..:... : lIHIHIUIHHIIIUIJHUIWIHIHIWW’IJIWIHIIl 923 10782 3241 UBRARY lichigan State University II 11’ k.1||\ ‘.Il\.lll Ill.[.ll 1111 l‘.’ \III , ©Copyright by DEBORAH JEAN BARNDT 1978 ABSTRACT PEOPLE CONNECTING WITH STRUCTURES: A PHOTOGRAPHIC AND CONTEXTUAL EXPLORATION OF THE CONSCIENTIZATION PROCESS IN A PERUVIAN LITERACY PROGRAM By Deborah Barndt This study explores the dynamics of the "conscientization" process associated with the liter- acy methodology of the Brazilian educator Paulo Freire. At a theoretical level, "conscientization" or the "development of a critical consciousness," is examined as an interaction between action and reflection, personal growth and social structural change. At an empirical level, concrete indicators of "conscientization" are examined in the particular context of an urban migrant com— munity in Lima, Peru. The author spent all of 1976 in Peru collaborating with the government literacy program which had adopted and adapted a Freire model. Both the analytical framework and the field research methodology emerged out of that collaboration, grounded in that context, The unique use of photo- graphic research techniques allowed a more direct and constant involvement with teachers and adult participants of literacy classes through the joint design and development of photographic tools, serving both the program and the research process. Among these tools: 1) two photo-novels con- trasting the Freire method with traditional methods of teaching adults, 2) filmed sociodrama of urban migrant women acting out daily interactions in their lives, 3) thematic photographs of major community issues to serve as generative devices in literacy classes, and 4) fifty photo-interview cards (representing community problems, organizations, activities, and relationships) to facilitate a social diagnostic of communities. All of these tools fed into a collective inquiry process; the photo-novels were refined and used together as the major interview instrument with four women in the community selected as a primary case study. The document itself attempts to situate the selected community and the four women in the broader context of the Peruvian reality. Thus, Section I introduces, through photographs and text, the macrocosm, or the layers of context that make up their larger world: the socio-historic pro- cess of indigenous Peruvians, recent political developments, the changing relations of production reflected in the mass migration of rural peasants to the urban slums, the educational system, and the institutional framework of the literacy program being studied. Section II focuses on the microcosm of the case study community, also presenting the theory and methodology through which it was studied. The microcosms of four women participants in the literacy program in that community provide the focal point here. Their dialogues in response to the photo—novel appear in partial narrative form, intermingled with analyses (individual and com- parative) of their own "conscientization" processes. A common analytical framework is used to try to connect their personal world views to the broader structural realities that mold their daily existence. Earlier photographs are repeated so that the reader may also make a visual connection between the women's descriptions of their microcosms and the macrocosm introduced in Section I. The third and final section raises the issue of the theoretical implications of the study. The critical questions emerging from this study about the "conscientization" process are compared with the interpretations in two other dissertations on the subject (by Martin and Smith), as well as with the growing and changing interpretations of Freire himself. Such a comparative analysis Opens Up a critical reflection on the present treatment of "ccnscientization,' suggesting a re- vised, more dynamic framework. The psychological focus on the process is repladed by a greater concern for the structural origins of consciousness. Research methodology is also scrutinized critically, and practical applications in the North American context are suggested. Throughout the 392-page document, over 500 photographs are integral to the analysis and the text, not merely serving as illustrations or visual supplements. The visual is to be "read" in tandem with the verbal, giving the reader/viewer a more direct sense of the Peruvian context and peOple, and a more direct involvement in the development of the analysis. PEOPLE CONNECTING WITH STRUCTURES: A PHOTOGRAPHIC AND CONTEKTUAL EXPLORATION OF THE CONSCIENTIZATION PROCESS IN A PERUVIAN LITERACY PROGRAM By Deborah Barndt A DISSERTATION Submitted to Michigan State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY Department of Sociology 1978 Copyright by Deborah Barndt 1978 ii iii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS In many ways, this work represents more a collaborative venture than a personal one. The process began five years ago (or perhaps much earlier) with preliminary studies in Montreal, Philadelphia, San Francisco, and Guatemala, and with mentors Dick McDonald, the late Sol Worth, John Collier, and Fred Uaisanen. A year of field work in Peru involved a few hundred peOple: community members, teachers, program coordinators in the jungle and mountain areas as well as in Lima, the staff of ALFIN and ALFALIT, the visual communications team at CETUC of the Catholic University, friends - all peOple who allowed me to join them in a struggle, to learn from and with them. The four women of Santa Ana, whose dialogue appears here, were especially generous in sharing their thoughts; the Mothers' Club and residents of Santa Ana welcomed me as a temporary participant in their lives. The two teachers with whom I worked most closely, who challenged me while supporting me, had a major influence on the study and on my own growth. Back home in Toronto, the Participatory Research Project team of the International Council for Adult Education provided a base of support and helpful critique for the many months of writing Work with the Latin American community in Toronto and with teachers of English as a second language raised new questions and brought new insights into the "conscientization" process in a North American context. My friends, too, fed the analysis process through our dialogue and kept me going with their encouragement and quiet understanding of the strange contortions one goes through in writing a thesis. My doctoral committee at Michigan State University were, too, active participants — offering their strengths to the development of the study and the final document: I thank Bo Anderson for his keen visual and methodological sense, Ruth Hamilton for her broader analytical perspective on historical and structural issues, Barrie Thorne for her sensitivity to the personal and intel— lectual integrity of qualitative field research and careful emergent analysis. The quiet giant behind this work, Fred Waisanen, raised many of these issues, too, over the ten years of our collaboration. But as major thesis adviser, scholar, poet, colleague, friend, he gave me multi- faceted SUpport in a process of eXploring critical social issues with questions, methods, tools that were beyond most academic conventions. He knew this was more than a mere intellectual exer- cise: he also knew that to "educate" is not to inculcate but to allow one to wake up, to discover, to confront. I am deeply grateful for his gentle guidance. Indeed, this work is not the product of one individual, but the creation of many peOple. I take full reSponsibility, however, for its particular form, content, and interpretation, and welcome the challenges of others who might keep the dialogue going beyond this point. iv TABLE OF‘ CONTENTS Introduction Motivations Development of the Study Personal Positions About Sociology and Research About Ideology and Development About My Own Involvement in Research About the Use of Visuals About "La Poeta, La Politica, y La Pensadora" Statement of the Problem Basic Themes Context Contraditions The Structural-Psychological Connection The Dynamic Between Action and Reflection The Subjective-Objective Tension Focus and Flow of Analysis I, The Macrocosm The Socio-Historic Process Recent Political History The Educational System The Institutional Framework ALFIN ALFALIT, Another Institution, Another Model Changing Relations of Production: Rural Migrants in an Urban Context . l.‘ III. II. The Microcosm The Process of Field Research: Contradictions in Roles and Relationships The Tool: The Photo—Novel The ALFIN Method The Traditional Method Emerging Analytical Framework Combining the Analytical Framework and the Photo—Novel Focus on the Psycho-Social Reflective Dimension Santa Ana: An Ethnographic Description People and Organizations Efiucational Activities Community Action Analysis of the Interviews Sefiora Juana Sefiora Rosa Sefiora Tomasa Sefiora Cristina Comparative Analysis of the Four Interviews Emerging Commonalities Major Psycho—Social Contradiction From the Psycho-Social Back to the Structural Emerging Differences Theoretical Implications: A Comparative Critique of Freire, Martin, Smith, and Barndt Conscientization: What Is It? Conscientization: How Does It Happen? Implications of Conscientization for Educational Programs Analysis‘of Methods and Analyses Bibliography 161 1 ca 175 185 193 199 217 227 235 2 51: 263 276 278 279 287 293 305 319 319 322 329 333 31:5 3&9 358 36C 382 389 vi Motivations "Before undertaking any study of people," John Collier suggested, "ask yourself: 'What is my idea of the good life?‘ Because your answer to that question will probably affect more than anything what you study and how you study it..." Why does ggyggg choose to do research? "For the accumulation of knowledge and the advance- ment of science" - many journal articles might imply in their polished, abstraCt form. But for any social scientist who has chosen another culture as his/her field, such a motivation would undergo cross-cultural scrutiny as a North American mask: "accumulating" knowledge, as a "commo- dity"? Knowledge for whom? "Advancement" toward what? Science above other gods? If we look behind most published studies, there are many external factors and internal decisions affecting the person and the process: most commonly these important issues remain unreported. This intro- duction attempts to share some of these issues. I'd like to stay as close as possible to the raw experience of my research, so that the reader might also sense the human venture that leads to analysis. I went to Peru with multiple motivations, and added some while I was there: — I had previously worked with Latin friends who had moved me with their social vitality and challenged me with their political awareness. - Teaching at an experimental community college in the U.S. had caused me to question the possibility of changing attitudes toward learning and teacher-student relationships when the enveloPing context (beginning with the economic system) mitigated against it... - Sometime in that era, I made the discovery that non-western social scientists had some- thing different to say about the deveIOpment of underdevelopment: many were Latins, and there I found Paulo Freire... - In contrast with the economists who tried to explain only the system and the North American psychologists who tried to eXplain all problems in interpersonal terms, Freire made the connection for me: persons are oppressed by systems, and thus, human relationships reflect basic structural and economic relationships - between classes, between nations... - The "psycho-social" model (a term that integrated the psyche and the society), that's what Latins call.Ereire's method of teaching literacy and raising political consciousness among adult peasants... - I wanted to see what it looked like, not in a vacuum or in philosophical rhetoric, but on the ground, in one place, in one moment in time... - So, on an initial trip to Latin America, I found that Peru was one of the few countries able to use the method openly; in fact, it had been adopted and adapted by a large government ProgI‘am' 0 0 So why else would I want to live a year in Peru? - I wanted a deeper vision (beneath the tourist eyes) of a "developing" country... - I work in cross-cultural training programs; I wanted to better understand what it means to live and work overseas... ‘ - I'm a sagittarius, with an insatiable wanderlust and curiosity about other peeples... - There's the reformer in me: I wanted to contribute to a more just social change (yet often just hOped that I would "do no harm"... - Committed to alternative education, I felt we North Americans might learn from the Latin American experience in popular education... - Yes, there was a degree to be gotten, and a two-year grant to support me; I was definitely feeding on my own cultural system... - I'm a photographer, and wanted to test uses of photos in research, in community education (the Freire model also uses visuals), and I could build my own collection of photos of "far-away places"... There are contradictions in the above motivations: they reflect the missionary, the intellectual, the entrepreneur, the artist, the militant activist, the tourist; but they were all there, to one degree or another. And I think most researchers carry such a bundle of assorted motivations with them.... Development of the Stu_dy 'Ihere's another myth about research: that you go to study a "problem" and come back with the Same problem "studied." I found that the context changed, I changed, and thus, my problem changed. Originally, my focus was quite specific (as thesis topics are suPposed to be): I would do two case Studies - one of ALFIN, the government literacy program using the Freire method and one of ALFALIT, 8- Ohurch-sponsored literacy program using their own method. I would observe the'power relation- ships between teachers and students, filming the classes and noting the nonverbal cues of power. However, the reality of the situation transformed my plan: - ALFALIT decided to adopt their own version of the Freire "psycho-social" method as well, eliminating the possibility of a comparative methods study; and as they were in transition, no classes were started in Lima in 1976, eliminating the possibility of comparative case studies. - An economic crisis, military crack-down, and generally difficult working and living condi- t1(ms made attendance of classes by the illiterate poor variable and spares (many, for example, returned to their land in the mountains to farm, where they were at least assured of food). Thus the particular year that I was in Peru, throughout 1976, was a very critical year in terms of ttua direction of the regime: the first six months seemed to still be part of the socialist experi- “ent; the second six months, the rightest orientation of the junta became clear. This inevitably afrosted the program I was studying, and thus the study itself. As these social realities became a part of my life in Peru, they began to change me, and my plan: - While collaborating with literacy teachers on photographic program materials, I learned from their input that my conception of the method had been narrow and pedagogical, 1.6. I was focusing only on relationships in the classroom, while the program focused on the social context and structural reality in which the classes were taking place; I soon realized that the relation- ships within could not be understood without understanding broader economic and political rela- tionships outside of the classes. - My day-to-day involvement with the program made the social issues more vital: and a sys- tematic study of nonverbal gestures began to appear difficult and frivolous. - Besides, filming in dimly-lit rooms at night was not only technically impossible but dis- rupting and not always welcome; I chose a quieter participation. - Through my involvement with others and with the social reality, there began to emerge a new focus and a framework: studying the dynamics of the process of conscientization, as an active and reflective process, as a process with both psychological and structural dimensions: in other words, out of my own tension and change emerged a new focus - on that very tension and change. - It often struck me that while studying a process of the develOpment of critical conscious— ness, I was also involved in such a process, having my own consciousness raised; I experienced subjectively many of the contradictions which I observed objectively in the situation under study. I '\ Personal Positions It becomes clearer how the participant-observer enters the research experience with certain personal positions, or as Collier said, with his/her idea of what is the good life. I'd like to clarify some of my stances: 1) ABOUT SOCIOLOGY AND RESEARCH: Even to "clarify one's stance" reflects a particular un- orthodox approach to social science research. Though bred in a discipline whoe mainstream often posited a value-free study of society, and has tried to imitate the natural sciences in its research methods, I identify with a school of sociology that sees any research undertaking as reflecting some value, and supporting some ideology (Blackburn, 1973). This view involves doing a sociology of sociology. Sociology as we know it emerged out of an industrial revolution in Europe, and has taken a particular tone in North America, where science has been a god only- recently challenged. The structural—functional school of sociology (Parsons, 1951) has been pre- dominant, stressing the maintenance of order in social systems. In other words, it automatically bears the values of the social context that feeds it. The feeding is literal, too, in situations such as the North American one, where social research is often funded by industrial or government institutions (Nolin, 1968). And some North American social scientists, analyzing the deveIOpment process in Latin America, have predicted an "end of ideology" (Bell, 1960), when living standards would be equalized and politics managed rationally and cooperatively by all social groups. This view is more consistent with the interests of North Americans than with the reality of Latin Americans. In Latin America, where intellectuals have been trained in a more Ehrepean tradition, but influenced by the constant political upheavals around them, sociology in some circles is equated with Marxism. Why, for example, would the social science faculties be closed for a time: in Uruguay with a crackdown by a rightist military regime? Believing that any approach to a study of society has ideological implications, I reject a neutral social science research as im— possible and choose to make explicit the values guiding this study. The critique of orthodox North American sociology also questions the validity of data gather— ed in a totally detached, objective manner, if not confronted by the more subjective perceptions, or meaning-worlds of the respondents. The field work method, or participant-observation, has supported the value of the researcher entering into the life of the community under study in order to get an insiders' view of the issues: this method can be used in tandem with surveys or inter- views to complement the kind of data these other methods evoke. A newly-defined mode, participa- tory research, goes even further to question the origins and motivations of any research initiated by an outside intellectual, who not only often controls the process buy monopolizes the informa- tion gathered (Cain, Freire, Hall). This political critique of social science research proposes that researchers become "militant observers," and that the persons studied by involved in defining the problem, implementing the research, and using the results. Thus, research becomes an educa- tional process, and clearly demands a commitment on the part of the researcher to enter in as a learner and a teacher, to change and to be changed. My own research work in Peru began as an i _.__ __ rder r.— ated a— 95 1116 f individualistic venture, using participant-observation, structured. interviews, and film analysis methods. As I became more involved with people and programs, the research became more and more collaborative, moving toward the participatory research mode. 2) ABOUT IDEDLOGY AND DEVELOPMENT: I support a critique of world growth that sees the pro- cess of development as part and parcel of the process of underdevelopment. That is, the growing gap between the rich and the poor, between nations and within nations, is in large part due to a Particular prosess of industrial capitalistic development which has been controlled by certain Powers, while exPloiting the natural and human resources of the less powerful to build an empire . of multinational corporations, political alliances, and cultural monopolies. This "dependency" model (Dos Santos, 1968) is characterizied by symbiotic economic relationships between countries, duplicated within countries (internal colonialism), and reflected in dependent interpersonal re- 1a‘l‘.ionships. In contrast, other views of development, such as "deprivation" theory (LaBelle, 1976) or "continuum theory" (Bodenheimer, 1971) attribute the disparities in the world to lack of re- sohrces, ignorance, racial inferiority, lack of initiative. Under such explanations, growth and progress have been viewed in purely economic and ahistorical terms as a movement from "traditional" to "modern," and have been aimed ultimately at a western-style model of the "developed" nation. A shift in world economic and political power has brought challenge to this "ideology of develop— metitalistn" (Bodenheimer), raising questions about the class interests it supports, about the "Scientific progress" it advocates (Nun), about the limited resources of the earth, the quality of life accompanying economic growth, and a new global economic order, proposed to redefine relation- ships between nations. Related to the dependency critique of capitalistic development is a support of a more social- istic model of society. That implies in general a more communal sharing of resources, and control of productive processes by the persons working in them: it is counter to a competitive mode, which encourages individuals to invest, compete, and profit at the expense of others. As a product of a free-enterprise society, I bear many of the features of that system: individualism, materialism, competition. But I do hold as an ideal a more demOCratic socialistic system. What I am not clear about is how to get there within the particular socio-historic conditions that I live in: I have a strong non-violent orientation, while believing that confrontation and conflict are most often necessary for change. But I also strongly hold that dogma should not be imposed upon a people, but should grow out of their_own context, thier own action and reflection. 3) ABOUT MY OWN INVOLVEMENT‘IN RESEARCH: Another personal orientation which is reflected in this work is my own tendency to get personally involved in any task and to relate the emerging issues to my own existence. This is a style which has brought both greater richness and greater struggle to my study. I often considered, for example, the parallels between the conscientization process I was observing and the one that I myself was going through. A special friend/colleague, a literacy teacher of Aymaran Origin, was trying to teach me his native language. Immediately after teaching ‘1.— but ’J me "How are you?", he taught me this question: "And for what ends have you come here?" 1 It was a question I had to face often - from others, within myself. I had thought about it, and so an- swered: "I came to learn, to raise my own critical consciousness." It was not enough for my per- ceptive friend: "And what do you do with that consciousness? Where is your commitment? You re- turn to your country, your work is applauded, and what difference does it make?" I could not answer that with much clarity and conviction. Mine in many ways was a selfish venture: I h0ped - for the least - that it would not harm anyone: for the most, that it might be useful to others in the development of critical consciousness of North Americans. But I knew that was not all my frlend meant. a) ABOUT THE USE OF VISUALS: Another particular mark that I bring to this study is a strong v181.131 dimension. Photography has been both a passion and a profession for me in the last five years: it has slowly become a natural means of inquiry and expression. Thus, in Peru, the camera "as like my right arm - very connected to me and my experience, serving as an identification, a social situations - usually in collaboration with program people and for a particular purpose - returning photos soon afterwards for reflection. It was a concrete skill that I could offer to the prog'am in exchange for the opportunity of involvement my collaborators gave me. Perhaps at tildues, I was recognized more as a photographer than as a sociologist or researcher: there were A a“vantages and disadvantages. The former had more concrete meaning, but I was also bombarded credential, a collaborator, a recorder, a questioner, an exchange... From the start I photographed 10 ll 'the field - based upon reciprocity, trust, mutual exPloration. Several times, I made collages by too many photo requests: dark room time sometimes superseded field work time. In any case, visuals are a powerfu1 underlying dimension of this work - playing a major role both in the field research process and in the analysis and writing-up stage. In the appendix, there is an article describing how visual interventions enriched both interaction and inquiry: there are also some more practical suggestions for field workers who might want to apply a visual sociology to their own projects. Here I will note only some of the major uses of photographs: In the field: 1) Complementary to taking regular field notes, constant photographing was also a way of collecting data and recording social processes. The camera could capture more detail than the momentary eye and pen - preserving material that could be reviewed again and again. I shot over 7,000 photographs during the year, developing them all immediately, for reviewing and for return- ing. Many, thus, played back into a collaborative inquiry process with community and program peeple, or were combined to form concrete research tools. Many others were more carefully examined when I returned from the field: they thus fed into the analysis and documenting process. 2) The return of photographs to people was vital to my process of developing relations in out of events to return to groups for their own use as historical documents, publicity tools, reflective devices (6.8.. the invasion of land by several hundred families forming a "new town," a thank-you collage for the group who helped in the production of the two photo-novels, display ii ——-———- of the health and educational activities of one literacy class working in collaboration with a community health center, a summary of the sociodramas for the Mothers' Club who partici- pated in them, etc.). 3) In several cases, I was asked to photo— graph an event or community for a particular purpose of the collaborating group. Thus, I made an album about a cultural manifestation held in one community to recruit support and participation for literacy programs. Another album depicting life activities of a native hunting-and—gathering community in the Peru- vian jungle was returned to literacy teachers who wanted it to supplement native stories for use in literacy classes there: a second copy went back to the community itself, where it provoked detailed discussions about their life (photo at right). 12 13 4) Consistent with the Freire methodology, there was an interest in using drawings or photos ' as "codes" to help literacy classes to focus on social themes and to decode the visuals as part of the "conscientization" process. Thus, with the ALFALIT program, we photographed themes for national program materials which were made into posters (as the one to the left on "work") and also printed in prepared texts. With several ALFIN teachers in the city and in the mountains, I helped to photograph selected issues vital to the specific context which were returned and used in the classes. 