to which we learned.’

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Another student mentions the role of video games and animation as providing huge motivation in the early stages of his study of Japanese at school. At senior secondary level when the games were phased out, a three-week school trip to Japan provided a massive boost to his motivation. ‘After the trip I suddenly found myself enjoying Japanese classes a lot more to the extent that when I wasn’t in Japanese class I would be wishing I were.’ The role of lively activities was important in the learning experiences of a Greek heritage student who described his Greek classes in grade 4 as dismal. The teacher was a native speaker but not a trained teacher, and lacked confidence. He reports that ‘I can vividly remember my teacher finding it difficult to get us to understand what she was talking about when it came to Greek.’ By contrast his first Japanese classes at the age of 10 were a positive experience, though the teacher had limited Japanese knowledge. The classes used videos of puppets and people interacting, and interaction between students was encouraged. They played physical games where no English could be spoken, and the classroom was full of colourful pictures, drawings and mobiles with Japanese symbols and meanings. Less engaging were his high school Italian classes in a stark room with no mobiles or pictures. The teacher intimidated students by forcing them to speak, and threatening detentions for learners’ wrong pronunciation. The pressure to participate is mentioned as a deterrent by another male student, who joined a beginners’ French class at university. He adds that in correcting mistakes, the teacher used foreigner talk, which he found humiliating in front of classmates, and sometimes intimidating. He says he coped better with writing. Literacy skills play a role in much classroom second language learning, and may be an impediment for some boys in secondary schools. At university, it is likely that students are better equipped with literacy skills which can support their language learning. One male student from a very small country town reports taking up French at university, with a lot more enthusiasm than he felt for any other language he had studied. However he found the pace very fast, and sometimes difficult and frustrating. Tutorials were intimidating and nerve wracking because his fellow students had some background in French. Unsettled by the move to the city and the need to make friends, the pressure to speak in tutorials compounded his anxiety. Lively teaching methods, entertaining materials and activities and likeable teachers are clearly important to the male students here, but also important is the freedom to remain silent and not be forced to perform in a humiliating fashion in front of peers. In her paper in this volume Duff (this volume) discusses the difficulties that English language learners in Canadian universities experience in engaging in class discussions, and the need to provide scaffolding and modelling to support students’ oral performance. This is clearly also the case in the second language classrooms described by the boys in this study. Duff (this volume) notes that ‘the expert/novice dichotomy tends to overstate and essentialise difference and legitimacy, and does not take into account the multiple competencies of individuals rather than simply their relative degree of expertise in just one area, or one narrow band of experience’ (p. 1.8). In the foreign language classroom, we can see that the requirement to speak before the learner is ready could have a powerfully negative effect on an adolescent struggling to form a sense of self as a competent member of a desired community of practice. Martino and Pallotta-Chiarolli (2005: 16) have found that school students perceived a powerful need to conform to rigidly-enforced norms governing gender and social hierarchies, and that students who did not perform masculinities and femininities in socially sanctioned ways were bullied into conformity. The sensitivity expressed by the male students described above

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suggests the possibility that speaking a foreign language violates masculine norms in some classrooms. The concerns about speaking emerge in relation to primary, secondary and tertiary level language study, but it is possible that tertiary students may manage their language learning experience differently, bringing more resources to bear and being less constrained by the conformity imposed on adolescents. One strand of evidence to support such a claim would be different rates of participation in language study. In the next section I ask whether male participation rates in tertiary study mirror those of secondary schools.

TERTIARY LANGUAGE STUDENTS In this section I consider the participation of male students in language classes at university. Table 11 gives the 2005 figures for male students in beginners level language classes at Monash University, compared with the final year of secondary school.8

Table 11 Male students by language at Monash & in year 12 classes, 2005

The figures in Table 11 show a rise in the proportion of male students in Spanish, French, German, Indonesian and Japanese classes at university compared to the final year of secondary school (though some caution is in order here as the school figures do not include independent schools which may show different participation rates). Some of this increase may reflect pent-up demand for language study which could not be realised for timetable reasons at school, but it is also possible that male constraints against language study are less rigid, as is the association of femininity with particular languages. It is possible that university study provides more room for individuals to construct an identity on new terms. The gender hierarchy for tertiary language students is given in figure 3.