5) The major research tool, a photo-novel, comparing a traditionally-taught class with an ALFIN class, was a major production involving many months and various groups, and served throughout the year in many ways: to build re- lationships. raise questions, reveal biases, LntO md ins; to motivate discussion, provoke evaluation, and revise the direction of the study. 6) Needing data supplementary to the educational issues provoked by the photo— novel, I selected 50 photographs from a bank of 7,000 taken, to build a photo card-sort, used as a stimulus for case history interviews, and covering cate- gories like migration processes, customs, community problems, relationships, class activities, and occupations (as the two examples to the right). 7) For most of the year, I also col- laborated closely with a visual research group of the Teleducation Center of the Catholic University in Lima. They joined in the design and execution of a super 8mm film project involving migrant women in seciodramas portraying their relationships. 14 15 Eyery week for two months, the women selected an authority relationship in their lives and spon- taneously acted out a situation in interaction with that person. Each week, we returned photos of the previous week's drama for discussion of real life experiences. And by the year's end, we were able to project the film on the wall of one lady's house in the barrio, gathering over 100 community people in the street for the premiere and subsequent discuSsion. 8) In several instances, a spontaneous use of photographs initiated by people in the field provided the most powerful sort of feedback: photographs of a confrontation with wealthy land- owners provoked discussion weeks afterward about such historical relationships: a chauffeur se- lected two photos from the photo-story to describe what he thought distinguished an intelligent from an unintelligent woman: a program staff person spontaneously chose two other photos from a miscellaneous pile to describe the changes in their literacy program. The reflection,.too, provoked by the return of collages (to the right) often was of the most natural sort: with a visual representation of themselves, people would begin to describe themselves and indeed to see themselves in a fresh, new way. 9) At the end of the year, I joined with two Peruvian photographers to mount a photographic exhibit at the Alliance Francaise and a municipal library: again new dialogue emerged in the viewing. ‘v'CII' t l6 17 In the analysis and the writing: Besides representing some of the uses listed above, photographs will appear in this text in several other ways. The process of analyzing and writing up the experience involved a constant interpaly between verbal and visual data. This document should also be read in that way, dialectically between the photos and the words. Photographs thus do not merely serve as documentation supporting verbal analysis: in many instances, the photos themselves stimulate the argument or make a statement, replacing pages of written explanation. This is clear, for example, in the ecological overviews of the pastoral mountainside community and the urban squatter settlement. Concepts are also con- ceived visually rather than verbally at times: the pepsi and coca-cola signs sharing a remote hillside with a cross reflect parallel penetration of both economic and religious institutions, and does not require long, jargon-filled descriptions of that process. The reader is thus asked to be an active viewer as well, engaging with the visual material, seeking contradictions and connections. Some photographs are rich with symbolic material. With the statue of Christopher Columbus, I devote pages to analyzing its elements and their interrelationships. Other photographs, too, could be dissected and digested at various levels. In many cases, I have sought photographs that have contradictions within them: the photo used to describe the sections is surely an example. at ‘2'. U) Find others. I have often juxtaposed photographs to make a statement of contradiction and con- trasts (barefeet and a Bata shoe sign, rich and poor neighborhoods, etc.). Throughout the text, photographs on the same page or on the two open pages are placed in deliberate relationship to each other: they should be read as a gestalt. Close-ups are used to focus in on selected ele- ments: sometimes a second photograph will reinforce information subtly implied by the first (e.g., the community meeting with only men, accompanied by a photo of women and children in the back). Because there is an emphasis on interaction and relationships in this study, photographs can help to convey the nonverbal indicators of these relationships: spatial contact, gestures, clothes facial expressions. In the photo-novel, the authoritarian teacher is clearly distinguishable from the less formal one, in mere visual terms. These distinctions are much more difficult to make with only verbal data. One of the most important uses of photographs in the actual analysis is found within the discussion of the in-depth interviews with four women participants in the literacy program. There small photos are repeated from the first two sections that have described the context: they appear nest to the pieces of the women's dialogue that relate directly back to that context. Thus, the photograph itself makes the connection - visually - between the world view of the women and the structural reality that formed that view. l8 l9 In general, the photographs attempt to bring the reader closer to the real experience of the author and of the many Peruvians pictured. There are much deeper human messages in the weather-beaten faces of old women and in the protesting bodies of migrant women fighting for their rights. How many stories or studies of other cultures can we read, and still lack a sense of what the people look like, how they carry themselves, how they express themselves. Hopefully, the reader will, too, allow these new images to penetrate his/her memory, that they will stimulate a new curiosity and concern. Both commonalities and differences can be experienced at an emotion- al and social level, if time is taken to tap the resources of the visuals. 5) ABOUT "LA POETA, LA POLITICA, Y LA.PENSADORA": In trying to clarify the above personal orientations, I have referred to the academic, the political, and the artistic. In continually confronting my own contradictions during the research process, I realized that all three were in some kind of constant tension. And so evolved a paradign to describe a permanent tension which seems necessary for my own creative work. In Spanish, it is expressed more poetically: the three parts of me that struggled for some co-existence were: — "La pensadora" - "the thinker" : the analytical me, who saw the necessity of detaching my- self at times to gain perspective of the reality I was observing, to consider critically all that I was involved in: this was the researcher, the scientist, the reflective observer... - "La politica" - "the political" me: who felt the necessity of taking a stance against Mal rm... : my’ that injustice.of acting upon convictions, of committing myself to a process of liberation: this was the participant, the activist, the militant researcher... — "La poets" - "the poet" : who often felt a human connection with persons that transcended analysis and politics, who valued being as well as thinking and doing, who needed solitude at times, who sought to express both critique and commitment through photographs, poetry: this was the artist, the meditator, the humanist... During the research exPerience in Peru, there were periodic battles among these parts of my- self. The political me was so angered at times by the oppressive forces in the society that I felt ready to commit myself to full-time political action and forget the thesis. At other mo- ments, I felt strongly the value of critique and found the urge to act recede into the background. And yes, there was a time, too, when I retreated from both the community and university worlds that nurtured the political and academic me, going on strike against all social pressures and exploring more personal forms of expression in the photo darkroom or in my study with pen. Periodically, I would conclude that the three could not survive together: the tension would pull me apart in a painful fashion (or perhaps it was stretching me...). Yet I knew, too, that I could negate neither the pensadora, nor the politica, nor the posts: they were each vital, inte- ,6ral parts of my core. And hopefully, challenging and igniting each other, they bring a more hUman quality to the research undertaking. 20 21 STATEMENT OF THE PROBLEM Basically, the study is an exploration of the dynamics of the ”conscientization" process. What is the "conscientization" process? The word itself is new to North Americans. It is a translation of "conscientizacao" - the Portuguese term adopted by Paulo Freire to describe the process of "development of a critical consciousness achieved through dialogical educational programs concerned with social and political responsibilities" (Freire, 1973). The context within which Freire first used the term was northeast Brazil in the early 1960's, where he de— veloped a method of teaching illiterate peasants to read and write, at the same time that they began to analyze their own socio-economic reality and to take action to change it. The term has no simple translation in English: this is perhaps because the North American view of conscious- ness has been somewhat separated from social analysis, reflecting the socio-economic system itself. "ConsciOusness—raising", the closest term, too often has individualistic implications, and thus does not connote the collective action against oppressive structures that "conscienti- zacao" does. Here the term "conscientization" will be used, as synonymous with "the develOpment of a critical consciousness." Initially, I went to Peru to study the Freire method of "conscientization" as applied to the Peruvian context. Before long, I completely forgot about Freire and an abstract model, and began to focus on the particular context - how conscientization looked, acted, played out within the constraints and possibilities of that context. Only recently have I begun to realize that that is what Freire is talking about: neither the man nor the method are to be deified or trans- planted. Rather, a critical approach to any social context (exemplified by the man and the method) must confront its particularities and problems: out of that, working methods emerge, conscientization takes its own form. This document thus may appear to be in backward order to seasoned thesis-readers. I do not begin with a review of the relevant theoretical literature and then set out to prove some piece of a theory in a context. Rather, I begin with the context, exploring from the ground up some notions that emerged from my interaction with it. A thorough treatment of the layers of struct- ure in the context is essential to the eXploration of the world views of the four women inter- viewed, and their perspectives on their educational and social experiences are essential to the exploration of the conscientization process: outside-in, inside-out. Finally, the theory is reappraised in the light of the very particular exploration - we discuss what has been learned about conscientization, and what practical applications this study has for future analyses. Underlying the entire document are five basic themes, described in the following pages. They include: 1) context, 2) contradictions, 3) the structural-psychological connection, 4) action-reflection dynamics, and 5) the subjective—objective tension. They represent my real learnings of the year, and have clearly guided the content and style of this work. 22 23 l) CONTEXT In order to understand any process (in the case of this study, the conscientization process in a literacyprogram), one cannot do so in a vacuum, but must locate it in time (social history) and in space (geographical setting, economic and political system, social stratum, community, group). For anthrOpologists, this is a natural approach to a study: the stage of the drama must be set before the gestures of the actors take on any meaning. For Freire, too, this was a major point of his pedagogy of the oppressed: each social situation has its own characteristics: an imported curriculum is usually irrelevant, and so learning content is best built up by drawing upon the particular context. It took me a while to recognize that my study was originally narrowly focused on a pedagogy, and almost out of context. My Peruvian colleagues and participants in the communities slowly awakened me to the greater importance of the living and working conditions within which the teaching and learning were taking place. To focus on a particular context does not negate its similarities with other situations. But common bonds are found only after clearly understanding particular origins. Thus, I will focus on the specific setting of a community of rural migrants in Lima, Peru. The participants in the literacy class I was studying were all women (more men were literate, or were ashamed to admit that they weren't. One part of the study will attempt to analyze their personal meanings for the educational experience and‘social situation they were living. 3655 my) gy. , : Izl':"‘1.“.._«,l..;§: ,5 ‘II'II. 1'” 'JH','J 'WV"N$'?_$'WVIJ{/1 I “£323.35 "'1" me But in order to understand their psychological perspectives (individual and collective), we must first examine the context out of which they come: just as this woman must be understood in terms of the migrant squatter settlement she is leaving, and what it means in the context of the broader socio—historical process of development of Peru. 24 25 2) CONTRADICTIONS I have found more and more useful a dialectical approach to analysis, which focuses on con- tradictions in social situations. This is a perspective which recognizes the political nature of all action, that in order to stand for one thing, you must stand opposed to others. A dialectical approach to social analysis attempts to reveal the internal and external con- tradictions. To the right is a visualization reflecting one major contradiction in the current Peruvian political context: the bronzed indigenous farmer in the foreground reminds us of the recent land reform, which has reclaimed land for rural peasants, affirming their agricultural origins and skills, and returning to historical indigenous figures for symbols of this new libera- tion. Standing directly behind such a symbol is the Sheraton hotel, a subsidiary of the multi- national ITT corporation. When both land and mining corporations were exprOpriated after 1968, ITT was compensated royally for their rure1.1osses in the form of a choice plot of land in Lima, pro- viding a transformed, urban business venture. Thus, while the land reform appears to be to the favor of the peasants and disfavor of old estate owners, it only reflects a shift in the capitalistic development process of Peru, from a primary sector economy (deriving from agricultural, mining resources, etc.) to a secondary sector, or manufacturing economy. And the compensations to»those who had land exprOpriated have allowed those same persons to reinvest in the urban industrial sector. 26 -..,.,....,.:L.::L,.rtr)..-» . ...., .r;. X..- . .v.nh.F.|: t :1! 5" L .1 ‘av .4 ‘1‘ 1f h‘l‘ '. f.- .1, _ ., V~ ,’... é . 27 3) THE STRUCTURAL — PSYCHOLOGICAL CONNECTION The connection between psychological and interpersonal dynamics, and structural realities is a major theme of this study. In realizing the importance of context, I found in economic and social systems the origins of certain kinds of relationships and psychological self-concepts. In contrast to Latin Americans who had a great sense of their social existence, identifying them- selves much more strongly in terms of the family or social group, I began to recognize the much more individualistic orientation of my own North American cultural experience (exemplified by the lady in the photo to the left, isolated from any social grouping, in contrast to her Latin neigh- bors). And our economic system seems to encourage through competition and self-interest motiva- tion a strong sense of the individual. This perspective has also nurtured the proliferation of psychological movements of the last decade, which tend to locate the origin and the solution to personal problems in the individual: by not tackling the broader social systemic causes, they ob- scure any historical or political analysis of the problems. I found a greater socio-historical analytical skill among Peruvians working with literacy programs. They were clearly aware that education could not really change individuals if it did not have the support of broader social structural changes. The psychological and interpersonal dynamics of illiterates were rooted in living and working conditions, not to be changed merely by their learning to read and write. This intimate connection between the development of reforms in the Peruvian "revolution," the more ominous international economic system of which it is a part, and the changes in persons' lives in the two communities of focus, will provide the vital analytical thread for this work. 28 29 M M BEI'W EEN ACTION s12 REFLECTION Another dynamic of the conscientization process I was studying that was paralleled in the research process itself was the action-reflection dynamic: the most authentic and relevant ana- 1ysis grew out of concrete and immediate experience. At the level of the literacy program, this can be illustrated by the experience of one adult class on an all-day outing in the countryside surrounding their dry, desert—like community. When they sat down to eat a picnic lunch on the edge of a golf course, the only green spot in the area, they were soon ousted by the angry, expatriate owners (top photo at left). Back in the classroom the following week (bottom photo), they related that experience to their Own historical conflict with the old hacienda owner who had deceivingly sold them their lots as agricultural land to avoid providing public Space for parks and schools. An analysis of the issue of land and private property became real and relevant to these people, because the re— felction grew out of action. Imposed topics for discussion rarely caught the same fire or were carried to a relevant, internalized analysis. In the same way, the research study evolved. Though I went to Peru armed with several layers of theoretical constructs, I soon was forced to discard many, and build new conceptual frameworks out of the reality I was observing. Taking time to reflect periodically on the re— search process - with Peruvian colleagues or through field notes — also influenced the subse- quent actions I undertook. There was a constant interplay between reflection and action. 30 31 5) THE SUBJECTIVE - OBJECTIVE TENSION Another recurring theme in the research process that will also run through the analysis is the tension between objectivity and subjectivity. Some sociological research (particularly survey research) has traditionally advocated total objectivity, although participant-observation methods allowed for the input of the out— sider's inside view, the "emic-etic" combination of anthropologi— cal tradition. I have been concerned in this study not just with an objective analysis of a literacy program in two communities, but with the subjective meanings that participants have for that program experience. Thus, as this statue might appear to be seen "correctly" from the front and distant view, it can also be viewed from many very diverse and personal perspectives as evidenced in the photos to the right. None is any less real, each is valid, yet partial: they need each other. Both the objective and the subjective (my own and others') will feed this analysis. LA NAC-lON eERUANA "ch5 DE ‘ MDCCCU) 32 FOCUS AND FLOW OF ANALYSIS Basically the flow of this paper will be built upon the five major themes just covered: the macrocosm, or context, will provide the starting point and ending point, contradictions will be examined both visually and verbally, the connection between the psychological reality of partici- pants and their structural context will be the major thread of analysis, most analysis in the case study will focus on concrete experience following the active-reflective dynamic, and research- er experience will be intermingled with objective analysis revealing that continual relationship. This diagram provides the outline for the three sections: a contextual view of a literacy program in Peru: . I ‘ 11- _ , In: MACROCOSM: MICROCOSM: MICROCOSM TO MACROCOSM: The Context 5? Case Study -_-_-_€? From Practice to Theory Socio-historic process The process of field research Recent political history The tool: the photo-novel Educational system Emerging analytical framework Institutional framework Focus on the psycho—social dimension Urban migrant context Santa Ana: an ethnographic description From people to structures: analysis of in-depth interviews with four women Section I, then, sets the larger scene for the examination of the conscientization process of the urban migrant woman, exploring her context. Consider the above image in this light: 35 The focus of this story is the illiterate Indian woman, who has made her way from the Andean moun- tains to the coastal city of Lima, and there finds herself in a class with other migrants learning to read and write. What is the macrocosm of this woman...? - She looks little different - in dress or activity - from her Indian ancestors after they were conquered by the Spaniards four centuries ago. - She walks down a street in Cuzco, the ancient center of Inca civilization brutally taken over by the Spaniards. - She passes by a wall, almost oblivious to the buildings behind - many modern structures built right on top of old Inca stone foundations: television antennae rise high above her to proclaim a more recent conquest of Cuzco: by North American and European communica- tions media. - She still Carries her load on her body, while mestizos (Spanish descendents, intermarried with Indians) move themselves and their goods past her in cars, originating in Europe and North America. - She cannot even read the proclamation on the wall: "Down with imperialism in Perui": it is doubtful that it would make any sense to her if she could. And yet, in a way, she has been created by all these things surrounding her: even if she is not completely conscious of it, they reflect the macrocosm in which she is embedded. Ian moun- lea1n1n8 they aken nica' ried and >t Section II constitutes the major part of the research: here the focal point is the person, the migrant woman participating in a literacy program in a Lima barrio. A case study of one com- munity and in-depth interviews with four participants in the program provide the basic data for examining their world view. Separate and comparative analyses of the four interviews attempt to connect the people with the structures that formed them (see photo on the next page). 36 37 A . c? ‘3’ 3 .v ,‘5 an» u~ nonWW“ , V“ . k .r. fa" " -' '* '1“ V." “.u-wuawfi“ ' ' vs . I v . , l } a: ”a .V A (w ,..-‘- o" «I ~' I ‘--~ "' ~ ~ gar“? -~-- Jr .- . '1’ '.. . _‘l _’ ';f" ' ‘4' —. t . ‘t..".‘-‘-' ..--A 3. . 5 ' ' 3" ‘ 3" fish‘ A ' . - m, \ .~ ..:x~.-m. -~ - E g d. -' zJ; e 'l.'_.: “ .x _ - o. -- ¢ _ 1 fl; 5. - ‘5‘qu _, _ . . . _ . . , :1. I. 1’ eh ‘ v ' P s .' ' . ’ _ ~ ‘ ‘ V J ,. . -. , . ~ .. . ' ’ ' I . .. I ‘ ~‘.‘ , ., I. If . h .-. v: :1 so. 1'- 'n-v .w...~r« .‘c. " h . . . . . .v 3"- '--.‘:_, -. .-. V... I." ‘ -“ , ‘ - Section III offers a shorter reflective discussion: the analysis of this study is re—examined critically and comparatively with the theoretical work of Freire and others. S ECTlON I T HE. mac ROC OS M 38 39 THE soc: Io-HISI‘ORIC. Paces. as .9 J n.‘— * l “,4. 4" ,1 N {1. This story begins long ago - perhaps much before men and women built the city of Chan Chan more than a thousand years ago. Perhaps it begins with the supposed migration of peoPles from Siberia across the land bridge then uniting Asia with the Americas. The indigenous population of the Andean area now known as Peru can trace a rich and diverse history to thousand of years before Christ. what remains are hints of that richness and diversity in elaborate artifacts and ruins: fkar there was no written language to record time pre-Inca civilization represented in this rOck. But this history also lives on in the blood of many Peruvians, descendants of the indigenous people . g 41 L In a renewed effort to connect them- selves with their roots, indigenous Peru- vians today usually look no further back than the Inca civilization, in control of the area from 1200 until the mid 1500's when the Spaniards eliminated the last Inca king. There is great pride in the remnants of the Incas, like the exquisite city, Macchu Picchu (at right), strategic- ally hidden from the Spanish conquerors. In adopting fallen Inca leaders, such as Tupac Amaru, as heros for modern-day indi- genous causes, native Peruvians claim that the Incas were truly socialistic. Evidence shows that the state was run much more on the principle of the collective good, but there was a strict hierarchy and caste system. The Incas were remarkable civil en- gineers: that skill is clear in the in~ tricate mountain terraces supporting an agricultural economy and in the temples built to the natural elements (sun, moon, and stars). Their language, Quechua, remains the mother tongue of over three million Peruvians today. When conquering new groups and incorporating them into the empire, however, the Incas maintained a linguistic pluralism. And although they did not develop the art of writing, they did have an elaborate system of knotted cords, called quipus, which com— municated messages about the progress of the crops, the amount of taxes collected, or the advance of an enemy. 42 43 Eflucation during the time of the Incas was available to even the lowliest vasals (in contrast to the Spanish hacienda system which purposely denied education to poems, to maintain a more total control). Those lower in the Inca hierarchy were given a very pragmatic and technical training, pre- paring them to carry out daily activities for the collectivity. The more professionally—oriented castes were also taught by actions and facts, rather than concepts, and their study was organically tied to the process of daily life directed by the state. Thus, Inca education was functional rather than theoretical, and geared toward the collective rather than the individual. Apart from this collectivistic— functionalistic orientation, Incans were educated in constant self-criticism and in ethical and social responsibility. This same practice: teaching by doing - built into the family system, has been common up to this day for rural peasants in Peru. Children start at an early age working alongside their parents in the fields and in the markets: their training is thus totally integrated into the socio-economic system. And they are economic assets rather than liabilities. It is interesting to note that the recent emphasis in the Eflucational Reform has been on such func- tional education, relating study directly to work training, particularly in programs for adults. And the concern for developing more "cooperative" work— ers by encouraging cooperativism in the school sys— tem (through community nuclei of schools, through methods which nurture socialistic rather than indi- vidualistic motivations): this is reflected in the school-less family-work system of indigenous farm- ers. Perhaps this signals a return to the past. 45 This sculptural rendition of the "con- quistador" Christopher Columbus incorpor- ates four critical dimensions of the Conquest: - the religious dimension: the Span- iards brought the cross along with the sword... - the sexual dimension: the Indian that Columbus is portrayed saving is also a female... - the economic dimension: the jewels and opulent clothes draping the Spaniard were increased by the Conquest... — the racial dimension: the indigenous person is the submissive: the European, haughty, proud, dominant. The Religious Dimension: Priests arrived alongside soldiers (and are still arriving in barrios of Lima), offering salvation and threatening the Incas with death (and/or damnation) if they re- fused to convert to Christianity (in fact, the last Inca king, Atahualpa, was ultimate— ly killed for rejecting the Bible). The Church had and still has an immense influ— ence on the Peruvian population, although indigenous pe0ples have maintained many of their traditional, mystical beliefs by mix- ing them with the imposed Catholic rituals. There are still some monasteries today, as this one near Huancayo, with very few monks in residence, that guards an exclusive mus— eum of European religious art, while not relating to surrounding village reality. 47 The Sexual Dimension: The classical "machismo" attitude ascribed to Latin American men in relationship to women received great impetus from the arrival of the Spaniards. It is not to say that sexual equality existed in the pre- Conquest Andes; but there is a different quality to male-female relationships in more isolated rural moun- tain areas where women work alongside men in the fields, and in the jungle areas where there exist some matrilocal tribal groups. This domination of women by men takes many forms. Socially, division of men from women is quite com- mon, even in community school meetings, such as the one to the left, where women are either in the back or at the windows of the meeting hall. The general repression of women in Peru is ac— centuated in this study by the fact that most illit— erates are women. ne hands. The economic motivation of the Spaniards was clear, and is perhaps the underlying force of the Con- quest; the Inca gold supplies (including melted-down artistic works) were quickly plundered. Another economic resource taken over immediately by Spaniards: cheap labor, usually an Indian, not a mestizo. Racism and economic exploitation went hand in hand. The Economic Dimension: America (to the left) is depicted by a woman bearing fruit and gold in her Exploitation of resources has taken a newer, more sophisticated form since Latin America's Independence from Spain in the 1820's, followed closely by the Industrial Revolution in Europe and North America. Since that time, foreign companies (Spaniards replaced by Germans, Ehg— lish, Americans, etc.) have sought the natural riches of the Peruvian earth, extracting minerals in parti- cular (but also 011, sugar, cotton) to feed the burgeoning factories of the western world. Again, though, the labor was local, and much cheaper than it would be in the industrialized countries. This process, part of the his- torical growth of a capitalistic economic system, has often counted 0n "less developed" countries to provide the raw materials (primary resources) to the industrialized countries who transform them into manufactured goods (secondary goods). These in turn are sold back to the poorer countries - in the form of imported goods such as cars, appli- ances, machinery. The dependency is mutual and multiple; but the control and the profits most often remain with the producers of the manufactured goods, not with the original owners of the natural resources . 50 51 The development of a capitalist economy in Peru, following a path well- known world-wide, spurred the dual pro- cesses of urbanization and migration. In the lives of the rural indigenous people, this meant that a life off the land was threatened as the agricultural economy faded. And many were forced to migrate to mountain and coastal cities to seek work in burgeoning industries. Thus, we see in Peru a deve10pment oft-repeated: the shift from a labor-intensive economy to a capital-intensive economy. For rural illiterates, there had not been such a need for reading and writing. Factory work and city life brought new demands; literacy was one of them. L 52 53 A more recent phenomenon in international capitalistic development that has not escaped the Peruvian experience is the multinational corporation. Large businesses with market outlets in many countries monopolize the sales of particular products; they are often subsid- iaries of even larger corporations that maintain control of various, even competing, sectors, in order to absorb fluctuations or losses. The presence of these corporations has become almost as universal and omnipresent as that of the Church, found on desolate hillsides as readily as in busy cities; and the two international forces sometimes compete with each other for the landscape. In Peru, Coca-cola and Pepsi con— tinue to monopolize (both figuratively and literally) the beverage market, despite efforts to promote a truly national soft—drink, Inca—Cola. 55 “1751i: ban.) Shani ' We a growing gap between those who can and cannot afford their goods. Some— times the western—originated products create new needs where there was none, (or introduce changes in cultural life—style (plastic jugs that re— place ceramic work, yard goods that undermine weaving skills). Canada is well—represented amongst the corporate bodies in the form of Bata shoe company. The eco- nomic and cultural contradictions such businesses often reflect are numerous and powerful: they offer goods which many cannot afford, and their very presence contributes to *1!” iglé &,, Mu. 1:. (in V hue expatriates that come along to manage international subsidiaries also have access to services which many poorer residents are denied; an illiterate Indian woman watches as a Japanese automobile executive golfs on a Swiss-owned course. It is the only green area near her town, which is completely lacking in public park space. natal uW-.flnflu\.w So where does this leave the illiterate woman, migrant from the mountains to Lima? The socio-historic process just traced has touched her fate in its wake: - She must leave an agricultural life, where she was intimately tied to the earth and the economy, and seek work in an alien urban setting. - She is an indigenous woman in an environment where mestizos or expatriates control the economy, and demand skills which she does not have. - She is fed daily by images of the western woman she should aspire to be, of the goods she should aspire to buy (as on the wall to the right). 58 59 ‘ €|EI \ ‘a‘i D; nun-Alf...) p-Lfa _. The migrant woman's value as a pro— creator and rearer of children is under- mined as well, for her children no longer contribute directly to the family economy, but are put in school or on to the streets to sell. If they are forced by their sit- ua—tion to be street peddlers, they, too, are bombarded by the images of another life, by goods they must sell, yet cannot buy. And they, like she, can look forward to growing old quickly in this strange urban world neither chosen by them nor choosing them. 60 61 RECENT POLITICAL HiS'T'OR‘r‘ Wall graffiti in Peru often provide the most vivid sort of political and his— torical documents. Here the slogan to the left has been transformed with a bit of black paint from "Long live the APRA party" to "Let it die", while the message above damns the APRA founder, Haya de la Torre. Some cite the parallels between the original program of the Alianza.P0pular Revolucionaria America, the APRA party founded by Victor Raul Haya de la Torre in the 1920's, and the positions and actions of the military Revolutionary Government that took over by COUP in 1968. APRA.was anti-imperialist and tried to create an indigenous ideology of continent-wide revolution: the party basically favored nationalization and industrialization, an emphasis on economic product- ivity, the role of a national bourgeosie in suppressing the oligarchy, a multiclassist society which would diffuse basic class differences. Perhaps the exPerience of APRA laid some fertile ground for the military program. But a history of anti-APRA military coups suppressing popular organization set the pattern for clashes between the party and the army. And through compromises with the rightest governments in the 50's and 60's, APRA.became a more conservative status-quo force. Still, the Apristas provided the greatest competition to the military for the organization of a popular mass base: and thus were not initially in favor with the new Revolutionary Govern- ment, as the graffiti to the left attests. The basic reason the military were able in 1970 to pull off some of the same reforms that in the 20’s APRA could not pull off, Cotler suggests, is found in the structural conditions: the development of international capitalism was to the stage that nationalization, industrializa- tion, and the development of import substitutions and a greater eXport economy did not really threaten the international system, but served to integrate Peru more firmly into that system. 1L___ 62 63 Internal conditions, too, were ripe. There was an increasing tension between the oligarchy, which was beginning to shift its investments into manufacturing and financial sectors, and the growing urban poor and peasant guerrilla movements. Both the Church and the Army realized that survival of the oligarchic regimewas likely/to strengthen anti—Christian and revolutionary forces, whose cries were becoming louder, whose slogans were becoming more omnipresent (as above). The military was the only group able to suppress mass-based movements and to eliminate the oligarchy. And reform was the alternative to counter-insurgency. As antioligarchic and nationalist, the military had as a goal the homogenization (or depolitization) of the social structure in order to integrate the sectors of productive activity. 0" In ’ / . ‘\\ :OOO‘.. ‘i/fi-‘J 65 Of the small group that executed the coup in 1968, Juan Velasco Alvara- do became President, leader of Phase 1 of the Revolution. Under the Inca Plan (capitalizing on indigenous pride in its history; the succeeding plan was called Tupac Amaru, after the Inca hero whose bust appears in the photo), an ambitious series of reforms were under- taken, aimed at the achievement of "a pluralistic and humanistic society, neither capitalist nor communist, based on social democracy of full participa— tion." The programs behind the rhe- toric, overlooking the Peruvian class structure, attempted to integrate the classes through government-created soc- ial mechanisms. A prime example of such "participatory mechanisms" is SINAMOS, the National System for the Support of Social Mobilization. A mammoth bureaucratic body charged with organizing the masses, it became a channel for both welfare programs and political control, ensuring that the popular groups conform to the aims of the revolutionary government. Though it used the rhetoric of self-leadership and community control, any time a group within its six priority areas began to genuinely organize itself to direct activity in that area, SINAMOS would either abolish the grass-roots group or create a government one to replace it officially in that area. Thus, the National Agrarian Confederation was created to tap the hierarchy of rural organizations; a Con- gress of Industrial Communities proved embarrassing to the government when worker delegates refused to be co-Opted; the Confederation of Horkers of the Peruvian Revolution was created to counter the Communist Labor Confederation; an official teachers' union SERP was created after teachers' strikes by the popular SUTEP were declared illegal: the squatter settlements were organized down to the block by SINAMOS technocrats who restricted elected community leadership to those candidates who were fully employed, legally married, and without criminal or political background. This top-down organization of the masses inevitably came into conflict with other community-based groups, included action-oriented literacy classes, as we shall see later. This form of government has been referred to as an authoritarian, corporative system. The state-controlled organization for economic development is best reflected in two major reforms. i; 66 67 The first is the Agrarian Reform. By breaking up old estates, the government was able to form peasants into agricultur- al cooperatives. But many complain that government-assigned "tecnicos" have mere— ly replaced the "patron" in managing these ‘f‘lflp. "E;’fji :.13 k, ‘ i a ’J E; ,4. ."‘--r‘ ' .l —-—_.--- cooperatives just as paternalistically as before. And looking further beyond the reform, the rural elites who had their land exprOpriated were able to transfer their investment into the industrial and mining sectors, where the greatest impetus for development is now being placed. J}..- «were»: 2 ._,- r [mums twain STA 0030 DE fl“; 69 4-, 71 Who 0! Ill/isms Iii/0.52.. {ml/:PflafluzgeMUS This state capitalism has .‘1 given a greater role in economic r“ V .Q o I f g‘ ' i... ' a development to the national bourgeoisie, who in turn must collaborate with multinational corporations, reinforcing con- tinued foreign influence in the Peruvian economy and the con- tinued transfer of profits to foreign capitalists. on production: nationalization and industrial growth has been aimed at import substitution and the ex— port of manufactured goods, a more advanced stage of capitalist development. This emphasis is evi— denced in naming 1976 "Year of Production." A One of the more unique experiments of Velasco's regime was the establishment of a Social Property sector in 1974. It proposed a new pluralistic form of economic organization; the eco- nomy was to operate simultaneously in four sectors: state, reformed private, fully private, and social. The latter was to predominate, and was to be characterized by "full participation, social ownership of the firm, social accumulation. and permanent training" (Knight). Many saw the formation of worker-managed social properties, with stress on small-scale labor-intensive operations, as the most important step of the Revolution: establishment of the first social pr0perty industries in 1975 and early 1976 were announced with great fanfare. ~There were other reforms, too: a new mining policy was directed at more national control of the country's mineral resources; this new nationalism was dramatized by the 1968 eXpropriation of the International Petroleum Company, a move which generated popular support, but a 1970 con- tract with Southern Peru Copper company indicated that the forces favoring foreign investment maintained a stronghold. There was also a fiscal reform and a reorganization of public admin- istration. The press, too, was taken from its oligarchic control and set on a path toward socialization in which various sectors of the population would ultimately manage their own newspapers. It appeared in the initial stages of the Velasco period, too, that workers were to be favored in other initiatives: a law for Workers' Stability was decreed in 1970 (following the 7O 71 firing of workers by managers reacting negatively to the Industrial Community Reform; they narrowed their ranks to under six, so they wouldn't qualify as an industrial community, and thus wouldn't have to adhere to the new restriction). In reality, however, the law only pro- tected those working for privately owned companies, and that means only 13% of the active la- bour force, when the unemployed, underemployed, self-employed, and state employed are deducted. That most reforms contributed to Peru's integration into the capitalist development system was recognized by some critics in the early years of the regime (Petras and Rimensnyder, 1970). The major variation was Velasco's plan to industrialize the country under domestic rather than foreign control. But a major obstacle to this more progressive direction was the repayment of an immense foreign debt, left from the Be- launde period: 70% of the near-billion dol- lar debt was to be paid between 1970 and 1974. Minister of Economy and Finance Mo- rales Burmudez tried to negotiate with U.S. and European creditors an extension of pay- ment to ten years. The creditors refused in absence of agreements guaranteeing se- curity of present and future investments. b ‘. . - i _ _ ”Ii... 34' Y! '- ' ‘U ._ .: "1 . "1’? ' Lfi ' l_. ,. ‘- . fl 0 1 VI ‘1 i- s r 0". ' F‘ v h 4.... fi—‘yk ssq. 3..» "b a}. _ 'nfcgrs " a: _ ~* '1"! JR; -' 4 ~ ' ..... . - _".".f; - ; I‘ 3 i .e‘ .g E a ,g) s .. ( 1:33. :3, ~ 3* [P'sé‘ I - N ; "frfi‘:£:t * 3:. . “c. «LJ‘ _ “'3‘.“ it' . _. - X D O. ‘ I 'l" “,knfi'x‘a‘b a - '24 _. V -‘_ § ° ' ~. _ o ‘ S" T 1' ’ 713,"! I '7: \ a I 4' 72 73 There was a major tension amongst the cabinet and the armed forces regarding this dilemma: Velasco and his Minister of Development Maldonado favored economic development through heavy state intervention by public corporations and loans. while Morales Burmudez belonged to a pro- imperialism sector supporting agreement with U.S. investors. External and internal forces led to a coup within the junta in August of 1975, during which Morales Burmudez replaced Velasco as president. At first, the new leadership denied that this change reflected any political shift, and appeared committed to carrying out the preposed structural reforms. But there were signs of greater repression and a growing critique of the junta (as attested by the grafitti below: "I denounce the fascist military governmentl"). Mir} 7.7.055} a tilt ‘ - t 21'"). . .. L: 1 {7’33 ’. J.-. rfragaaww" By mid-1976, the more rightest orienta- tion of the new regime became clear. In April, new more conservative directors were named to manage the newspapers. Some major strikes in May and June were not reported in the press: instead presidential tours and mini- sterial speeches drew constant front—page coverage. Then. on June 30, the government announced a series of measures "to reactivate the economy": the value of the sol decreased from 45 to 65 soles per dollar, gasoline prices doubled overnight, basic foodstuffs were priced up 50% (as in the photo to the right), import and export taxes were raised I 1') Cry/4“] MET-o" only 15%, and salaries went up 10 to 30%. ‘ ii“)! 'I 5' (And classically, too: those earning under 6,000 soles per month got a 750 raise; those under 15,000 got a raise of 1.500 soles). 1"; 7L» 75 Public reaction was dramatic. Microbuses, the major source of pOpular transport, went on strike; there were riots and looting in central Lima and some barriadas. The military government responded equally strongly, bringing out the tanks, declaring a state of emergency, imposing a curfew (10 P.M. to 5 A.M.). and suspending all basic rights: meetings and strikes were thus il- legal, citizens could be detained without judicial order, homes searched without warrant, opponents could be exiled without trial, travel in and out of the country was restricted. Junta leaders tried to blame the striking bus-drivers for the dis- turbances and subsequent restrictions. It soon became clear, however, that the stringent economic measures had been demanded by the International Monetary Fund and private U.S. banks as conditions for the granting of new loans to meet debt payments. F555!“ 3 U I (gfiuwluu . ‘ 5 f '7 a ‘u. can u The reactions of the people varied according to their socio-economic class background. Wealthy Limefians responded with a panic and paranoia about an invasion of their neighborhoods by the desperate poor; they took their children out of the private schools, for fear of kid— napping. and added metal crow bars to front door locks. Middle class families joined the long lines (seen in the photo above) at the stores and markets, stockpiling staples and waiting an hour or more for a small piece of meat. 76 77 The poor, the workers, the residents of squatter settlements could not afford to join these lines: they could only seek food from day to day. And many, like the couple above, tried to supplement their already meagre income by taking on second or third jobs, like selling food on the street. Most reacted with a kind of resignation to the new sacrifices asked of them, although there were some spontaneous outbreaks in settlements, and a major confrontation with police around the striking nylon factory below. As the grafitti protests. "250 families were without bread" due to the subsequent firing of workers: many union leaders were detained as Well. Omnipresent tanks and soldiers enforcing curfews limited the overt organized reactions. All positions were accentuated during this period: it was frightening to hear one middle class man comment on an elevator: "The military should just get the U.S. to buy us: they're the only ones who can save us now." And an elderly woman agreed: "Yes, we'd be much better off as an '1 American colony. 78 79 Under the state of siege, further measures confirmed the conservative direction of the Morales Burmudez regime. On July 4th, the same day that the CGTP (organization of workers' unions) published their critique of the new policy and its IMF connection, all opposition maga- zines were closed because they "led campaigns to obstruct the fulfillment of measures to re- activate the economy, to destroy the unity of the armed forces, and to subvert order and public tranquility." And before the July 28 deadline, the transference of the press to popular organ- izations was postponed, due to a lack of "adequate conditions." Changes within the regime were evident, too: the more progressive Prime Minister Maldonado "retired;" the new foreign affairs Minister de la Puente Radbill denied a New York Times claim that the "Revolution has gone astray,’ and maintained that Peru was still a non—aligned Third World country. And even though there was a plan underway to decentralize the nation's economic activity through a regionalization plan aimed at building up provincial urban centers, political con- trol became all the more centralized. Seventeen new laws decreed in August raised new re- strictions in many areas. A November meeting of CADE, involving all major Peruvian business- men, asked for an end of the Workers' Stability Law, charging it "affected productivity and promoted lack of discipline." More government support was given to growth of the private sector, at the eXpense of the social prOperty plan. And consonant with the reversal of structural changes (which were thought to be irreversible), the rhetoric also reflected the new policies: the word "socialist" was dropped from the usual rhetoric describing the "Revolu- tion," while only "humanist" and "Christian" remained in those descriptions. These changes were felt most deeply, of course, in the lives of the workers, as unemployment continued to climb; fishermen were hit particularly hard during this period (below). And the changes were felt, too, in educational programs, and in the lives of the urban migrant participants of literacy classes, as shall be explored in the coming pages. ”1‘13'3”fl“"3",”33‘39'9977" gaunt“:"liliflflfllflfllflflte I. - .4 '- - - - . . W".— 8O 81 T HE. ETDUCflTlOMPi l_ SHJSTEm ' pit-am, \. - _‘ «'Vf‘e:’ More than any other Latin American country, Peru has traditionally spread education into the tiniest and most remote villages, committing as much as 30% of the budget to education. This rural school, accessible only by foot, has one itinerant teacher and six classes, serving a hamlet of 100 or so. but after Independence, convents and monasteries were ordered to es— tablish free primary schools. The impetus for educational expansion at the turn of the century was the work of forming a capitalist economy. But it remained an elite system that favored the middle class and aristocracy, leaving poor child- ren in the field or on the street (above) while others (below) were ushered, uniformed and re- luctant, into a classroom experience where authoritarian relationships and rote learning perpe— tuated dominant relationships. Cesar Vallejo describes in his short story "Paco Yunque" how a hacendado's son is given credit for the good work of his indigenous playmate by a teacher eager to be in good favor with the landowner. 82 83 More recently affected by the universal expansion of education, native communities in the jungle area of Peru have had to make major changes in their lives in response to the establishment of schools. These groups had been traditionally nomadic. But with schools (at left) set up in their communi- ties and teachers procured, they have more often chosen to settle in one spot; in so doing, they quickly exhaust the natural re- sources in the area and are forced to turn from hunting and gathering to planned agri- cultural production, clearing jungle area ‘‘‘‘ for farms (right). This shows the intricate relationship between education on the one hand, and ecology and economy on the other. /‘\ The relationship between education and the socio-economic—political system has been long recognized by Peruvian ideologues. In his classic Seven Essa.s on Peruvian Realit , Jose Carlos Mariategui wrote in the 1920's: "The problem of illiteracy of Indians goes beyond any pedagogical plan.... The first real step toward their redemption must be the abolition of their servitude... With such an intellectual heritage, and drawing heavily on the "deschooling" analysis of Ivan Illich and the "conscientization" methods of Paulo Freire, Augusto Salazar Bondy became the archi- tect of the Peruvian Educational Reform, introduced in 1972 as an integral part of the Revolution. (3onceptua11y, Bondy cites these elements among others as guiding principles of the reform: - The aim is the creation of a "new Peruvian man" - one who is "creative, critical, coopera- tive, and committed." - Bondy focuses on the liberation of the potential of the person, while fully recognizing that such actualization is fully dependent on the liberation of the society. - Education must contribute to a social goal of breaking the chains of dependency, economic- Eilly and culturally. - This demands a radical critique of the present society and its alienating elements. - One way to make Peruvian education more authentic is to base it in communities and relate it to the particular realities of its participants. - If it's to be connected to the total life of the individual and the community, education h must relate to work and concrete necessities, and must be directed by the community as a whole. 84 85 Nucleos, or school-community centers, have thus been established as the new basic administrative unit of education, to transfer the control of the schools to the people. Ideally, they critique the local system and created programs based on community needs. Organizationally, the director is chosen by the Ministry, while a council is elected from teachers, parents, and local officials. In practice, it has been difficult to get communities to take seriously their responsibility for organizing their own education; there are more basic priorities for poorer households and they lack training and experience in self-leadership. There is also a contradiction in the rhetoric of the revolution which emphasizes a transferal of effective power, while maintaining a strong central control ( through official unions, government—produced curriculum, obligatory teacher training programs, etc.) The "caudillo," or strongman, authoritarian tradition of Peruvian history and its educational history are not easily erased: the heroes gracing the school below bespeak of more of a great men view of history than of a popular—based one. 86 87 There is another problem in the interpretation of the new participatory ideology to the peo- ple. They cannot understand what they have not experienced. And the process used to educate communities in their new role oftentimes contradicts the idea itself. Witness this young man, sent with a regional team of teachers to introduce the Educational Reform and its principles to a small rural community of 100, which has one itinerant teacher in a one—room schoolhouse. From the stage, he reads something like this: "The residents of the community in exercising their rights and responsibilities of criticism and creation can participate actively in the economic and po- litical development of their country, by engaging in a dialogue which raises their consciousness.’ Of course, such rhetoric means little to them, but they sit passively receiving the official word, perpetuating rather than breaking the dependency which is being denounced. The women and children, most directly affected by the school, yet lowest in the community power structure, sit silently in a back corner of the meeting hall. 88 89 Nowhere is the central control so visible as in the twenty—story structure of the Ministry of Education in Lima. It has been just as dif- ficult to decentralize and humanize its mandarin bureaucracy, which remains very hierarchical and directive. The mammoth monolithic structure re- mains formidable to many who try to work their way through its channels. Men surround the building with typewriters, today's official street scribes, ready to help prepare for citizens the many "gold—sealed letters" with official jargon needed to move from one office to another. in [mm [mm .rm- W‘ 7_ ___ . :ti;..;.' —-s -‘ -- o ., '7‘ . 3’ _ Even though the new pedagogy advocates that materials be created in communities and rele- vant to their particular realities, the Ministry still cranks out national curriculum materials, based on the U.S. system of "behavioral objectives" (another contradiction in terms of cultural dependency). This truck load of papers, or papeleos (referring to the paper—heavy, paper-pas- sing tradition of Latin American bureaucracies) is headed for the rural areas, as the "Reform moves ahea " ("La Reforma Educative en Marcha"). 9O 91 Besides the formal and authoritarian style that pre- vails despite a reform which advocates participation, there is other evidence that the edu- cational system is well under the control of the military government itself, which appoints one of its generals to head the Ministry. He appears here in a common ceremonial duty. The most vocal critique of the Operation of the Reform has come from teachers, who organ- ized themselves into a union. In 1973. a SUTEP-sponsored strike was declared illegal by the government, teachers were jailed, and leaders deported. Soon after, the government formed an "official" union, SEEP, which since then has attempted to undermine any anti—government activity of the popular—based group. 92 93 Many teachers have resented the retraining programs, not just because of their obligatory nature, but because othheir style and content. Ironically, they have used old methods, lectures, and rote learning to teach the new participatory methods. There is also a heavy indoctrination in ideo—political government lines, and a lack of solid pedagogical training. And this contra- diction is thus repeated in classrooms where teachers are trying to implement the Reform, as illustrated by the young fellow to the right who was asked to recite the four characteristics of the "new Peruvian man", as prescribed by the reform. Q R EADOR< ..\__ ’ H “Li QOOPERADORg a..- H_.... @Mrkorliiilw t 0 « 'm"f‘"-' - 5' ‘ J 3. ' . '- .- yww- I»u-,o.,n ”1....."w’ !_ . p ,. . - - so” w-p~¢~ -- “~"V .‘ 'mu~ ~.. "The new Peruvian man should be creative, critical, cooperative, and committed: creative, critical, cooperative, and committed: creative, critical....." 95 The critical response to the Reform is once again pointing out the close relationship between the educational process on the one hand and the economic system, social structure, and political control on the other. Teachers recently joined the popular-based workers groups in denouncing the drastic government measures of July, 1976, when gasoline and food prices almost doubled over- night, and a state of seige was declared. ;* ",/‘ ’Iircs—J ’:E§..‘.. ~25 lfl ‘ “99"” ex" ' vvvvvv .ov. Schools cannot escape the impact of these events. This sign protesting the rise in the cost of living and the scarcity of basic goods uses a school building as a public forum of sorts. Children who cannot eat as well cannot learn as well, and illiterate adults who must get a second job to survive economically find that evening classes may just be too much. 96 97 n, 'PORACION ‘LEL ILETRADO M. am ammLFIIDEfiaMU ‘ no as an PROBLEMH EXllIlSiVRHEIITE I'Enlltilnm‘mé7 , ‘K / HNMHEMAIHE Jodoecow womzco Roma. LA abucmou 55 mm- EN ELPROCESO REVOLUCtONARIO I 1 summit flfisuoc A u Poem; 0N iLETwA, APOYANDO EL wnehmumiuurnsk actou 1c L1~DA / cm: re ms cauctos Esrgwrumus Y Lu. Foamsu 1.29.1ch Acmu vowurz. V” Comhuwe A ELEVAR EL mm Enucmvo DE LAS conuutbAbES, RESPETANDO So Know/ammo cur TURAL “ “Pom .LA mudmiou “DE LA couumAp EN LA cesfiou DE sus SERVIC‘IOS Ewmfvos G meamu ELRx'mER Gmmo DE E B L , “(Munro ASl LA intak- SYSTEHA EDUCATNO '1'FiEE. |hJE§T1'FLJfl'ICDhJF5L. FrTKFRITlEEIJJC5F§V;. "Illiteracy is not an exclusively pedagogical problem," the cartoon flyer to the left pro— claims. "lt is fundamentally a socio-economic and political issue." Thus. from the start, the Eflucational Reform, which gave birth to ALFIN, the national literacy program, in 1973, saw liter- acy "as a structural problem, the eXpression of the historic development of the social formation of Peru as a dependent and dominated capitalist society, in which vast sectors of the pOpulation were involved in primary activities, eXploited and deprived of access to educational (among other) services." (Lizarzaburu) An Adult Education Commission headed by Augusto Salazar Bondy carried out a diagnosis of adult education in Peru in 1972. "Operacion ALFIN" was thus created in 1973 as one of the special pro- grams under the General Division of Basic Education for Labour and Qualification. It was consider- ed a part of Educacion Basica Laboral (Basic Horkers' Education), officially equivalent to the first grade of EBL, but it differed substantially from that program historically, geographically, economically, and ideologically. EBL essentially took over the old night school program, usually located in urban area schools, catering mainly to domestic employees of middle class and upper class §Limefians, employing formally—educated public school teachers who moon-lighted for extra money by 1Kaaching night classes. AFLIN, a favorite program of Bondy, was more radically conceived: aimed ad; the most marginal illiterates. setting up programs where there usually weren't schools - in ur— ‘Emn squatter settlements or rural areas, hiring teachers with less formal education but more com- 98 99 munity experience, relating the program directly to the social reality of the participants. There have been continual tensions between the two programs: EBL has deve10ped a standardized national curriculum for its nine grades, adopting educational technologies such as behavioral objectives from the United States. ALFIN leaders considered imported materials alienating and culturally im- perialistic, and advocated the development of localized curriculum, growing out of the particular contexts of the participants. Still, ALFIN has often been seen as the poorer brother of the two: EBL has been more privileged in terms of budget and personnel, and its teachers enjoy more status. Another problem arose as graduates of literacy programs moved on to the more advanced grades of study of EBL: many found it frustrating to enter a more formalized classroom, Operating under more traditional authoritarian methods, after they had participated actively in nonformal discussions about social issues of importance to them. Many drop out at this stage. There have been some attempts, however, to better integrate the two programs: some literacy teachers, for example, have continued with their graduates, offering second and third grades of EBL in the same context, but adOpting the materials of the more formal program. ALVIN has also been asked in some areas to offer training in its methodology to EBL teachers, who have recognized that the non-scholarized approach has been more effective with marginal adults. ALFIN is an acronym for "Alfabetizacion Integral" or Integrated Literacy Program. The name itself reflects the driing force in its conception: based upon a clear recognition of the intimate connection between education and social structure, ALFIN was seen as integral to a broader process V‘V: of transformation of the socio— {£1 §‘ 7? economic- political structure, and synonymous with political "conscientization." The literacy program was seen both as depen— dent on other structural changes and aimed at contributing to those changes. Thus, propa— ganda depicted the new literate with a book in one hand and a work tool in the other (right). Though the total support of the program by the regime can he questionned, there was general support for a program that trained people in work skills : i 3%" as well as reading and writing skills: it could be justified if it increased production. The leaders of ALFIN, however, did not see their goals as synonymous with those of functional literacy, internationally known through the efforts of UNESCO. The latter treats literacy train— 100 101 ing as an instrument to be used in the preparation of workers for purposes of economic deve10p- ment - whatever the social system of the society to which the learner belongs - and thus becomes functional mainly in the sense of preserving the status quo (Lizarzaburu). ALFIN was conceptually more closely related to the historical eXperience and philOSOphy of Paulo Freire, who had been invited to Peru to advise on the development of the program. The psycho-social method, associated with Freire, is aimed at the deve10pment of a critical consciousness of persons, leading to col- lective action toward a radical transformation of society. Each of the many countries that have adopted the psycho-social method have necessarily adapted it to their own context, creating their own versions, though at times distorting some basic tenets of the method. ALFIN leaders dis- tinguished their program from the Freire Brazilian experience along these points: - ALFIN stresses vocational training as a goal equally as important as literacy, since economic issues and work skills are basic to the problems of participants. — The ALFIN program is ethno-linguistic, adapting the method to indigenous languages, and offering bilingual classes. ‘ - While the Freire method tended to focus more on local problems and the community context, the ALFIN method attempts to conscienticize participants in the problems of the socio- economic structure of the entire nation, to find the causes of local problems in the structure of the national economy. — While Freire was preoccupied with the trans? formation of a "magical consciousness" to a "critical conSCiousness," ALFIN dismissed this issue as too abstract. and focused rather on practical action. - Participation in the community by teacher and students is explicitly encouraged in the ALFIN program, while the Freire model assumes that such participation will naturally evolve. The implica— tions of these distinctions enter the data analysis. Clearly the coordinators of ALIN saw them- selves involved in more than a process of teaching marginal people, but in a process of ending their marginalization, as the poster below attests. Mo gs. A Vrimsncm AAAAAAAAAAAA AAA AAAAA ; WAGON '“ I 33%” ouaou ’ ammo“ - : LIBERACION! m PARA 5m sm_ mm room _ . . - ..-.....\.__» 102 103 - H ‘3‘mflemLLm .' . nflluillflfl 4 unfinussmmn g required the support of the government and collaboration with other sectors involved in structural transformation. Such a comprehensive goal obviously From the beginning, the Educational Reform Commission had multidisciplinary teams working together on pilot programs. At the ministerial level. the Permanent Office of Educational Coordination (JUPCE) was created to co- ordinate educational activities with the work of other sectors of the state. For example. some ALFIN classes were held in health centers, like the one to the left; pre-natal and nutrition classes (as below) would be offered alternately with literacv classes. ‘ I | v '3L_ué&,po;u.lg A. and d“, Lydon . _n 1... . f... "I ‘ J ”I”; Q. J.‘ ». . -, ‘ ’ t. n:u:¢“o-‘ l ‘ A \- ..- v lgu‘nv ". . in»..4'-"'"" ‘ v - 'f 'd.” ‘ . u,“ -\ In several instances, literacy teachers were trained in special seminars by the Ministry of Health to build health issues into the content of their literacy teaching. The volunteer teacher below is offering a lesson in sexual education,requested by the Women, who admitted to very little understanding of how their own children had been born. Some coordination existed between ALFIN and the Ministry of Labour (around work training), the Ministry of Transport (which was to provide free transit rides for literacy teachers), and the Ministry of Agriculture. The government-backed National Agrarian Confederation made an official resolution in 1974 to involve agrarian organizations directly in the ALFIN program. 104 105 Five Official Objectives of ALFIN 1) There was, of course, the most obvious objective of learning to read and write and to mani— pulate simple arithmetic. In actuality, many literacy teachers remained "alfabetista" — concern- ing themselves exclusively with this objective, while some more politically committed teachers went to the other extreme of ignoring this objective almost completely. Of course, technical training also required skilled instructors, and not all literacy teachers were as versatile as the man below, who ended up teaching women to sew. .' | ' ‘ /, in; .6 ‘ J. ’ . 2) Training in work skills was always noted as a - ‘flk major goal, but there were many obstacles to opera- tionalizing such training. First, it often called for material supplies for which there were few funds. And sometimes, when special monies were allotted for purchase of machinery, as in the case above, community interests had not been previously accessed, and the centers went unused. ¢ 106 107 l l ' ' I. I I‘ - h l ' ‘ “ ‘ ~ . 0 - .' .1. a ‘ .~ " '. '. i I i a _. .'- , 0 ,‘ .. ‘ .3 , "1‘ I.“ , o .' . , ~-. . I ‘ ~ I « ~q‘v' . ' . -. .. . -~ v r as: .. . 7‘ p- "I- Q; r ‘ .‘1. I ' ’ ,l:. v I-".| 'fl.fi :‘h‘: . o . I. 4 , u a, .4‘iu‘ *- A<- . - .," IU~ I ' . ' . . p. ‘ W ‘ A‘ g« ‘ w - ‘_ , . . ‘i' . -_ .. ‘.":,7~’. " '5 -‘ H‘ , m 5‘09 ' - .‘ .’ ‘ ,g i .I -- .111 5|“ f, . V" J ‘b. p ' .1. . g." 3"“ . .. ‘ ' . " !‘ " V ' r- v’ .'.. ’ ‘u . . . 4 w w .st ‘ . I “um-4.. mi - . .‘-_ 3.1..) . . 1,, , . V ., l . . 3 3) Initially, ALFIN operated primarily in marginal urban areas. and only in Spanish. But critical political reaction to the unilingual tendency spur- red the development of bilingual and rural pro- grams. Research was undertaken to adapt the ALFIN method to five indigenous languages: in the codi- fication to the left, the vocabulary is written in Shipibo. the language of a jungle tribe. A'third objective, then, was to help people regain their ethno-linguistic personality, by en- couraging events of cultural expression or inte- grating issues of cultural preservation into clas- ses. But at the same time. the urban literacy program played an important role in the accultura- tion process of rural peasants into the city: in turn, many younger participants would negate the food, clothes, dances. and customs of their past, considering them backward. This was a major con- tradiction in the program. 4) Another objective was the acquisition of a socio—historical awareness on the part of the parti— cipants. This involved a sense of the history of the people and of the forces that maintained and still maintain their domination: from the Spanish conquistadores to the present-day multinationals, such as Johnson's and Johnson's above, that use the cheap labour of rural migrants in dependent economies like Peru to build up the profit margin of their international operations. This objec— tive is the reflective dimension of the conscientization goal, the major subject of this study. 108 109 5) The active dimension necessary for a genuine conscientization is implied in the fifth official objective of ALFIN: organized participation and social mobilization within the process of struct- ural transformation. This most critical goal met both external and internal obstacles. External- ly, there were the many socially-oriented groups that were also trying to organize the communities. Though there was often collaboration amongst the groups, there was at times a particular competi- tive tension between ALFIN and SINAMOS, the government's social mobilization program mentionned earlier. SINAMOS "promotores" were better paid and equipped, but usually did not live in the community. In contrast, ALFIN teachers often came from the communities themselves, or would at least live there while working; they usually represented a different political perspective. So any success in real pOpular mobilization aided by ALFIN served to threaten government control: and there are stories of SINAMOS representatives entering new communities under the guise of ALFIN animators, because the latter were more easily accepted. Actually. any group that tried to organize communities met with inevitable tensions internal to the process as well. ALFIN rarely got enough community people to serve on a local advisory committee to make it operative. Residents tired of duplication, and developed a pessimism about the potential of such mobilization. The ALFIN method itself was seen at times as only contribut- ing to growing frustrations, raising expectations for changes without being able to bring them about. After awhile, conscientized illiterates would complain: "Words can't be eaten.‘ when they could see no concrete economic results from their learning to read and write. 110 111 In developing their own version of the psycho—social method, ALFIN leaders distinguished between three stages in the process: 1) Investigation of the Social Reality: The first stage called for a thorough study of the community. If the ALFIN teacher came from the out— side, this was the period during which s/he got to know the people, to iden— tify their needs, to recruit illiter- ates for the classes. Sometimes teams would carry out systematic research: on the problems, resources, organiza- tions, thematic words most often used. Other times, the process was very in- formal, as with the teacher to the left, recruiting participants from a wake. 2) Programming: Drawing upon this information, teachers would gather in teams and/or with potential participants to de— velop a list of the major problems of the community, the key related themes, the "family" of related words to serve as "gen— erative words." Codifications, or symbolic representa— tions, of the themes would be made to be ,, used as curriculum tools in involving parti— cipants in the issues and in naming the words to be treated in the class. The example above shows the ingenuity used in simple sketches,depicting themes such as "food," in the actual problematic con- text, showing street peddlers surrounded by garbage. 112 113 3) The third stage was the literacy class meeting itself. Codifications Were used as cata— lysts for discussions on the relevant social themes; generative words emerging from these discus- sions were broken down into syllabic families; new words could be formed from these syllables. (This process is detailed in the photo—novel on pages iQV-IYV.) Practices in writing, reading, and mathematics followed. - ' ‘ \ . a.\\ \ It is interesting to note that although in its conception ALFIN emphasized the conscientiza- tion and action goals as strongly as the literacy ones, this process (both the most critical and the most difficult) was not explicitly detailed in its chronology of methodological stages. A recent (1976) Methodological Guide published by the national office offers some examples of 'photographic codifications and includes a guide for the decoding process: specific questions are to help lead participants to a more profound analysis of the issues (e.g., a photo of a community assembly is accompanied by questions like "What problems should we discuss in 22; meetings?"). In actuality, this process does not happen as often as hoped for. It requires that the teacher create original curriculum tools and have the animation skills to involve-participants in critical discussions around them. Many prefer to use already-made texts of some sort; so regional teams have put together simple booklets with themes common to people in the area. This is in some ways contradictory to locally-based participatory process of the Freire method, and the products in- evitably reflect the ideological perspective of their creators, with sentences like these: "The rich man deceives the poor worker, pays him little, and robs him." A further difficulty in initiating consciousness-raising sessions lay in the resistance of participants; some felt they were not in "school" if they were not doing formalized exercises in reading and writing. Many also appeared unaccustomed to the group discussion method; simultan- eous conversations would emerge. There were the more basic problems, too, of attendance and LL"? 115 energy; p60p1e would arrive at different times, and often too tired from work or insufficient nutri- tion for concentrated group activity. . : What, then were the motivations that brought an 11- literate to an ALFIN class? Surely, they did not come to have their consciousness raised; and often, nor did they come out of a genuine desire to learn. The external fac— tors were more real. Especially in urban areas, there was a pressure to have a voting identification card and num- ber. It was needed to apply for a steady job, to open a bank account, to secure insurance, to register children in school. It was demanded at check points for bus travel within the country, and even on the street as identifi- cation. Its paramount importance is reflected in the photo ad to the left which gives the name, occupation, and v0ting card number of a prospective consumer. Of course, gister, one had to be able to sign his/her name and read minimal instructions. It's no wonder that many came to literacy classes just to learn enough reading and writing in order to apply for this card. It was not uncommon for literacy classes to be linked directly to the local sponsoring groups, and attendance to the classes required for access to monthly rations. (I was amazed at the turnout of seventy women to a class one day, only to discover two hours later that they had come to fill their bags and their stomachs, and not ‘et" :\\:} f' necessarily their brains, as shown in the accompanying g r pictures.) The card was not so crucial to women who stayed around the home. But they were often drawn to classes by other very basic needs. In squatter settlements, church groups regularly offered rations of basic food stuffs, channeled through them by aid agencies. 116 117 Other motivations were not so closely tied to survival, but were equally emotive: rural migrants needed basic reading skills in order to get around in the city - reading transport and commercial signs; others wanted to learn math so that they "would not be cheated in the market." Women were often drive by shame to learn so that they could help their children with homework or so they could sign papers when visiting teachers at school. Certainly these varied motivations did have a common thread: they reflected the difficulties of the socio-economic reality in which most illiterates found themselves. Once again, education could only have influence within the limited context of such a reality. At the administrative level, the historical development of the ALFIN program, too, reflected these constraints. Since its conception in 1973, three different periods can be distinguished. 1) During the Initial Phase, the literacy program was called "Operation ALFIN," reflecting its tentative yet impassioned nature as a kind of national campaign. Field coordinators were sent into the field for a month to gather information about needs and resources, and to select priority areas. During the last half of 1973, 700 teachers were selected, with preference given to "gente de la base,’ or grass-roots pe0p1e, with ideological commitment, but with minimal formal educa- tional requirements (most had completed secondary school). At this stage, as administration was centralized, the first teachers gathered together in Lima for an intensive month of training: in tools for analyzing the national reality, in the use of the ALFIN method, and in communication techniques. It was an experimental era of much Optimism and solidarity. 2) In June of 197#, a group of senior Ministry officials transferred the responsibility of ALFIN from the National Ekecutive Committee to the regional and zonal education departments, which now made budget decisions and handled selection, training, and evaluation. While this Decentrali- zation Phase was consonant with the direction of the Reform, there were indicators that the sup— port structure in the field was not yet built up enough to make it operative. In the zonal offices, all adult education programs were coordinated together through the zonal JUPCE, and ALFIN was not given priority in terms of staff time. Thus, ALFIN field coordinators were forced to devote most of their time to administrative functions; careful selection and training of teachers often went neglected. Also the relationship with the national headquarters and the chains of command were not clearly defined. There were teams in the national offices dealing with programming, promotion. pedagogical techniques, and evaluation; they offered regional offices help in these areas. But officially, the zonal offices had supervisory control, and exhibited a kind of passive resistance toward headquarters. Lizarzaburu suggests that perhaps the program was premature, that the re- volutionary process needed to be more advanced and the local administrative machinery more skilled in self-directed. community-based, collaborative organization. 3) A shift to a third stage can be noted shortly after the August 1975 coup by the more con- servative regime of Bermudez. At the local level, some literacy teacher/community activists were asked to leave ALFIN; and criteria for selection shifted back to more formal requirements. There was a constant pressure from the Ministry to reach numerical goals of new literates; teachers were 1153 119 El HanrnbUIswa a" J UNI? [UNSHl/[Nflfl 50M] [ ; [zJIJU’HI'[/7..till/1111mm:A ......... ALFABETIZACION ' INTEGRAL 4. -. _ PIAII’EA tnucn Mauro. ' :_ , , _ .. , I "Rm 0: uncouctuc ’ [WWII/50 drum/15min. :1 jit- . ”"5 pg“:- 1,; -, 6:23:31 "03:1“ .-. VMNflfl/[NUXNM “PHIL/Uh . "1 x T: i . i \ _-_a Li TIAISFOR:ARLA p ,. M .-u it“ fi ' " ‘ 1 . '- ‘ [.1 1“... J ‘1“_ _". V \ ‘ “ r .‘ I 24’- . ' 1".» ( A \ ‘ " r V I" asked to move quickly on to another group every six months, contributing to a lack of continuity in any community work and producing dysfunctional illiterates, who without follow-up soon fell back into illiteracy. There were other clear signs of this Phase of Recession and Repression. An ALFIN-sponsored community event (photo to left) including speeches and songs critical of government policies was surveilled by government representatives; all subsequent events of its kind were prohibited. The July economic crisis was felt at all levels: class attendance fell as migrants took on second jobs or returned to the mountains. The national program budget remained at $3 million, while inflation almost doubled. The ALFIN strategy for 1976-77 reflected these austerity measures: there was a new thrust for intersectorial cooperation (often with financial motivations, as with cooperatives that officially earmarked 5% of their budget for education), teachers were charged with recruiting three new volunteer teachers from their communities (offering only an incentive wage), "convenios" were encouraged in which other agencies would administer the literacy program in local areas with ALFIN support, teams were put in priority zones (which in government terms meant the most politi- cally eXplosive urban areas). In October 1976, the Ministry of the Interior got involved in re— viewing some regionally-produced texts, proclaiming them subversive. From then on, prior approval by the regional educational director was required for any materials used in the program. Clearly, the growing repression was as evident in ALFIN as it was anywhere. 