Figure 3 Gender continuum based on percentage of male students in university classes

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A particular insight into the way in which individual gender constructs become attached to languages emerges from the male students’ reflective accounts. One student decided after leaving school to take up the study of Spanish, a language that appears at the more feminised end of the continuum above. However his motivation to study Spanish is based on a very masculine construction of Spanish that is consistent with his masculine identity. He was influenced by what he calls ‘textual heroes’. At 16 he became engrossed in ‘novels of courageous adventure’ written by authors such as Hemingway, Steinbeck and the writers of the Beat Generation such as Jack Kerouac. Many of their novels dealt with simple, oftentimes oppressed characters that lived life on the periphery of society. Often set in the Spanish speaking regions that surrounded the southern United States, the texts are littered with Spanish speaking dialogue that comes to represent the voice of the lower social class of the time… [T]he language is representative of the fighting spirit for liberation; politically, economically and socially- or in the case of Hemingway, an escape from reality. What inquisitive sixteen year old boy could resist? This was my motivating seed to learn and to understand – to be part of what I saw as a globalising world.

The student’s engagement with literature has given him access to a universe of masculinity which offers an alternative to peer group constructs, and encourages him to associate Spanish language learning with rugged masculinity and the struggle for liberation of the oppressed. This observation, in conjunction with the tertiary figures given above, suggests that there may be some realignment of gender constructs in relation to language study as young men and women leave the more constrained sphere of the school. Piller (2002: 5) observes that ‘[c]ommunities often have gendered gate-keeping practices in place that restrict access to the most valued forms of linguistic capital for certain groups’. It is clear that for boys in secondary schools speaking a foreign language is not valued as a form of social capital. In fact, conforming rigidly to monolingual norms may be seen as a more valued language behaviour. Heller (1999) shows that in the French Canadian school she studied, boys constructed the dominant discourses and girls aligned themselves around these. However Barton (2002: 12) notes that according to teachers, boys in single-sex groups have less need to impress male peers with their conformity to fashionable, anti-academic male stereotypes than in mixed classes. The presence of girls heightens sensitivity to this. Away from the opposite sex, both boys and girls seem more relaxed and more able to answer questions, and boys have less fear of being teased for demonstrating an interest in work. However peer groups may vary, and it is possible if heritage language speakers reach a critical mass in a school they may construct an alternative peer group, along the lines discussed by Heller in her study of a Canadian school. One male student of Ukrainian heritage reports strenuously resisting his father’s attempts to make him learn Ukrainian as a schoolboy. At university he took some Ukrainian classes, and then a seven week trip to the Ukraine gave his motivation a major boost. ‘This came through discovering Ukrainian culture, and the way that Ukrainians my age speak to each other as opposed to classroom or father-son conversations, which are formal and different.’ The relationship between father and son had an impact on the

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son’s construction of his own language learning identity, which then changed when he escaped the family pressure to learn the language, and established his own peer connections. Margaret Vickers (interview on Life Matters, ABC Radio National, 2005) argues that social dynamics in families need to be taken into account in understanding children’s motivations to study or undertake training. Fathers who have traditional male occupations (eg, timber workers) may discourage sons from training for more ‘sissy’ occupations such as chef, barista, office worker, but she argues that the labour force is increasingly feminised and boys will need to learn to construct a future for themselves in a world in which masculinity is differently constructed. Thus family may contribute in unpredictable ways to boys’ language choices. Piller (2002: 6) notes the importance of the family as a discursive space in which gender is constructed. Gender is a crucial variable that mediates bilingual practices. To begin with, gender structures access to linguistic resources as symbolic capital that can be converted into social and economic resources. In the context of the bilingual marketplace, research in a diversity of contexts has, to date, found that it is most likely women for whom access to highly valued linguistic practices is most difficult. At the same time, women often stand to gain more from actively pursuing those resources than men do, and therefore, language shift in a number of contexts is actively pursued by the women of a community.

Piller (2002) goes on to note that particularly in the family domain, life is governed by more than simply economic necessity: ‘[p]eople also become bilingual or give up their first languages for reasons rooted in their personal desires and dreams, in love, affection and affiliation’ (p. 6). Gendered construction of identity may be an important component of this. The study of languages other than one’s mother tongue is, and needs to be seen as, a social good. Carr and Pauwels (2006: 21) note the increasing importance of cross-cultural skills in a globalising world, and language is crucial to this. It is important for the individual and for society as a whole. There are humanist, cultural and economic advantages for individuals and societies equipped with multilingual skills. It is desirable that all students have access to language study, and that students are able to continue to study languages that interest them throughout their school careers. Gendered constructions of languages and language learning potentially impede this. Martino and Pallotta-Chiarolli (2005: 7) suggest that ‘the real “crisis in masculinity” is the misogynist reaction to any perception of so-called ’female’ thinking and behaviour, the accepted hegemonic culture of male violence and power, and the fear many men in educational authority have of sexual diversity and non-hegemonic masculinities’. An effective challenge to the gendered construction of language learning may increase the recognition accorded to languages as socially valued goods.