120 121 ‘1: 9 .‘J E ALFALIT,AAggther Institution. Another Model It has become clear that the ALFIN program was definitely shaped by its institutional frame— work; both the Ministry of Eflucation and other government sectors provided pressure (economic and political) that limited the form the psycho— social model would take in that context. Any institution has hidden agendas for its educational programs. As a contrast to ALFIN, I studied ALFALIT, another literacy program sponsor- ed by the Peruvian Evangelical Church, initiating their own version of the Freire method. First, the physical and symbolic contrasts: ALFIN was located in a government bureaucracy and had to conform to the changing politics of that structure, on whom it depended financially. It supported a new nationalism, epitomized in Tupac Amaru, one of the last Inca heroes to fall to the Spaniards (on the wall of the ALFIN office in photo to the left). .‘1 ‘ A M I , . -:oo-I.-—-.u-L—f ~o III-“I‘m.“ .. “ ‘ t I .- . k ' ~~ ' ' ,. .- ‘ pm... ... - . _ 9"1'1‘.‘ Wm” «ur- “5-: “H m»; ' ‘ - . ' V WNW-F“ «uniai w. em; .. ‘ ‘ ' v. ' ' ‘ . _ ‘ ~64:th -r k . Ts. .";..-. . 'Iv \~.._,' . "'. V "I. . C'i’.t' ' I 5m.’» a;' , x ”' . ' ,; a: ,J ' s e 38" 3.3 #11:" 3’5“: r7 33:1 1‘ , wade ' 1'31 ~ ' "’ ‘ ~W§fl '4' m. w A...» .‘ indi The walls of the ALFALIT office are equally reveali g: the first poster cates a major goal of the literacy program - to read the Bible, shown with rays of light emanating from it. The second poster calls for a goal of 100,000 new readers of the Bible in Latin American, implying international links in the organization, and the third, a calendar, comes from Germany, one source of funding for the program. ALFALIT Peru is located in the office of the Church World Service, an ecumenical protestant Operation which provides social services to the Peruvian poor, originally as an intermediary for North American Church mission funds and international aid agencies (e.g., setting up nutrition centres to distribute free food from US/AID, pressured by U.S. farmers to buy their agricultural 123 surplus - see photo to the left). ALFALIT International is historically tied to this network as well. It was established in 1962 in Costa Rica by an evangelical cou- ple, who were refugees of the Cuban Batista regime, and had close ties with the Evangelical Church in Florida. Funds come mainly from U.S. churches and the world lit— eracy group, Lit-Lit, located in New York City. By 1976, ALFALIT International operated in twelve Latin American countries, and usually directly through the churches, often aided by American missionaries. The founders came to Peru with one such missionary in 1967 to start ALFALIT Peru, "as a new method to do work for Christ." Since then, the national program has depended on international headquarters for funds; but it receives as well support from a couple other internat— ional aid agencies. There are contractual agreements with the national Biblical Society, which provides bibl- ical literature as supplementary reading material, and with the Peruvian Association of EVangelical University Students, which is to provide student volunteers as teachers. A special relationship exists with Church World Service as well: the current president of the ALFALIT Board is also executive dir- ector of CWS (and United States-educated). ALFALIT is thus amongst a constellation of religious organizations concerned with international aid. Yet as international and aid relationships have changed, so has ALFALIT. In the late 60's, for example, American companies in Peru, such as the Cerro de Pasco Corporation, brought along missionaries as part of the company's services to employees. Peruvian evangelicals, and amongst them some ALFALIT coordinators, enjoyed the privileges of this expatriot community ( better salaries, free train rides, etc.). When the corporation was exprOpriated and nationalized in 1969, the Americans and their missionaries were forced to leave, and with them went much of the support for local evangelical programs. U.S. disapproval of the Velasco regime appeared to in- fluence the generosity of American mission groups, such as the Methodist Church, which has al- most completely phased out its support in Peru; both Church World Service and ALFALIT have been effected. It becomes more and more understandable why many evangelicals opposed the new more socialist-oriented government. 124 125 To understand ALFALIT as an institution in contrast to ALFIN, one must also understand the his- tory of the Evangelical Church in Latin America, and its relation- ship to the more powerful Catholic Church and to the State. The EVangelicals (represented by the simple wooden cross) make up a new and small minority in a traditionally Catholic culture (represented by the older, more elaborate structure). Missioné aries came from Europe in the last half of the 19th century, but the greatest influx has been by Ameri- can missionaries in the last 50 years. The democratic cultural values that they brought with their faith were considered heretic by the more hierarchical Catholics, and there are stories of riots and sabotage of the first Protestants who tried to practice their beliefs in Lima in the early 1900's. Because the Catholic Church was inevitably associated with the wealthy and with the government in power, the evange- licals led a constant battle against the Church-State relation prevailing in Latin America. 126 127 7' In terms of education, some of the more innovative developments in Peru are due to efforts of groups like the Seventh Day Adventists, who Opened schools to the Indian population in southern Peru during the first decades of the century; this was contrary to the eXpansion of the hacienda system which tried to deny educational Opportunities to Indians, for fear that they might learn too much and rebel. "The basic thing," wrote one teacher, "is that they are transforming the spirit Of the Indian, bringing him into civic life, making him aware of his rights and obliga- tions. separating him from the vices of coca and alcohol. removing superstition. curing illnesses, showing the best way toward human dignity." (Ehcinas) But the teachers were also missionaries, and simultaneous with their proselytization was Often a westernization of the newly converted. SO you have examples such as the evangelical nurse who proudly displayed photos Of a native health worker she had trained: "This is Emmanuel when we arrived in 1965," she explained, point- ing to an Indian with long hair, tribal dress, a ring in his nose. "And here he is in 1975," she proclaimed proudly, showing a photo of a short-haired, white—shirted Indian. For her, the adcption Of western values was part and parcel of conversion to Christianity; the change reflect- ed progress, and not a destruction of culture. ‘ The world view represented by fundamentalist Protestants came into real conflict with the progressive military regime and the Freire method adcpted by the literacy program. It denies any ideological implications of the Christian faith or the church as an institution, proclaiming itself apolitical. The current director of ALFALIT International eXplains: "Our politics is A '7 s 1 _———‘ :‘forts southern cienda 195: the politics of the cross: two arms Open to the left and the right." And the founders of the evangelical program protested Freire's attack of it as one which "domesticates' people to main- tain the "status quo;" they accuse Freire of proselytization and "politization, putting the 1J28 129 peasants against authorities, with bad will. NO one is happy with hate and violence." This posi- tive orientation leads to another difficulty the evangelicals have with the psycho—social method: a tendency to see everything in black and white, in terms Of good and bad, is counter to the critical, dialectical approach of Freire. This tension is evident in the experience of an ALFALIT class in the rural mountains (see photo to the left): in discussing the social themes provoked by the photo codifi- cation to the right, some older church women in the class began to express their dis- pleasure at the scanty dress of the sales girls in the picture. As the critique pro- gressed, one woman interjected: "But we shouldn't speak badly Of them; the Bible says we shouldn't criticize." And that simple admonishment ended any further critical reflection Of the issues. Thirdly, the focus on individual salvation and a better after-life came into tension with the collective and activist present orientation implied in the conscientization process. mm {0001: ’U- 12011111!“le I I --l .04.. m.— If ‘ QEMUHE 10“” “'3' 330 “" 130 131 a ". . I. .. ' ~ ' v‘u ‘ ‘8. '1‘. v." A ,_ / / ..1 gr}. 1’; .“'. ._ .‘ué. : i; A .‘ .y ‘ ‘1"‘fign. 5-, g". I ‘R‘ 2" ' .3 é‘k} ‘I ;a" '~ 0 . _ y .3' a“ ’. ‘ :-dLr:‘ dk‘ 1:, ‘ ‘0‘ do: What, then, led ALFALIT Peru to develop a new methodology based upon Freire's psycho-social model? There were pressures from all sides: the Ministry Of Education refused to authorize the program unless ALFALIT adapted its methodology to ALFIN's; a continent-wide evaluation commis— sioned by the Costa Rica office and an evaluation of the Peruvian program pressured for changes (one of the evaluators had worked with Freire in Chile). Amongst Peruvian evangelicals, too, there u ‘ coxmitu action. Of Chi] 1 Red up inStex h. e, a “3k“ w U A there were the more liberal Protestants whose growing social consciousness led them to greater commitment to community development. if not always to a structural analysis and radical social action. (These liberal denominations also have an international connection with the World Council of Churches, where Freire himself is now a consultant.) ALFALIT's President, a Methodist, sum— med up their position: "You no longer just build a hospital for diseases caused by bad water, but instead you get at the causes of poor health and lack of water, and this may become political. The evangelical must confront reality. We condemn but we haven't done a thing; we're afraid to make waves. We must begin by waking up our own people." And this was the first objective of ALFALIT Peru when they introduced the new methods in 1976: to conscienticize the church members, particularly those involved as promoters or teachers in the literacy program. After a year-long evaluation of the program by a sociologist and a social communication specialist, and research on the reality of urban squatter settlements, mate- rials were developed for two different methods to be tested: one was called the "Mixed Method," a revision of the Old ALFALIT method; the other was a version of the "Psycho-Social Method" of Freire. The idea was not to change too drastically, by using some of the old and some of the new. But the materials for each method included photographic or graphic codifications Of social themes: the major differences were that the Mixed Method included reference to the Church and maintained the single word approach, while the psycho-social version introduced words through sentences 132 133 reflecting a particular social context (e.g., "Prices are rising," "Garbage draws flies," "The street peddlers have been kicked out."). A national seminar in April introduced the new materials to ten program coordinators from around the country (all were church leaders and two were foreign missionaries). Two representa- tives from the national ALFIN Office presented sessions on the ALFIN methodology. During the next six months, thirteen training workshOps were Offerred to volunteer teachers in various parts of Peru. A national newsletter and weekly radio program also shifted from purely religious con- tent to include discussions on educational and social issues, aiding in the change process. The real challenge was to get programs Off the ground in the local churches. In the past, there have been mass evangelical campaigns during which volunteer teachers have been recruited in large numbers, motivated by the "desire to serve" and "to bring the light where there is darkness." However, after one such campaign in 1971, which trained 1335 teachers, there were only 60 new readers of the Bible from subsequent literacy classes. Nonetheless, the churches provided a real base for the classes and Offerred much Opportunity for reading practice with hymns, prayers, and Bible stories; and the "each one, teach one"approach (which ALFALIT International had adopted from Laubach) was consistent with the kind of active "testimonies" encouraged by ENangelicals (see photo to the right). And one pastor admitted that ALFALIT Opened some doors that the Church couldn’t:"When you come with materials to teach literacy, people accept you more than when you knock on their door as a pastor, though the work is the same." 134 a \ cut: ‘tn uwuu : 0 “Sn 6: u «.2 an oui I : .;< :2: no 2:2. .22 : ; L m .u .2 E is .5 \\ .0 . . N .2" 3; .353 .9 em _. .e .. \l. a 1...: sets. . e y . F: m V ’ . q __ It. 1 a f\ a s . n -a m m m w m t. H m m, a... w The 135 But as much as the strategy was to first educate the ALFALIT constituency in the new methods, there was resistance at several levels. Many local church peo- ple found the new materials too complicated and too po- litical and returned to the Older texts and readers with simpler, religious content (e.g., "My Neighbors and My God," "Senor Jesus Comes"). And as most illit- erate participants were evangelicals, even their writ- ing notebooks reflected these church-centered interests. ‘ .fj) l E ,2- as in the drawing to the left. Within the national “some“ v'*» u i” T ”a. 9» a: A. .._ ”J‘TT pas-q; ’32:“4' '6”; 1‘ I 4“. ~ ‘ ~ I' - T":*:¢I executive committee as well, there were reflected the tensions between the more liberal and the more funda- nfv‘fi We 'TI . we! ' 59*T'.31f1 mentalist Protestants; as one more conservative board member eXpressed: "The psycho-social method is all right if used by Evangelicals, but in the hands of the communists, it's only political propaganda." This anti-communist argument was just as strong at the international level (where the founders and the current director were exiled by Castro's communist regime). Peru was one of the few countries in Latin America in which ALFALIT was forced to adapt its program to the government's. And the critique of the new methods became \ \) clear after a visit by two representatives of ALFALIT International. They proposed a new policy to the annual meeting which would cut funding from those affiliates that received support from other agencies, and would require that any affiliate using "teaching methods or philosophies alien to ALFALIT International" no longer use the same name. What's more, a telegram was sent to ALFALIT Peru announcing that their new materials were not to be introduced or discussed at the international meeting. And even though the new methods were conforming to Ministry pressure and there was collabora- tion between ALFIN and ALFALIT in some areas, community educational nucleos did not always make it easy for ALFALIT to initiate their own programs. The "convenios", or contractual agreements with the NEC's, required long bureaucratic procedures: some discouraged evangelicals gave up efforts to work with the community at large and returned to the churches, where there were fewer hassles. There persisted a perception on the part of ALFIN leaders that ALFALIT's sole interest was in teaching people to read the Bible: some saw the changes as not genuine, but as a mere change of rhetoric for the sake of survival. One of the program staff of ALFALIT Peru agreed: "They're just going to be used to further the evangelistic cause, to appease the Ministry and ALFALIT International." The new program was thus caught in the middle of many contradictory forces: pressure from its international funding source not to change, pressure from the government authorizing body to change, pressure from local pe0ple and church leaders of both sorts. It made it difficult for ALFALIT 136 137 to ever make the new program Operative. The ten- sions are well—illustrated by a comment made by a pro- gram staff member. "This photo," she said, pointing to the smiling child worker to the left, "reflects the old AFLALIT method - an idealization of life, where even the poor are seen as happy, if saved, while their eco- nomic needs are ignored." "And this," she explained, pointing to the photo of the blind man and child, "represents the new ALFALIT, which tries to conIront the economic realities, to make people conscious of the problems, and to work toward solutions." In recognizing how much the world view and the V institutional framework of ALFALIT mold their adapta- tion of Freire's conscientization process, it becomes clearer how ALFIN, too, was shaped by the structural constraints and ideological shifts of the government which spawned it. In fact, neWS from Peru in 1977 in- dicated that it was sharing the same fate as ALFALIT, at the hands of a more rightest government. 138 UR’BHN M lCJRPaMT CQNTEXT ' A." “1m“.dew. *"IrA:.\g->‘m '1 . ‘;:fl§u- ’. 1-- r» v. a - ;~.— ‘3“ 30 ;_ , . +~amsazzsr-<&+:7,xr,. 1; m ‘ . _ f 7 n [CI-k” fus‘Zfi'd‘ 589“ l 'N‘. ‘ b" As the macrocosm of our illiterate subjects becomes more specific and more clearly defined. we focus in on their migration and urban settlement experiences. Both communities of the case studies are Lima sqatter settlements made up of migrants of rural mountain origin. What has caused the mass exodus of rural people to the urban areas in the last 50 years? Quijano insists that the migration process must be analyzed historically in relationship to the urbanization process common to most Latin Ameri— can societies, whose economies are dependent up— on the economic activities of the dominant metropolitan centers of the capitalist west. With the development of the international capi— talist system, there was a shift from the pri— mary sector activities (such as sugar and cot- ton plantations, oil fields, mines, in the case of rural Peru) to investment in the secondary and tertiary urban activities (manufacturing and financial enterprises). The growth of the "import substitution" induStries in the 50's and 60's (financed by foreign capital) drew workers from the declining rural extractive sector to urban factories. lho lhl Thus, rural Peruvians were drawn to the urban centers primarily for economic reasons. although lack of resources in the hometown was not always a strong factor (Bradfield). In fact, the typi- cal migrant is not the poorest indigenous peasant, but often the younger and the more ambitious (Mangin). Usually the man sets off first, bring- ing his family later when he is established. Besides the basic economic motivations, they are attracted to greater educational opportunities, social mobility, better facilities, the chance to join other family members. Many times there are illusions of the gilded city, and many suffer physiological and psychological trauma when they arrive and find themselves in a different world, without family or work (because the new industries are often replacing men with machinery). (“J the place of origin. sellers and truck drivers at the central market in Lima, join regional organizations. . n v - u' : ‘\*~ ‘~ . l ‘.- ' ._A. A; 1 .x.-1 3_- i v T ' a '. . 14:31.3“; VA“ .s‘ ' .3" c . . - . \ For those who don't return home in discouragement, there is still a constant contact with They settle with people from their area, exchange news and goods through mm Hwy return home periodically, especially for festivals, where they are treated with great respect. v. . . 5.31.1. '1 Til. l r I .4 , . ;ki. M2 143 One of the effects of the massive migration to the cities has been the development of squatter settlements in the fringe areas. Close to one—third of the three mil— lion residents of Lima live in these "young towns", as they have been bene— volently renamed by the military regime (replacing other more derogatory labels like barriada, slum, belt of misery, social cancer). They have historically been formed by the invasion (photo to the left) of vacant land by organized poor who ar— rive at night and lay claim to the land by constructing makeshift shelters (right). The invasions are illegal in that they violate zoning regulations and building codes, and occupy land without a title. But the 700 such settlements in Peru have certainly helped to ease the low-income housing shortage caused by rapid urban— ization. lhh 145 Despite the illegality of the invasions, Peru— vian governments have successively given their own kind of support to these squatter settlements (Col- lier). primarily because they saw the contribution of settlements to urban development and they recog- nized the political potential of this growing popu- lation of urban poor. A phrase from the national an- them graces the fence of a recent invasion: "We are free, we will always be free." (photo to the left) The policy of the current regime has perhaps done the most to perpetuate the illusion and to stabilize the growth of squatter settlements: enacting legis- lation to clarify ambiguous property laws, creating mechanisms to secure land titles for older settle- ments, encouraging COOperative ventures between com- munity leaders and the private sector, organizing the towns politically into self-directed autonomous units (through SINAMOS), insulating them from the appeals of political parties (Collier). ()1 New invasions are not squelched by military force, but rather aided in relocation to a government-sponsored settlement: still increased regulation of settlment and speculation is aimed at discouraging migration to over-populated Lima. The armed forces also play a role in a public works program for the "young towns" and in SINAMOS (e.g., the head 0f the Lima military region is also director of the metrOpolitan organization of SINAMOS). 146 In? For the rural migrant to Lima, the lot is all important. First of all. the only other housing Option would be in the inner-city slums (photo to the left), where many migrants first settled, but found rents prohibitive and conditions much more crowded and miserable. Homes have been stacked upon homes, covering every inch of available space; there is not even room for streets. The settlements, on the other hand, offer other Opportunities to migrants: to have their own land, to improve their own homes, to join in cooperative efforts with other settlers to build roads and secure basic services, even to continue . O . , ' ‘ .1 ' , ' . _I . 1' . , - -- "“.""-m a 4,-eia “.< . .i‘ u Q‘ - . '.~ ’ '1. ' 133‘ 6' . ' ‘- . .‘ - . . , 1 .- '- , . .0 ‘ I 4. .1 .1 y‘Vaf-y K~> t' ‘ A t. . .é‘- » .,, .. .0 i . , . ~1: -.I.I ‘ '- N' n“l~' 1,. gut-91. : . raising animals and cultivating small gardens: in other words, to maintain an urban subsistence economy. all to out ild inue riy‘ _ 71‘: J; , m an czar-yrs; 2?;1 434...“ "'~'_ . , - . I '2> , A, . -.5‘ 1 ? ,7"- 5 V'Lr ‘ ;w¢ss '.4 Nonetheless. increased regulation of settlement formation and of land speculation (by the rich as well as the poor) by the present regime has made it more difficult to get a lot. And even though one of the roles of SINAMOS has been to facilitate the granting of land titles to "young town" settlers, this process still takes years, and overwhelming bureaucratic and legal battles. (One requirement, for example, is a certificate of civil marriage: this has Spurred a rush of mass marriages of common law couples). And since the more reformist regime was overthrown in 1975, some of the wealthy ex~landowners have been able to effectively pres- sure officials in unsettled disputes over property title. 148 149 One counter—strategy of settlers has been to build as quickly as possible a more permanent home, one of bricks or cement re- placing the original straw structure. Still bricks have become more and more expensive, so families may acquire materials slowly, sometimes taking as long as ten years to finish the home (Turner). '1',» ’2 Or neighborhood associations may enter into savings schemes with private banks, in order to install basic services, like electricity (above), with the contribution of labor and money of the residents. 150 In the meantime, supplies are limited (trucks may deliver water 2 or 3 times a week) and costly (deliverers were reported to have charged 10 cents a cylinder above the set price - El Comercio 1976). Health hazards run high under such conditions, too, as poor water and accumulated wastes contribute to illness and a high infant mortality rate. - i .\ 3421' 1 . . : 2y,. ’0 .A‘ . \ ‘. Hater (above) and sewerage sys- tems (photo to the right) are usually the last to be installed in barrios. _ ;- - .“.'.f)~' I \*'._.-P‘ . ., i.“ - 3‘. 3" ‘r- " a I. a ’ 95,-1‘ .l‘,r‘_ ' ' a. . .J""‘t‘ " . . ,,».‘:a,~eefiiifl@§r§w It“ 3 ~' . 3."; " A” 1?, ‘ ‘ . OJ 4 151 Often priority is given by residents to the provision of communal facilities,' like schools and medical centers, above public services for home use (Turner). This preoccupation for securing services and facilities diffuses energy from broader political organization and causes resentment of the growing fully-equipped "urbanizations,' or housing developments. In late 1976, following the develop- ment of a new National Office for the Parti- cipation of the Young Towns (replacing SINA- MOS, while using the same structure), a $21 million project for financing services (especially schools) in the settlements was announced: a loan from the International Bank of Reconstruction and DeveIOpment provided funds. Help from the outside has been a constant if not always welcome element in the develop» ment of the "young towns. As long as there have been invasions, the invaders have been in- vaded : by missionaries, community organizers, volunteer workers, social researchers. A ' '7 w ; ' ’ ‘ » ’7 Lima notes that their contributions range from ”I pure financial aid and material assistance to study by DESCO of 26 such helping groups in ~ educational programs, health centers, com— munity development projects. The more established of these outside organizers are the Church and the school. The educational system has become more com— munity—based through the NEC‘s created by the Reform: in this photo, a regional pro- gram director is trying to involve migrant women in setting up a pro—schoolers' pro— gram in their settlement. 152 153 The Church remains an institution with formidable influence in the barrios: even though the women in the photo below react with some ambivalence to the admonishments of the priest (to marry, baptize their children, etc.), they come loyally to the meetings of the Mothers' Club, where knitting classes are Offered, community events organized, work projects undertaken, free food distributed as well as Bible lessons studied. I'm: «1.: 1 {ER} ‘2’»): .‘.\ a \lal I 14¢ SINAMOS, too, has played a major role in organizing the settlements down to the block, as evident in the committee head— quarters above. Though this is an attempt at grass—roots organization, SINAMOS has not always respected the neighborhood as— sociations already existing, so organizing becomes a form of control. Most of the helping groups are seen as supporting a self—help, community deve— lopment response to the social problems of urban migrants, which neutralizes politi— cally large sectors of the urban poor by focusing their attention on community is— sues rather than on more basic economic issues related to work (left primarily to unions - photo below). 154 155 W ‘tv-rvr-r ‘ w—w ‘1 'F'. .v .. “ Q ‘ n. And it is the issue of employment that remains the major preoccupation for the migrant to Lima. The illusion of unlimited work oppor- tunity in the city soon dissolves, as it becomes clear that the process of industrial growth has replaced a labor-intensive economy with a capital- intensive one. Close to 50 per cent of the eco- nomically active urban population are unemployed or underemployed. One manifestation of this grave problem has been the massive increase in the number of street peddlers, or "ambulantes," (as in photo to the left), lining many of the major streets in Lima. Periodically, they are forced off the public space, particularly during international gatherings, as they embarrass the government. In mid 1976, a multisectorial com- mission finally initiated a census, registering 65000 ambulantes in Lima alone. Many migrant women also take to the streets to supplement their meagre family income, with small food stalls, where their children are raised. And others have been able to main- tain rural subsistence activities midst their new concrete environment, raising animals, weaving their own clothes, cultivating small gardens (photos below).- J . O 156 Beyond the survival iSSUes, urban migranE must face other problems of adaptation to life in Lima. Most are of indigenous extraction and must confront the discrimination of the domi- nant mestizo population in the capital. (Women have ample opportunity as most work as domes— tic servants for more wealthy Limenans.) The culture shock is severe for many and the re— sponses are varied. Some attempt to imitate the customs and life style of the dominant cul- ture, shedding the poncho and sombrero for more western dress, for example (as the man at the far right in the photo below), while others are easily identifiable as indigenous mountain people on the city streets (as the woman in the middle). 4w: if x In V L, . ‘ W1 1'»: “77.1116 0' For those who feel inferior in their new setting, there is a tendency to negate one's H origins and traditional practices. But in the "young towns where people from one area of the Sierra may settle together, many customs are perpetuated; particularly by the older re- sidents, who are the first to join in on traditional mountain dances, for example, like the women dancing the "huayno" in the photo above. 158 159 The focus of this study is the ur— ban migrant woman and her experience in the ALFIN literacy program. A review of the migration and urbanization pro— cesses has made it clear that this par— ticular context will have an effect on her efforts to learn to read and write. But the program is also operating in the other two major areas of Peru: the Sierra (Andean mountain region) and the Selva (the jungle area). Women in the rural mountains have not the same need to be literate, as their life ac- tivity revolves around the field, the market, and the hearth (top photo): so ALFIN has had to develop training in new skills, such as sewing (bottom photo) to attract female participants. Thus, the issue of cultural con- tact, domination, and change appears common to programs in all areas: it will be treated in the present study only in the urban migrant setting. fill‘ Ecological and cultural differences also emerge in ALFIN's jungle program. Some mestizo teachers considering the above photo of a native home as a codification for a literacy class suggested that walls and rooms were needed to improve the dwelling. , . p . WWOV) Others countered them, pointing out that the poten— ‘ ' " ;- 6.‘¥%fl tial floods in that area demanded such structures, which were also consonant with their life-style. 160 161 SECTION 71:: -. THE mICRoco SM Section I presented an overview of the con— text, or macrocosm, which locates this study in time and space. All the dimensions of the context treated - the socio-historical process, recent political history, the educational system, the institutional framework, and the urban migrant context (reviewed in the photos to the left) - all were aimed at understanding better the layers of structural reality that influence the life of the illiterate migrant woman in the Lima bar- riadas and that give substance to her experience in a literacy class. The macro-view of Section I was also an "outside-in" view of the particular situation, a syn— thesis of my observations and others' analyses. Section II proposes an "inside—out" perspective on the focus of the study - the conscientization process as experienced by four female participants in the literacy program. Their descriptions of their own experiences will provide the meat for the analysis: often their dialogue from in-depth interviews will stand on its own. 162 163 This data will be supplemented by descriptions of their particular squatter settlement drawn from interviews and shared activities during the period of a year that I collaborated with the literacy pro— gram. A focus on one community and four women does not constitute a representative study of the ALFIN literacy program nor of the Peruvian experience in 1976. What it does allow is an exploration of the dynamics - at the level of personal perceptions and interpersonal relationships — of the process of con- scientization. What meanings does the participant bring to this educational experience? What are the limits and the possibilities of developing a criti- cal consciousness among the most marginalized popu- lation? The subjective perceptions are then to be analyzed in the very context laid out in Section I and in the very community introduced in this section. The analysis is an attempt to connect those personal views with the structural realities that.form them. The Process of Field Research: Contradictions in Roles and Relationships In the introduction, I referred to the changes that I went through as a researcher, as I got more and more involved in the community and country where I had chosen to work. A review of the research process itself might illuminate these changes. My role in the literacy program could best be described as one of collaborator, variously as a researcher-teacher—photographer. Though most time was spent in the community, I also was in- volved at the regional and national levels of the literacy program. Most often, there was a sense of reciprocity: I was a volunteer worker and helped develop program materials while program co- ordinators, teachers, and participants gave me their time and patience and involvement: they be- came my teachers in many senses of the word. The reciprocity was not always clear or balanced: sometimes I had trouble justifying my presence, other times my willingness to work appeared to be used or abused, as sometimes I was clearly not welcome: but most often program coordinators ap- preciated the Opportunity for "mutual eXploitation," as one jokingly named it, and relationships with people developed their own integrity, eventually incorporating a healthy mutual critique. In a concrete sense, my involvement during the first six months centered around materials deve10pment for the teachers in one of the five educational zones located in metrOpolitan Lima. 164 165 Working variously with the four zonal staff and some of the 19 teachers in the area, I contri- buted to several different projects: 1) the photographing of an invasion of land by several hundred families to form a new squatter settlement, returning a collage of photos (at right) to the community and using the photos with literacy teachers to build classes around the "History of a New Town:" 2) the development of a series of photographic codifications of words and themes chosen by teachers (lot, pipe, child, health, food, straw, shoe,etc.): these photos became models for drawings on mimeo, because printing photos was too expensive: 3) photographs of various classes which could be used as prOpaganda for the program (in- cluding a small album on a community cultural manifestation): 4) a set of 50 photo flash cards which were to be used in researching community themes and participant interests: 5) a photo-novel introducing the ALFIN method of teaching literacy in contrast to the more traditional method, used variously in develOping collaborative relationships with community SUpport groups, in training volunteer teachers, and in orienting participants and evaluating their experiences in the program: 6) a series of socio-dramas involving one group of women acting out the authority relation- ships in their lives, which produced a film and photos used in a Literacy Day display. I 1- .’ . pg, Yfz‘fi‘fm . j~%"a 166 167 Working through the regional office gave me an opportunity to know many different teachers in different settings - from volunteer student teachers of a Catholic women's college commuting to an inner-city area)to a community-leader—turned-teacher integrating literacy classes with other community projects. An early attempt to get involved in a new class in the central market area (precarious for foreigners) resulted in a minor assault and robbery. Special caution was also learned in working with the hillside community involved in making the photo-novel. especial- ly after police in that area offered only hostility, and no protection. In pre-testing the photo-novel with eight different classes, I was able to learn a lot about the differences amongst teachers, even by their responses to the photo tool. The differences were described variously by the teachers themselves: one distinguished between the "old guard", those recruited in the early years of ALFIN, who were seen as more community-based and more political, and the "new guard", those teachers more recently hired, most often from universities, and more compromising in their political commitment, according to the "old guard." Another cdtinuum emerged as useful to distinguish the positions of different teachers: Alfabetista Desarrollista Revolupionario w The "alfabetista" was primarily preoccupied with the pedagogical function of teaching people to read and write, considering that the priority task. The "desarrollista", or "deve10pment- alist," was more concerned with social issues of the community, but supported projects which 'fit into an "economist" view of deve10pment: for example, the initiation of knitting classes aimed at setting up small businesses. The revolutionary position appeared aimed at the deve10p~ ment of a class consciousness, requiring on the teacher's part a commitment to radical social change: literacy programs were to contribute mainly to this broader process. The continuum is not completely valid, for some with more radical stances felt their most immediate commitment to people involved responding to their desire to become literate. But it does elucidate some of the tensions existing in the region. Perceptions, of course, vary as well. One teacher de- scribed as "deve10pmentalist" by others criticized the original photo—novel as deve10pmentalist, and helped to incorporate a more critical political discussion into it. And, though not con- sciously at the time, I chose to work most closely with two teachers who were somewhere between the developmentalist and revolutionary, varying primarily in their strategies: I was clearly attracted, though, by their commitment to the conscientization goals above the literacy goals of the program. Another tension that I could not avoid was the tension between the national, zonal, and lo- cal operations of ALFIN. I had close and trusted contacts at all three levels. I strategically went to the zonal office first: they introduced me to the program - historically, organizationallyJ methodologically - and they were able to legitimize my entering communities later and also gave me a grounded eXperience from which I could later make contacts with the national office. 168 169 But my initial involvement played into a KT~243;485; tension among zonal staff: two coordinators gji~ felt their time and energy should go to field- . based work, the other two saw the emphasis on administrative tasks and material development from the office. As I was first working with the latter, one of the field-oriented staff in- timated that I was being shown only model, and therefore atypical , communities on which to base materials (claiming the move was to im- press me as a foreigner). Fortunately, the staff tension was superficially resolved by di— viding clearly the coordinator functions, ac- cording to staff preferences, between office and field, but it reflected a deeper conflict around goals and methods. As I moved more and more into the commun- ity and spent less time in the zonal office, I PMS.» 3.x 1 ‘ experienced the tensions of teachers, who were demanded systematic reports and numerical results by zonal and national bosses, while facing incredible obstacles to even get a program going in reality: all of the conditions of the most marginalized socio-economic living situation mitigated against their efforts. These tensions became polarized after the July crisis, when the curfew and suspension of basic rights limited class attendance and critical activities, while economic and political constraints drove national staff to pressure teachers for evidence of success. All jobs were frozen, and most contracted teachers stood in danger of losing their positions: the zonal office also was without a director. I, then, became a source of information for zonal staff who knew that I often knew more of what was going on at the base than they did: I tried to main- tain a primary loyalty to the local group and teacher. But undoubtedly, I was viewed suspiciously by many. It was eight months before I was invited to the zonal teachers' meetings. About the same time, both national and regional staff invited me to a metropolitan meeting, and eXpressed interest in publishingthe photo-novel. I mention these issues to point out a participatory researcher's inevitable involvement in varying degrees and levels of political tension. I could not be viewed as a neutral. nor did I try to be. With a general commitment to the program as a whole, I entered with a sense of integrity as a collaborator. The contacts with the different administrative levels gave me a much broader picture of the program, its internal and external contradictions. And they also helped me to clarify more specific commitments as I became involved in one community. That commitment evolved, as it had to. 170 171 Jeff. ' . . ‘ . l' , ., _e _- [l - I": t ‘:v-(““(¢'..‘ 5- ,‘-:II‘ " ..._" 1 r ¢A~"‘ _! 3.4;; ." J I. . I. I ‘ - b2" :1} i :5?- l' i-‘Jfiia‘n ,[ a”. ».'-, . I" 'V‘ m" g 1. ,JII In examining critically my perceptions of their perceptions of me, as a person and as a researcher, I must consider my perceived role in terms of class background and interests. Just as I was not neutral, I was not class-less. At this point, I will focus on my role and relation- ship with the community women I worked most closely with, where the class differences were the most striking (even indicated by our physical differences - above). As much as I wanted to in- tegrate myself as an equal into the community and I genuinely felt I had much more to learn from them than they from me, I was constantly given cues that I was different: white, middle class, representative of a dominant culture, formally educated, urban, etc. For example, in the Mothers' Club meetings that I attended weekly, whenever a member would arrive late to join the forty of us huddled together on a bench or on rocks, the late-arriver would inevitably make formal greetings ' and to me: "Buenas tardes, Senor- to the Italian priest leading the meeting "Buenas tardes, Padre,‘ its," even if I tried to hide well amongst the other bodies! Once when invited to dinner at a home, I ate alone while family members sat and watched; another time when I tried to help the women in the kitchen, I was sent out to the living room to chat with the men. When I spent the night in the community, I was given royal treatment, yet suffered, suspecting that three children were probably without a bed while I slept on theirs. I tried to change expectations as relationships grew, but some react- ions were impossible to wish away. I despaired when babies cried at the sight of me; and dogs barked as I entered the town: one even got a chunk of me, followed by 14 days of anti-rabies injections: initia- tion enough I felt...! 172 173 In more objective and economic terms, my identification as a photo- grapher was the most clear and the most problematic. The equipment clearly marked me as "rich;" my wil- lingness to constantly return photos to people without charge probably re— inforced that tag. Though I often went without the camera, or would try to put it in their hands, I was eventually overwhelmed by requests for pictures. And every photo taken was remembered, and demanded. Final— ly, the women themselves initiated a market price system as a way of dealing with it; they felt more com- fortable paying me for a product, and demand subsided. \ )1 At another level, my political and pedagogical commitment became clear as work with the group progressed, especially through the sociodramas. One cue was the growing suspicion of the conserva- tive priest that more than literacy work was involved. Participation of 40 or 50 women in the dramas on days when attendance wasn't taken was another indicator of a growing shared interest. I felt a more genuine acceptance when women could openly criticize me and my work. "I haven't understood a word you said!" one woman protested. And when I returned from a month-long trip to the Sierra, some jokingly proclaimed: "You abandoned us! And... where's the film?" We were all aware of my temporaryness; community members were used to students and social workers with all kinds of motivations coming and going. I lived with a constant questionning. And when they said "Come back and work with us," I hoped that because of their impact on me, my future commitments would, in fact, be a way of working with them. Though I could not ignore the constant reminders of my own class background, my commitment had grown to be more clearly to their class interests. A process is implied in this discussion: a process of change as relationships and commitments become clearer through confrontation and time. Integral to this process of change was a change in focus of inquiry and in the political implications of the work. The inevitable changes in theory and practice emerging from a committed research process are perhaps best illustrated in this case by the development of the major research tool, the photo-novel. It serves as something concrete which reflected the initial motivations of this study and was itself transformed by the changes in focus and in use. 17L: 175 The Tool: The Photo-Novel Before going to Peru, I had considered the possibility of developing a short photo-story as an interview instrument, knowing that the form of literature was popular among Latin Americans and illiterates. But at that point, my theoretical framework was quite different from the one that eventually emerged. In preliminary studies, I had developed three constructs of power affect- ing the relationship between teacher and student: 1) "borrowed power" - a sense of power dependent upon the authority of one's profession. class, role; 2) "powerlessness" - the sense of inability to participate in decisions that affect one's life, as dependent on external forces for self-esteem; and 3) "integral power" - a sense of self, not dependent on external definitions of power, but on one's inner resources, an ability to assert and affirm oneself, while still accepting one's limita- tions. A further interest at that time was in the nonverbal indicators of borrowed power, power- lessness, and integral power - specifically, how power is regulated nonverbally in a classroom and how one's sense of power is expressed nonverbally. Analysis of film data of Peruvian literacy classes was to focus on the use of space, eye contact, and gestures used to communicate power and powerlessness in the interaction between teacher and students. A photo-story of two different kinds of power relationships (based on the "banking" and "problem—posing" models of Freire) was to illustrate the nonverbal differences between the two and elicit from participants the meanings they had for particular gestures. In the early weeks of colla- , boration with the literacy pro- gram in the field, I suggested the idea of a photo-story on two different educational models; the response was not particularly enthusiastic. But six weeks later, after we had completed some joint projects growing out of their needs (photos of the invasion, thematic photographs to introduce key words and issues to literacy classes), I raised the issue again. This time I illustrated the idea with some photos (seen here) that I had taken of interaction in actual ALFIN classes in their area. 176 177 With such grounded visual examples, staff members involved in promotion and training became inter- ested; they saw the use of such a tool in explaining the program to support groups and in intro- ducing the method to new volunteer teachers. I indicated my interest in its potential with parti- cipants, primarily as an evaluation instrument. The tension between these sometimes conflicting objectives remained somewhat submerged for the next few months as the project grew. Program co- ordinators helped design the script, teachers entered in to set up photographing sessions in a selected community, literacy class participants joined in the fun and work of acting out two dif- ferent kinds of educational experience. In the three-month design and development phase, and with the input of all involved, the photo-story began to grow, both in volume and in scope. It jumped from the simple four or five page interview tool I had envisioned to a 30-page lO9-photograph photo-novel; and in an effort to meet the interests of promotors and trainers, the method became much more carefully detailed. The most critical input at this time came from the teacher with whom I worked for the rest of the year. On viewing the initial photos of classroom interaction, he observed: "But you haven't any photos that show the context in which the class is located; attempts to erradicate illiteracy can only be understood in the context of the broader interrelated problems causing illiteracy." Suddenly, I realized that we were limiting the photo-story to classroom interaction, just as I had limited my study to pedagogical and interpersonal issues, distorting the essence of the method. 4., --.:-‘.- , Further development of the Wgfi it:- a é; in ME Wr_ mggfli 7!” I ‘;_ _ ‘ "u _- -v - photo-novels included a ?¢ .. ,» ' (:"" ?” J a“ A. treatment of the context, ~“ with these photos provid- [3;- ing the background for the a: » story of a literacy class dealing with the water pro— blem in their community. 27 I»..\«\" L .4.- .. 451'"; 178 179 For the critique had pointed to the lack of the most cri- tical element in our interpretation of psycho-social meth- od: the conscientization process taking place in a very specific socio—historic time and place. Not only the tool, but also my own research plans underwent a radical , {J h I (“In ”Ki/[fl transformation. Out the window went the psychological filly/Mt" %_ ! ’ ([11',’ constructs of power and the focus on nonverbal behavior; the broader process of conscientization in this parti- cular context emerged as the most vital issue. The next four months constituted the pre-testing stage for the photo-novel. First, the teachers and field coordinators responded (at right), revealing their own interpretations of the ideology and the methodology their work was based on. One criticized the lack of a real- istic and critical discussion of structural issues among participants in the story, and helped to build that in. The tool was criticized as too simplistic and too compli— cated. For some, the community selected was more dev— eloped than most and thus not typical. And for others, the participants photographed were not always seen as typical of illiterates. This perception in itself was revealing; a chauffeur from the Ministry raised the issue. Pointing to a woman in the photo story who was wearing western urban clothes (photo to the left), he said: "She is more intelligent than this other woman," who was dressed in typical Indian garb, a woven shawl cradling a baby on her back (photo to the right). "And why?" we asked him. His cues had been the clothes themselves. 180 181 Group interviews with eight different community classes tested the relevance of the photos and text to illiterates; it was noted which parts provoked them and which drew little response. These visits also stimulated other processes: it got students talking about their own educational experiences; their responses became a form of informal feedback for teachers and program staff present. In the community where the photo-novel was made, the tool was reviewed in the classes of both teachers involved. It was also tested with one group when the class had just started up and three months later to see what changes were reflected in the responses (the analysis is to appear in another study). One notable issue emerged: an older participant revealed that she felt much more comfortable with the teacher who came from the community than with the other one who was an outsider. Ironically, the former had been chosen to act out the role of the elitist, more formal and distant teacher (top left). while the outsider took the role of the empathetic, community-oriented teacher in the photo story (bottom left). Outside observers also noted that contra- diction: even though the traditional teacher was dressed in a suit for the photos, he appeared to participants in other communi- ties as "half-Indian like us" (thus unlikely a teacher), while the problem—posing teacher was described variously as an engineer, university student, etc., and thus not "of a. the base. These reactions to a mistake in 182 183 casting on our part served to clarify genuine perceptions that literacy class participants have of "teachers;" the community—member-teacher did not fit their stereotype of teachers as outsiders, mestizos, etc., yet they obviously felt more comfortable with him as one of their own. The photo-novel played a catalyzing role at various levels and stages of the research process. Not only did it give me something concrete on which to base discussion with teachers and partici- pants, but it served as an entree into other interviews with community leaders, university cohorts, and Ministry officials. And during a month-long visit to the Sierra to visit rural mountain clas- ses, the tool opened doors and gave rural participants a chance to reflect on their programs in contrast to the urban classes. But one thing became clearer to me in the pre-testing period: the photo-novel was too long and wieldy, its text too complicated to really engage participants in a discussion of key issues. As it had grown to serve the program's purposes of promotion and training, it had outgrown my own original purpose as an evaluation tool for participants in the program. The conflicting objectives had finally come to the fore: I left the larger version with the zonal office and put together a shorter one (14 pages) based upon the responses of the group interviews, selecting photos that had drawn the most reponse from participants and simplifying the text so that new literates could read along (another emerging purpose: the tool became a test of reading skills as well). Another criteria guiding its reconstruction was the potential connections of the photos and narrative to the dimensions of an emerging theoretical framework that they were going to test. Note that there are two stories within: the first eight pages present the psycho—social model as applied in the Peruvian program; the next six pages show another teacher operating under a more traditional teaching method, as perceived by teachers and participants involved. Thus, this shorter version became a more systematic interview tool, to be used with selected participants in the case study community (as in the photos here), and directly related to a conceptual model which had emerged as a frame for analyzing the conscientization process. That model will be presented, following the shorter re- vised photo-novel, which appears in its English trans— lated version on the next fourteen pages. 