ENDNOTES 1

Jennifer Buckingham reports that boys constitute 43% of new university enrolments. Margaret Vickers notes that 80% of girls and 70% of boys finish high school, and suggests that greater work opportunities such as apprenticeships encourage boys to leave school earlier (Life Matters, Radio National, 7/12/05).

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2

3 4 5

6

7 8

The Victorian School of Languages offers secondary students 43 languages, the most studied being Chinese, Turkish and Vietnamese (LOTE Report 2005, 16). Compiled from LOTE Report 2005, p. 6. Includes students at the Victorian School of Languages. Source: LOTE Report 2005, p. 88. No data were collected in 2004. Department of Education and Training Victoria. 2006. Languages other than English 2005. Unpublished raw data (with thanks to Yvette Slaughter). Source: LOTE Report 2005, p. 89. These figures do not include those studying through the Victorian School of Languages. Source: modified from LOTE Report 2005, p. 93. Robyn Spence-Brown has drawn my attention to the fact that the Japanese beginners class has a high number of international students, which might complicate comparison with secondary school numbers (though international students also study in the secondary sector).

REFERENCES Australian Government Department of Education, Science and Training. 2007. ‘Success for boys’. Accessed 13 June 2007. Available from: http://www.dest.gov.au/sectors/school_education/policy_initiatives_reviews/key_issues/boys_educatio n/success_for_boys.htm. Baker, C. 2002. Foundations of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism. 3rd edition. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Barton, A. 2002. ‘Teaching modern foreign languages to single-sex classes’. Language Learning Journal 25: 8–14. Brouwers, B. 1999. ‘Why bother: What motivates male students to continue learning a language other than English in the middle secondary school?’ M. A. minor thesis, Melbourne: The University of Melbourne. Carr, J; Pauwels, A. 2006. Boys and Foreign Language Learning: Real Boys Don’t Do Languages. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Cryle, P; Freedman, A; Hanna, B. 1994. Unlocking Australia’s Language Potential. Volume 3, French. Canberra: Commonwealth of Australia and NLLIA. Department of Education and Training Victoria. 2006. ‘Languages Other than English 2005’. Unpublished raw data. Melbourne: Department of Education and Training. Duff, P. A. 2007. ‘Problematising academic discourse socialisation’. In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 1.1–1.18. DOI: 10.2104/ld070001. Heller, M. 1999. Linguistic Minorities and Modernity: A Sociolinguistic Ethnography. London: Longman. Marriott, H; Neustupný, J; Spence-Brown, R. 1994. Unlocking Australia’s Language Potential. Volume 7, Japanese. Canberra: Commonwealth of Australia/NLLIA. Martino, W; Pallotta-Chiarolli, M. 2005. Being Normal is the Only Way to Be: Adolescent Perspectives on Gender and Schooling. Sydney: UNSW Press. LOTE Report 2005. 2006. ‘Languages other than English in Government Schools 2005’. Melbourne, Victoria: Department of Education and Training. LOTE Report 1998. 1999. ‘Languages other than English in Government Schools 1998’. Melbourne, Victoria: Department of Education. Life Matters. ABC Radio National, broadcast 7 December 2005. McGannon, J; Medeiros, A. 1995. ‘Factors influencing elective language choice: a study of French language students’. Australian Review of Applied Linguistics 18 (1): 95–108. Norton, B. 2000. Identity and Language Learning: Gender, Ethnicity and Educational Change. Harlow, Essex: Longman.

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Piller, I. 2002. ‘Gender perspectives on bilingualism’. Australian Language Matters 10 (1): 5–6. Zammit, S. 1992. The Challenge: Choosing to Study a Language Other than English through High School. Canberra: Department of Education, Employment and Training.

Cite this chapter as: Bradshaw, J. 2007. ‘Are second language classrooms gendered?’ In Learning Discourses and the Discourses of Learning, edited by Marriott, H; Moore, T; Spence-Brown, R. Melbourne: Monash University ePress. pp. 18.1 to 18.17. DOI: 10.2104/ld070018.

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