184 185 l THE ALFIN mETHoD] "This Teacher haes +l'mg. +0 gcj- 1'6 Know 7 v" “ ~ in - “I, ‘ K -.' .--' 4‘ ‘ ‘s ’1'.“ 1 fine. CGMmun'fl-S ‘ mJlk- " ['1‘- " ’ "' l'~ _,,_ ' * A .‘ g . fiv?f —_. - v 7“} "‘1 _. - i 1 K \ - and +0 Know I, l g h. 1 The. peOplc. ' I, l who wani- mai'aLi. .. . +0 Icarn JA...'__*_~. I‘...‘" ‘ it) read +0 Knew.) w fhe. communihj “Mina” leaders. 186 lac: of a Mitt" Or Sewerage. 5 6y s+¢m —— pcop\e. ‘chmsducs, he learns abcu+ +he prob\ems OF +he CDmmunH-S and wH'h fhc'lr' help he: deueJOPS a pbn For ‘an. dass. 187 In +he. class, Cados, fine Ind-creep. +cacher , sham: Hoe. parf icipen‘r s a photo. " Luha+ do you see?" he. ashe+ we need are p'spes . no+ words. " "why don'r use have a meet-{m3 with “the o+her residen‘rs’. This is a prob\em «Q»- +he whom— Communl-rq. 190 191 From The le‘Fercn-r Forms of- +he usord "when" Mat-re has already pui- +Luo neu.) words +oge1—her. 1| TM o+her perfickpants pro of «Se our | fins - Some %r The Fur-51' 1‘ (me. . . . 11 And rhe Per'ridpanrs, +oo . he) p each o-Hner. 33 .Here comes Faustino, a. COMMUnIfq leader. Lei's d§scuss +he— ma‘H'er' Lurl'h him." " \n +he cemmuni-I-q Meefins on Saturday, we can propose, a. communSJI-q wOVK dbq. ” And so, the par-rte; pen‘k-s leoue ‘the class, (earn'ch no+ mm, mu m reed, burr euso how +0 express Themsemes and +63 beH-er' +heir Hues and +heir commum'rq . 192 193 EH: Tae‘ornount man-Ion] proud of- hls debma. +he. l i+erooq +eOCher prepares Far his class , and \ebues his heuse - ready +o teach. why didn-l ya) come. +0 +lne. class .. yesterday? Luheh +he +eeoher- enters +he. classroom , +he. Shaden‘l-s Stand Up. Ian-l- l (s+en§n3. 19L» 195 0 The oi'her day, we. began Lul+h The, Vowels: A.E.I.O.U..” (I Senora Gonzalez ‘ rcPCB‘l' 'Hfiem, " as cs 't'he. macher. A‘ElA--.-_ Uhmmm_‘_ A ‘ dcfi‘i' Know, +deNer_ ” ‘ -__l "why olldn'l- you Shady a’r home, 3630”: GOnZalez?’ ”I'm sor n4 , Rot—her, bui’ Lul'l'h won: and mq (aMllq, I haven} had +ime." Another woman is $leepln8. "what's The. matter , Senora Zauala . .7- .. "I‘m sorru . +eaoher, I have, a head ache.“ 196 In +hls class, +he +eocher‘ +ale and +eaohes all ‘l'he rlme, "El . ., ’45:”9- 1]! 33”}y. 1‘ ‘ -‘- - ~—‘~¢-—£——: lyhfle ’l’h; Sfuden‘l-s list-en and learn And onlq Speac mm. +h¢ permission 0(- +he. +ea oher, 198 199 Emerging;Analytical Framework In the last section, it was noted that the original conceptual constructs with which I entered the field were challenged by the reality of the context and by my own growing experience of consci- entization. And a discovery was made in the process of developing the photo-novel that my focus solely on psychological issues was obscuring and distorting the method I came to study. As I grap- pled with what seemed to be the important dimensions of the conscientization process, both objec- tively in the ALFIN program and subjectively in my own research, I began to develop a simple frame- work for analyzing the process. It grew out of two basic concerns that had emerged as vital: 1) In the development of a critical consciousness, or in general in the learning process, what is the relationship between action and reflection? Can pure reflection bring one to a critical level of consciousness? Can pure action result in a growing consciousness? Which is primary, if either? Freire himself clearly addresses this issue: he speaks of the false dichotomy between ac- tion and reflection (1971), claiming that each is vital to the other, that word and work have to merge for a genuine "praxis." He has sometimes been criticized for over-emphasizing the reflective dimension in his own analytical work. But his way of interacting with people has been described as well—grounded in their active experiences and in the particular context of the dialogue. Clearly in his own thought and behavior, Freire advocates a dialectical relationship between action and reflection as essential to the process of the development of a critical personal and social consciousness. _ . .\_. «ll.-- -.J -—- — . ‘fJ' {H7 l l. U 'l Lily Aged); 2) The second dialectical dimension, which Freire alludes to but doesn't specify, is the rela- tionship between the structural and the psycho-social levels of consciousness. He clearly implies that there is an intimate connection between oppressive socio-economic systems and oppressive re- lationships (e.g., between employer and worker, between teacher and student), just as there are connections between the personal experience of the child worker above and the politics of the mil- itary regime denounced on the wall behind him. And the psychological manifestations or self-con- cept of oppressed persons also clearly reflect their social experience. 200 201 In fact, in Freire's terms, the self does not exist except socially: "Even when there are individual features, this doesn't explain totally individual consciousness; even though I have particular characteristics, I am a social being." Freire refutes Descartes: "It is not that I think, that I therefore am; it is 'we think' that explains that I think." (1976) This relationship between the structural and the psycho-social emerged as problematic and important in my work in Peru, and it has been referred to variously in the descriptions of ALFIN which viewed literacy as only part of a much deeper problem, and in the discovery that the photo-novel was originally focus- ing on psycho-social dimensions to the exclusion of structural issues. I saw in the program that it was also possible to focus on the structural level to the detriment of the personal or psycho- social. Thus, an examination of both and their interrelationship seemed also essential. In identifying these two different critical concerns, which emerged directly from my inter- action with the Peruvian context, I found the four-fold table (a western sociological construct) useful for isolating the dimensions mentionned: Reflection Action Structural Psycho-social Four dimensions of the conscientization process emerge from the combination of the two concerns: Reflection Action _ l) 2) Structural TRANSFORMA- IDEOLOGY TION Ps cho—social 3) SOCIAL 4)BEHAVIORAL y IDENTIFICATION CHANGE 1) In general terms, the first dimension IDEOLOGY refers to a reflection on the structures, or the explanations given about the particular historical forces driving the structure of the economy and society. 2) Action upon these structures implies their TRANSFORMATION, an effort to change the struc- tures of the society. 3) SOCIAL IDENTIFICATION involves the individual in reflecting on his/her own psycho-social experience, revealing a sense of self within a particular context. 4) Any action taken upon psycho-social issues, or on situations which involve the person directly, reflects a kind of BEHAVIORAL CHANGE, perhaps manifested in a different way of inter- acting or in a new sense of self. 202 203 P},bl’./Pf[?/Q ;. . , . «2 rmg‘fi' ‘ - 3; - War/0 a! /(e,§$'i~rq am 7" A M 7. " g '4'- ‘édf ; ‘ , [unulmlnplmll sunoslugpmu ,1 ~- "~,‘ .. Perhaps at this point, a visualization of the four dimensions might help clarify and concret- ize them; the photographs to the left represent each of the four quadrants presented. 1) The sign on the wall of the factory reads "No more exploitation." Though it is not a specific analysis of the historical forces causing exploitation, it implies a consciousness of such forces, and a reflection on the socio—economic structures built by these forces. The ideology is one which recognizes the conflict between the striking workers who painted the slogan and the owners of the factory whom they are charging with the exploitation of their labour. 2) The peasant community "Sta. Rosa de Ocopa" in the second quadrant occupies the grounds of an old Spanish monastery, transformed since the land reform into an agricultural cooperative. Thus it reflects one of the major structural changgg initiated by the leftist military junta. 3) In the third photo, a group of literacy class members are participating in a discussion about the motivations that brought them as migrants from the Sierra to the city. By describing first their very own personal experiences and listening to others, they are reflecting at the psycho-social level, allowing them to express a social identification with the broader processes of migration and urbanization. 4) The woman in last photograph is challenging her literacy teacher about the way he was co- ordinating the class. If this interaction has grown out of a context with a strong authoritarian school system as has been the tradition in Peru, then the woman's gesture most likely reflects a behavioral change, an action taken at the psycho-social level. 204 205 The isolation of the four dimensions, of course, is arbitrary and only done for the purpose of analysis at one level. It is assumed that all elements will be present in any process of con- scientization and are all necessary if that is to be a truly critical process. But it is not the presence Of-the elements, but the dynamic interaction among them that gives the process its cri- tical quality. This then is the second level of analysis, the dialectical relationship between the elements. Thus, building upon the first example given on the last page, a consciousness of exploitation of workers in the Peruvian society becomes much more critical if analysis of the forms of that exploitation grows out of an action taken against the exploitation, like the strike below, for example (an attempt at structural change, quadrant 2); the explanation of exploitative struc- tures is more powerful, indeed more valid, if grounded in real interaction with those structures, rather than merely expounded as a theory or blindly adopted. .5; ilhffi“ ’- he purpose ass of con- is notthe 5 its cri- between ness of f the forms Lke below. ,e struC’ uctures, As well, the consciousness needs a grounding in the personal experience of the worker: he needs to be able to see how his own problematic experiences with employers or unsteady employment reflect broader processes which affect not only him but entire social classes; and he most deeply understands ideological issues (regarding, for example, the capitalist system, worker-management re- lations, etc.) in terms of his own personal experience, or his psycho-social identification with the issues. What's more, this identification becomes clearer and stronger through interpersonal confrontation, or any action initiated by a worker in terms of his own personal situation; for example, refusal to work under hazardous conditions or a challenge of abusive control by a foreman. Let's examine the fourth example above, the one used to illustrate behavioral change, quadrant four, and see how it might be reflected in other dimensions. The ability of the woman to openly critique her teacher and the way the classroom is operated could have origin in 206 207 other personal or social reflections or actions; and/or the action itself could also lead to such reflections. Perhaps she has been talking with a friend about her irritation with the teacher; she may through that discussion begin to recognize her right as a participant to declare her own priorities for the class (quadrant three). Or a group discussion on past oppressive experiences with traditional education (as many women reflected in describing their fear of teachers and horror of schools as children in the Sierra) might also examine interrelated issues: how, for example, teachers in the past have most often been mestizo urbanites sent to the country to teach the Ind- ians; thus, the student-teacher relationship reflected the dominating relationships in the larger socio—economic structure (quadrant one), between colonialists and indigenous peoples, between urban dwellers and rural peasants, between the educated elite and the neglected majority. We see how the one incident in which a darker indigenous woman challenges her mestizo teacher could come from or lead to much broader and deeper critical reflection. And in this instance, the structural changes (quadrant two), or efforts at educational reform, which downplay traditional authoritarian teaching and encourage more critical student participation, could also have laid fertile ground for her intervention. The dynamic interrelationship between the four quadrants will thus be a real concern in the data analysis to follow. The conscientization process is seen as more critical and reflective if based in personal experiences (quadrants 3 and 4), connected to broader social issues (quadrant l), and supported by or leading to structural changes (quadrant 2). ‘5'" rban rom A f Distortions of the Conscientization Process Another use of the quadrants would be, on the other hand, to point out distortions in the process of conscientization. described, to the detriment of the other three, it might possibly reflect a lack of genuine con- scientization. Structural Psycho-social If learning appears to be focused on only one of the four dimensions Reflection Action 1) 2) Rhetorical Non-strategic Indoctrination Activism 3) 4) Individualistic Mere Meditation Behaviorism Let's consider each quadrant under such conditions: 1) If the focus of educational and conscientization work is only reflection about structural issues, and not grounded in the psycho-social experiences of the learners nor directly related to real structural activity, then structural reflection turns into mere rhetoric, and risks being a kind of indoctrination. An illustration: In one literacy class I visited, the teacher wrote on the board: "WOmen should take an active role in the socio-economic development of their country." 208 209 The female participants in the class mechanically copied the phrase into their notebooks (at right), repeating it for practice in writing. But there was never any discussion of its meaning for them, and the interaction patterns in the class contra- dicted any pattern of full participation of women inside or outside of the class. The words seemed to be pure rhetoric for the women, and the teacher was thus involved in a kind of indoctrination, without any critical reflection or action to make it a conscientizing experience. 2) What is the situation like when structural action is predominant to the exclusion of reflec- tion, and when it is not grounded in the personal needs of the participants? "Non-strategic acti- vism" might be an appropriate label for strikes initiated with no chance of gaining ground, when labour can be easily be replaced by surplus labour, for example. Some literacy teachers were recently arrested and jailed for protests they made at a univer- sity where they were also taking classes; had they considered carefully whether their priorities were with the communities where they taught or with the university where they studied? In other words, what kind of reflection guided their action? In the early years of the Velasco regime in Peru, some of the dramatic expropriations and nationalizations of foreign companies were viewed as premature or too drastic by some critics who foresaw the consequential withdrawal of other critical financial support by international groups tied politically or economically to the foreign companies; their analysis would conclude that the growing problem of foreign debt in the 1970's, that has forced the Bermudez regime into a more rightest position and has left its administration at the mercy of multinational financial institu- tions, has its roots in those non-strategic actions. Such decisions for action are usually matters of judgment only truly clarified and affirmed or negated by history; but mere activism will not always further the conscientization process. The contradictions emerging sometimes all the more strongly from non-strategic moves, however, can be grist for consciousness-raising, if analyzed critically and related to persons' concrete and daily experiences. 3) Exclusive concern with reflection at the individual (psycho-social) level can lead to another distortion of the conscientization process, a kind of "individualistic meditation." 210 211 If participants in a literacy program are led to analyze their personal relationships and experi- ences without making the connnections with structural causes, then their social consciousness is not complete. For example, the migrant women pictured below were involved in acting out a socio- drama of a market scene, in which a coastal merchant is selling food to a migrant from the Sierra. There are racial, geographic, and economic differences between them. In analyzing similar exper- iences in their own lives, the women described how they were often cheated by the more crafty mes- tizo sellers, who took advantage of their lack of facility in Spanish, or in math, for example. A limited individualistic analysis might put the blame for their problems on the migrants themselves, citing their own deficiences and labelling them backward, or dumb. But an analysis which sought structural origins for this problem would look at the entire migration process, examining how even international economic shifts have forced "Serranos" to seek work in the city and thus to confront a new culture and economic system. The deep historical schism between mestizos (in this case, the coastal merchant and Indians (here, the customer) could be examined, too, in terms of centuries of Spanish colonial history and more recent forms of colonialism. And this structural consciousness of the problem of being cheated in the market would become more internalized and critical if deep- ened by active efforts to confront it: at the structural action level, a collective boycott might be one response; at the level of psycho-social action, the development of reading and math skills by literacy participants might allow them to confront the merchants who have been victimizing them. In either case, the conscientization process would have a more critical quality than a mere discus- sion about humiliating experiences in the market. The focus on psychological dimensions of social problems is a strong tendency in North America and in capitalist systems in general. When it is assumed that everyone has "equal opportunity" to "make it," those who don't make it are relegated to categories of lazy, stupid, underprivileged, deviant. The educational system, too, deeply reflects that tendency; minimal social and economic f 1 .’ a" ( analysis will show that lower class children and ethnic minorities have much less chance of success in the system; yet, individually, many are often considered "problems." 212 213 In adult education as well, the orientation has been a psychological one, often lacking a conscious- ness of structural issues (Jackson, Martin); thus, pro- grammes are aimed at manpower skill training or per- sonal growth. This very orientation to emphasize the psycho-social dynamics of learning surely affected my own initial research plans which focused on teacher- student relationships, ignoring their structural con- text. This limited view of the conscientization pro- cess is thus another potential distortion of it. 4) It's harder to imagine a social learning pro- cess in which there is individual change without any reflection, and in the absence of structural changes. But we can identify examples of "mere behaviorism", which failed to have an impact because of the lack of these other dimensions. One urban teacher working with children in the rural mountain area tried to eliminate the tradition of students greeting the teacher by standing when he entered the classroom (as at left). This nonverbal gesture had been a symbol of authority and respect.' In instituting a change in this practice, the teacher, however, failed to discuss these meanings critically with the students (psycho-social reflection); nor did the school system as a whole support a more informal and demo- cratic operation (structural action and reflection). Because the behavioral change thus had no substantial new meaning for the students, they saw it as inviting a lack of respect and they acted accordingly. Eventually, the teacher was pressured by both administrators and students to change or to leave. Another example of a distortion in this dimension comes from a university class. The professor instituted a very open process in which students decided what and how they wanted to learn, and participated in organizing and implementing class sessions. They were beginning to de- velop a sense of their own personal power (psycho-social reflection) and their behavior was dif- ferent from that of students of other, more restricted classes (e.g., they initiated discussions, taught each other, etc. - action at the psycho-social level). Yet when grades came out at mid-yearfl it was clear that the power in terms of evaluation still rested with the teacher; students who had felt affirmed by the process were embittered by the product. The problem was that the class still existed within a university system that demanded certain standards, determined from above. There had not been action or reflection at the structural level that would facilitate the kind of changes attempted. The grades actually forced the group to confront that contradiction, deepening their own consciousness of their social situation. This is one way that such distortions can be used. 214 215 Where is the starting point? We have considered the four dimensions and stressed the dynamic interaction between them ne- cessary for a genuine process of conscientization. We are assuming that the divisions between them are artificial and that one really grows out of and feeds into another. In discussing the possible distortions of the process, however, we recognized that often there is a primacy of one dimension or another. Educational programs can be thus identified as more academic (reflective rather than active), as more person—centered (psycho-social), or as more ideologically-oriented (structural). This points to an on-going debate about what is the starting point of a conscien— tization process aimed at social change, if indeed there is a "proper" one. Some argue that any educational and political process must begin with individuals, starting with their particular life experiences and social situations; their understanding of broader structural issues grows out of a grounded analysis of their own context. In the tradition of formal education, this process is often seen, too, as primarily reflective in nature; social practice is not so well integrated into the analysis, and if it is, it is usually done through discussion. Nonformal education, such as many literacy programs, and political organizations are more likely to follow explicit efforts to integrate action and reflection. Still others committed to conscientization prefer to work toward structural changes that would eventually involve people as more active participants; for them, the starting point is there. And most critical social researchers see the origin in social theory or their own research and analysis; involvement of the base follows. All of these reflect particular orientations to education and politics, and each runs the risk, too, of distorting the conscientization process. The issue is raised here, but not resolved: is there a starting point? In the present work, I am focusing first on re— flections of individuals, at the psycho-social level, as an entry from which to view the broader process. Thus, the descriptions and analyses by the illiterate migrant woman of her educational and social experi- ences provide the starting point; from her personal perceptions we move to the structures around her that give substance to her expression. The aim, really, is to connect her reflections with the structural and active dimensions, to examine how they are dynamically interrelated. 216 217 C ombinin the Anal ti a1 Framework and the Photo-Novel 218 In order to make use of the analytical framework as a tool for examining the particular con- scientization process of four women in one Peruvian literacy program, I have developed more exten- sive conceptual and operational definitions for each dimension, or quadrant, represented. And as the photo-novel, too, was developed in tandem with the framework, there are photos and text that are relevant to each dimension. Thus, the responses of the four participants to the story (both visual and verbal) provide data about their own sense of the four dimensions of the conscientiza- tion process. It is perhaps important to introduce at this point the expanded definitions and the parts of the photo-novel relevant to each. 4 It should be clear, however, that the interviews with the photo-novel represent only one me- thod of exploring these phenomena. Many other sources - including field notes from a year of participant-observation in the community, content analysis of materials and texts, interviews with photo cards, and participatory analysis of filmed socio-dramas - have contributed to an understand- ing of the process in this particular context. Some of this data will be brought in at a later point. But to begin with, interviews with the photo-novel will provide the primary data for an in—depth analysis with the framework. It is recognized that both the photo tool and the analytical framework are limited; but they are used, nonetheless, as a kind of lens and filter for exploring some aspects of conscientization. The expanded definitions of the quadrants and their relationship to the photo-novel follow: I. STRUCTURAL/REFLECTION: IDEOLOGY Conceptual Definition Critical reflection about these aspects of ideology, recognizing contradictions: Recognition of the dependence and domina- tion that exists among the socio-economic- political structures at the international, national, and group level (class, com— munity) Explanation of this social reality in the context of the historical process of its development Understanding of the government's "revo- lutionary" plan toward a socialist state Understanding of the educational struc- ture in the context of dependence, and its role in the liberation process Reflection on transforming actions that have been taken by the group Operational Definition Discussion of the problems of the community or class (basic needs, conflicts, actions) Relations of these problems to national or inter- national processes (e.g., economic crisis, multi- national corporations) Descriptions of social situations or actions in other regions or countries Discussion of Peruvian historical process (migration from the Sierra and the formation of barriadas) and of the actual processes (the various reforms - advances and regressions) Discussion of class differences within Peruvian society (e.g., bosses, urbanizations) Description of historical educational process (e.g., the lack of educational opportunity in the Sierra) and actual process (pressure to learn to read and write in Lima, vocational educational opportunities Discussion of experiences of social action taken by participants (with the NEC, ESAL, etc.) Research Methods Used for Gathering Data Participant-observation in community and class; review of Peruvian texts on these themes, news- papers, Reform literature; review of materials published by ALFIN teachers; photo—novel interviews: Relevant Photos and Text in Photo-Novel First five photos and text of ALFIN story: teacher getting to the know the community, its leaders, its major problems Discussion about the "urbanizations" that have all the basic services, and why, relating this issue to economics and politics First three photos of the traditional class where the teacher hangs up his diploma, reads books, is admired by a child After reviewing the two different classes: one of the ALFIN method and the other of the traditional method 220 Supplementary Questions Raised in Interview Is it important that the teacher know about the community? What should he know about your community? What do the community leaders do? What are the major problems of your community? How are urbanizations different from the "young towns"? Do you agree with the discussion? What do you think? Why is the teacher proud? What is the child thinking? Is everything learned from books? Who can become a teacher? What are the differences between the two stories? Have you ever been in a class like this? How was education in the Sierra? For whom? Are there more opportunities to study now? What are they? 221 II. Conceptual Definition Participation in the transforma- tion of social, economic, or political structures Common action taken on problems identified or conflicts dis- cussed ' STRUCTURAL/ACTION: TRANSFORMATION Operational Definition Active support of structural changes undertaken by interna- tional, national, and community leaders (e. g., demonstrating in popular manifestations) Active protest against the lack of change, unfulfilled pro- mises, repressive measures (e.g., strikes, confrontations, critical discussion) Claiming of legal rights (e.g., land ownership titles) Participation in the securing of basic needs for community (e.g., light, water, medical service, school) Participation in base organizations fighting for the people (e.g., neighborhood committees, assemblies, unions) Participation in activities that value the indigenous culture (theatre, song), that encourage the development of a sense of the historical Peruvian process (e.g., outings to histo- rical sites), that affirm group spirit (e.g., outings, parties, work days) Participation in the implementation of the Educational Reform (e.g., with the NEC, with parent associations, in locatin and programming literacy classes) Research Methods Used in Gatherinngata Analysis of documents on structural changes in national and international context; situational diagnostic of community and participation in transforming actions, through interviews with leaders and participant-observation in community and class; photo-novel interviews: .terna‘ trating j pIO‘ {OHS} nitY aople :ulture :nSe LstO' Reform Relevant Photos and Text in Photo-Novel Teacher and team planning the class pro- gram Discussion about the water problem, and possible economic or political explana- tions Discussion of possible solutions for problem of water and sewerage Planning for community meeting and work day Supplementary Questions Raised in Interview Have you ever participated in making plans for classes or activities? With the new process, are things changing? What reforms are working? Have you worked to obtain something like that for the community? What things? How did you do it? What things have been accomplished by the efforts of the community? Have you ever had community work days, For what? What other groups are working to better the life of the community? What do they do? 222 223 III. PSYCHO-SOCIAL REFLECTION: SOCIAL IDENTIFICATION Conceptual Definition Critical reflection about these aspects, recognizing contradictions: Understanding of the socio-economic- political structures in the daily life, in interpersonal relations, and in personal attitudes and behaviors Understanding of the causes of these behaviors, and their relationship to broader social structures Understanding of relationships with authorities, within and outside of community and class Understanding of submissive and domi- nant behavior Sense of one's own history and exper- iences, of one's social role, of one's knowledge and skills, of one's poten- tial to better oneself Reflection about personal efforts to change relations or behavior Operational Definition Identification and analysis of relationships with authorities: outside the community (landlords, bosses, judges, officials, police, clerks, bus drivers,~ foreigners), within the community (leaders, property owners, relatives, spouses, children, priests, doc- tors, teachers, etc.), within the literacy program (teachers, coordinators, participants, researchers) Identification in others and in oneself of submissive or dominant behavior, noting relationship between such behavior and social structures (e.g., I can't criticize the landlord because he controls my proper- ty; The teacher comes from the outside, so he's not one of us, etc.) Reflection on personal situation: - telling about oppressive experiences in one's history - discussing critically one's social roles (e.g., mother, wife, merchant, worker, parent) - affirming participation in the community - sharing one's knowledge and skills - expressing confidence in changing own situation Recognition of oppressive behaviors in the class (e.g., The teacher always tells us what to do) Research Methods Used in Gathering Data Participant-observation with participants inside and outside of class; discussions with photos of interactions; socio-dramas of relationships with authorities; photo-novel interviews: Uh b05585: petty doc- am its) 551V? [1 't )per' wt 3f Relevant Photos and Text in Photo-Novel Teacher visiting illiterates who want to learn how to read and write WOmen pointing out hole and problem of sewerage in the community Group discussion of water problem One woman showing another how the word is divided into syllables Senora making new words Senora writing her name Senoras helping each other Community leader entering and dis- cussing problems with group Students standing when teacher enters traditional class Teacher asking man why he didn't come to class WOman who lowers her head when she can't read the vowels Supplementary Questions Raised in Interview Why do you want to learn how to read and write? Who knows more about the community: the teacher or the Senoras? Do you have discussions like this? What things do you discuss? Can the Senora also teach? Is the teacher always needed? Have you done this in your classes? Is it important to know how to write your name? Why? Do you also help each other? How are the community leaders here? Can you discuss such things with them? Why do the students stand up? Does that happen here, too? Does the teacher understand the problem of the man? Does this kind of thing happen to you? How does she seem to you? Why? 224 225 Relevant Photos and Text in Photo-Novel Teacher asking her why she didn't study at home; she talks about her work and her family "In this class, it is the teacher who talks and teaches all the time" "While the students listen and learn" Senora looking bored Class listening to the teacher After reviewing the two stories Supplementarygguestions Raised in Interview Does this ever happen? Have you ever been punished by a teacher? Why? How should the teacher be? Is the teacher the only one who can teach? Is this the way they learn? How do you best learn? What could she be thinking? How do the students in this class seem to you? Do they participate? How do they feel about the teacher? Have you ever felt that way with your teacher? Which story is most like your class here? Why? Which would you prefer to be in? Why? 226 IV. PSYCHO-SOCIAL ACTION: BEHAVIORAL CHANGE Conceptual Definition Operational Definition Transformation of interper— Confrontation with authorities inside or outside the class sonal relationships and (teachers, landlords, bosses, priests, leaders, spouses, etc.) change of personal behavior and attitudes Development of a horizontal relationship between the teacher and - the participant in the literacy program (so the teacher isn't Change of behavior in rela— directing everything) tionships with authorities within or outside the class Active participation in the literacy program (programming, imple- or community mentation, administrative work, lectures, discussions, activities) Action taken over these Initiation of discussion or activities within the program problems as they arise in class Open critique of programming and operation of the class; participation to improve it Research Methods Used in Gathering Data Participant-observation in the literacy program, personal contact with the participants; photos over months of the program showing changes; photo-novel interviews: Relevant Photos and Text in Photo-Novel Supplementary Questions Raised in Interview Planning of the literacy program Have you participated in the planning of the program? Group discussion of community issues Do you have many discussions? What do you discuss? - ' Who speaks the most? Do you speak? Teacher encouraging the Senora Does the teacher encourage you when you work well? Does he punish you? Do others support you? Senora criticizing the teacher Can you critcize the teacher? Is he always right? Senora proposing a community meeting Have you ever made a suggestion for a project? Senora looking bored in class What could she contribute to the class? And you? After reviewing the two photo-stories How could the classes change to improve? 227 Focus on the Psycho—Social Reflective Dimension From the review of the expanded definitions of the four dimensions of the analytical frame- work and the parts of the photo-novel that are relevant to each dimension, it is apparent that the interview tool serves most fully to provoke responses around the psycho-social issues of the parti— cipants. It is understandable, too, that personal interviews would focus on such issues of per- sonal identification; some of the other research methods used (involvement in community events, analysis of text, etc.) are more amenable to the study of the structural dimensions. And the ac- tive dimensions are not always reflected upon in the interviews, but are more readily observed. 310% ,Mq‘c' 06? um Ml .1 L'L-fl' LL‘ 5§nnuc T337241 L‘TLl'Fng Peno C071 fl L+n°7':(-W7rliq dCiLL-fff’m o , :s‘fnnchq .( 50/ 7774 (”00‘ d3 $617.1 ahona V 57? L (1.437141 (9)155 u WM If 31 IrsTIdcs any: Su Pele panccc d aim m" '93 sat/Ms {Hug/ca V\Cl}}O/}q_‘1nq‘fq Ole. flat,- ') ’ 0‘15 03, SL‘ baL/On ” q/Pé: INC/Ida}; 9’ (Way "4 ' ‘f . An immersion in the interview data revealed two major categories of concern falling within the psycho-social reflec- tive dimension: 1) one is the teacher- student relationship (photo to the left), as described by the four women interview— ed, and 2) the other has to do with their sense of knowledge, as they relate it to their own educational and social exper- iences (photo to the right). Thus, from the psycho—social focus imposed by the very construction and use of the tool, these two areas emerged as the clusters of greatest interest to the women. The an- alysis will use the psycho-social dimension, then, as a starting point; the reflections of each woman on teacher-student relation- ships and on education and knowledge will first be examined. 228 229 The reflections will be analyzed particularly for their critical quality. How is such quality distinguished? Freire himself in describing the development of "critical consciousness" referred to a de—coding process that participants could fol- low in discussing any social theme; in many cases, the theme was first introduced in the form of a visual code, a photograph or a drawing. If the photo-novel can be viewed also as a collection of visual codes on specific social themes, the inter— view process then becomes a kind of decoding exer- cise. I have built on this idea, and have distin— guished several stages in decoding, which might al- so represent levels of increasing critical quality: 1) Description: The first response to a code, especially a visual code, can be purely descrip- tive. In one interview, a woman responded to this photo of water being delivered to the town: "What do you see?" "Two men," she answered, without any 230 interpretation of the activity represented. Descriptions will usually include some interpretative or evaluative element, however: Another woman pointing to the first photo of the teacher described him as "this ypupg person here, with wisdom." It is often necessary to pass through a descriptive phase before entering into analysis, but response that remains at that level usually is not of.a very critical quality. 2) Personal association: Another phase of de-coding involves the viewer in making a personal association with the situation visualized or verbalized. After reading in the photo-novel about the woman who hadn't had time to study because of work and family duties, one interviewee empathized: "Night after night it's that way...." She was immediately identifying with the situation and thus describing her own personal experience. It is more critical than pure description of what is being observed, for ' ‘ the observer is beginning to internalize the issue. 3) Social relations: A third phase of decoding calls for a jump beyond the personal experience to a sense of the issue represented in the code as a social issue, also experienced by others. This may mean a re- cognition of the social origins of certain problems, and is the kind of analysis implicit in de- veloping a class consciousness. When asked who knows more about the problems of the community, the teacher or the Senoras, one woman responded: "The women. They suffer; they live the problems." 4) Contrasts/Contradictions: The preceding stage — establishing social relations - usually leads to a raising of questions about the dif— ferences between social groups. To present a social issue in compara- tive terms is often to pose a contra- diction of the society: "The people of wealth have money,’ said one woman, "while we poor people stay the same." l .‘i '. fig 9; 73¥QEET“HW¥4Vw$»n «- She is not only noting a difference in conditions - some with money, some without — but also implying there's a process that increases the goods of the wealthy, while the poor "stay the same." It reflects a much more cri— tical consciousness than a purely descriptive statement about the peo— ple who live in the urbanizations. 5) Analysis of problem: A further stage would involve confronting such a contradiction and doing a more explicit ana- lysis of the process that might cause it. This happened rarely in the interviews, and was not guided to any great extent. " one woman described decisions of "the gov- In a discussion about "who has left the poor out, ernment" as contributing to the inequalities; others bemoaned in more general terms the migration experience that had brought them from a rural market economy to an urban capital-intensive one: "We survived on the farm, how we worked for food in the Sierra. But here it costs money, you have to buy it." L 6) Exploration of alternative solutions: An even more critical analysis would not stop at explanations of problems, but would attempt to explore alternative solutions. This involves defining what Freire called the "free space" between the constraints and the possibilities of any particular situation, i.e., discovering what is "historically possible" to do toward confronting a problem and changing the conditions. Discussing the housing problem, for example, one woman suggested "Brick houses would be bet- ter; the straw house doesn't last long." Considering alternatives involves continued analysis. In reflecting on the pipe solution in the photo-story, another interviewee noted: "But we can't do it alone either," and proposed seeking some financial help from the government. 232 233 7) Critical Action: As Freire suggests, critical consciousness is most effectively developed through action taken upon problems that have been identified and analyzed. It's this living experience of trying to "transform reality" that best teaches people about the constraints and the possibilities of their own social situation. In the interviews, some efforts to actively confront problems were noted. At times, these efforts took the form of an active protest: "(In the community meetings), for something really important, I speak up... If they say, ; 'We're going to do it this way,‘ we might say, 'No, this isn't good.'" Other efforts were more clearly actions: when the old landowners brought along the policemen to help them try to evacuate one woman resident, "We went to support her." It is mainly from such real life experiences - that the women develop their analyses; their dialogue is not abstract, but is deeply grounded in actions they have taken or observed. 234 It becomes obvious that if we try to look for the critical quality of the responses of the four women, and begin with their reflections on psycho-social issues, we will inevitably move into the other three dimensions of the conscientization process. In fact, the key analysis will be to connect the responses at the psycho-social level to the responses reflecting structural conscious- ness, i.e. to show the dynamic interrelationship between all four dimensions of the conscientiza- tion process. Only after each of the four women has spoken - first in terms of her sense of teacher-student relationships and her sense of her own knowledge and education - and then in terms of how these views are connected to her sense of ideology, transformation, and behavioral change, only then will we move from the subjective views of the four to other objective factors of their community which might embellish our understanding of their conscientization process. Consistent, however, with the structure of this work, which presented first the social con- text of the literacy program, and then the program, we shall first present the very particular community and program which is the specific context of these four women. In this way their views will have a social background, and the reader can join in the exercise of making the connections between the two. 235 SANTA_ ANA 'c' ~5=LLL1£IH _ fi-w-n: !_4', waif-W's- ...i ‘ f i t *LL' 4.4}. ”5533‘ 5. mar—rd“- '. _-.-r..L‘5 "— I ! "" L :12, I~ L ‘- 11—- L ' ———v—a.-- ‘\ L - - 1312' Och-REL: -‘ A N ETfiNO GRAPH! C. DESCR IPTION 236 The photographic panorama to the left provides a visual introduction to the community here called Santa Ana, which is home for the four women we shall hear from soon Viewed from a hillside overlooking the squatter settlement, some key locations can be pointed out' + - 1...... .477 [—JLILIIHII [Mb a: $9560. 0 Church ) QLome-‘IQItm—CEETREL': __ _ __ ._ _ ._ __ HlOHUJAV r1 ("'1 {—1 Pnuatelq-w (mpcft‘hua d ‘Ifl’ F=a ““‘¢" S‘I'ablo / I ' remmns at- old hacienda T¢MP°'5'H New uaellso GmMumN 0.. :0 meehng Place ‘0 0 r‘"1 f__l 0"“! mother" Club , fime‘hrfi’ [—1 ON. Lo? ‘5! 2‘3“” E Loca‘hon for grocery ‘ mu: school. mm o church . ‘ 8’ MCdICO‘ 903* 0 80¢ch F: old Hulls I'd. “bargains Ana Cpolenhal le-le matter) 237 Santa Ana is settled in amidst the foothills that eventually rise to meet Peru's massive Sierra, part of the Andean mountain range. It is right along the central highway that leads from Lima to Huancayo, the closest mountain city, miles west. Its location reflects the broader historical process which the town itself represents. Santa Ana is actually now considered a part of greater metropolitan Lima, lying 19 kilometers from the city's center, yet providing workers to its factories and buyers and sellers to its markets. However, only twenty years ago, the valley surrounding Santa Ana was almost entirely agricul- tural land, controlled by large haciendas. Fed by the Rimac river and mountainside irrigation sys- tems, the valley was quite fertile in comparison to the dry and dusty coastal land to the north and south of Lima; wealthy landowners exploited this richness as well as the cheap labour of mi- grants heading toward Lima from the mountains. But these haciendas could not escape the economic changes that brought growing industrialization and urbanization , nor the political changes that brought land reforms and squatter settlement formation. Amongst the old landowners was an Italian family named Caselli. Their major business was cattle; though some of the land was cultivated, it was used mainly for feeding and grazing a pros- perous herd. A large stable and water tower (whose remains are pictured to the right) dominated the area; migrant workers on the hacienda occupied small huts lining the hillside to the right, by the highway. 238 mm rt 11' yr 239 There had been a history of struggle with the hacienda bosses; and the workers had learned to fight, and even, at times, to win. One woman who was a child worker on this land over fifty years ago went to court in those early years to fight an attempted eviction; her house remains where it was, a symbol of her determined spirit. The matriarch shown below is another old-timer, who worked for years on the hacienda, and then joined co-workers to claim the land and to build a new town, in a new era. .5“: L’..'L‘ 45!”, .3» A «' $-4- .:uo-.-_.M;;‘L~.;_u alabauou xrned ifty ms :imer, 1M “‘3. . 240 In 1968, workers on the Caselli hacienda gathered support from two hundred outsiders to in- vade the property and claim it as their own. Following the pattern common to other squatter settle- ments, they set up makeshift homes and refused to move. They were confronted by the police, who made several attempts to oust them from the land, but eventually gave up. This was also the year when the more progressive military regime came to power, and, as has been noted previously, the new government, though officially opposing invasions, in some ways supported the process. Since the first settlement, the population of Santa Ana has more than doubled, to include close to five hundred families in 1976. But the decade following the invasion has not been free of land struggles - both externally and internally. In 1971, officials of SINAMOS initiated in Santa Ana the process of legalizing their possession, but residents do not yet have titles of property ownership for their lots. And since that initial effort, it has not.been clear whose side SINAMDS is on, as we shall see later. They returned to help organize the town politically into neighborhood committees a few years ago, although Santa Ana leaders have since reorganized the community in different form. Also as the level area in the valley has become filled with new residents desiring lots, there have been some internal tensions. There is now a minimal charge for lots; and purchase and assign- ment must go through the community executive committee. Because of limited space, not all are ac- cepted; so there have been accusations of favoritism, and pressuring by residents to get choice spots for their relatives, for example. 21le Until 1976, the straw huts serving as \ LN“... homes for most residents were scattered hap— I hazardly; only recently has the town been organized systematically into lots (of 200 square meters) and into blocks. And a special financial arrangement with the Cath- olic service agency CARITAS has allowed the community to rent a bulldozer to level the ’n'"“"l',"fisf" land and to form streets. 242 But despite these indicators of permanence, the lack of land titles leaves residents resting on a basic insecurity. A community newspaper published in early 1976 reinforced that reality: "If we don't get property titles, we are not owners, and we can then be kicked off." More recent interventions of SINAMDS seem to support the old landowners, who are still trying to salvage some of the land around the stable. The cattle business has been operating only minimally, and most residents see that as a ploy to maintain a land claim (which is uncertain, legally, even for the Caselli's). Tension has been centered around the land closest to the stable where two blocks of homes are located, where community wells have recently been installed, and where a community meet- ing place has been erected. In October, 1976, the Santa Ana leadership got a notice of arrest from the Ministry of the Interior for illegal occupancy on that stretch of land. A delegation was quickly formed and sent as representative of the community to discuss the issue with various officials in Lima. The arrest was waylaid, but tension prevailed for several weeks. In November, a SINAMOS colonel arrived with the two Caselli sons and the widow of the old landowner. The government official declared to the townspeople that the front two blocks of houses and the meeting place were on Caselli property, and would have to be removed. There would then be a "remodeling" of the town to accomodate the displaced residents, implying that everyone would have some meters taken from his lot. This confrontation took place during the day, when most of the men were at work; thus, the women went to battle verbally with the bewildered colonel. 243 / 4—.-”— ‘AH‘ 1 The reported responses of these women to the SINAMOS official are worth repeating, for they reflect their perceptions of the land issue and of the parties involved: "You have come to help us three times, and each time, you have made public state- ——~.'. ‘— ments supporting the Caselli family, saying that they are generous in giving us land and in only keeping this little strip for themselves. How can you be supporting us if you're always making propaganda for them?" "And if you make these people move, where are they going to go? We're poor peo- ple; we don't have any place to go." .‘ _—_ - —--—‘.‘ "We women built the community meeting place and it also serves as a church and \v a school for the little children." "Forty-three years ago, I went to trial against Senor Caselli to get claim to my ‘ land; and after several years, I won. When will you stop bothering me??" ‘ The day following this confrontation, the rumors were even more dramatic; one woman reported the Colonel to have said: "If those in the first two blocks don't move, we may have to shoot one to ‘ get the others to move." The mobilization of the community around this issue also reflected their ‘ determination and strength: with the still pending possibility of arrest of community leaders, townspeople formed new block organizations with new delegates ready to immediately replace them in the continuing bureaucratic battles. 2144 ) 333?;00 voéidi¢flo oi’!¢¢o 40;. 434100» 2MB There were some other tensions around land that made that issue a constant preoccupation of Santa Ana residents. One had to do with the plot of private property located in front of the town and the stable, right along the central highway and the entrance to Santa Ana. A "coopera— tive association" managed these lots which were purchased by their owners; this was in contrast to the Santa Ana lots which were primarily claimed by squatters' rights. In building their new sturdy homes, the wealthier cooperative residents tried to extend their lots by digging trenches that cut into the small road leading from the highway to Santa Ana. The women of Santa Ana organ— ized one day an active protest, marching down to the trenches and filling them up with dirt. .- j. ‘i ' WWW-7m . . ._ While the land issue has managed to usurp a lot of time and energy, as is the case in most "young towns,” the basic issue of work plagues Santa Ana residents at least as deeply. The com— munity itself has no clear economic base. Even though the factories along the central highway have served to attract migrant workers to these areas, only about 25% of the Santa Ana labor force finds employment in them. Many work in less stable occupations like construction and brickmmaking (to the left), or are self—employed in small market businesses or as street peddlers. There are many women who go off with a cart for a few hours a day to supplement the family income (above). 246 24? And some have maintained rural activities, grazing sheep in some of the vacant meadows around the settlement. But a large and growing number of both men and women are unemployed. Both the unsettled land issue and the unsettling employment situation have slowed down the process of securing basic services for the community: water and sewerage, electricity, better housing. The latter problem is usually tackled on an individual basis, but all residents who in- vest in more solid housing are doing so on unsolid ground: without any clear land titles. The economic situation, of course, makes the possibility of building a slim one for most, and the cost of bricks has almost doubled in the last two years. The paper-lined straw huts with earthen h a" '7,§3flf “flhFjifi‘ : ‘ " $4,???" 1W0 j 4! » W floors that serve as homes for the majority give little protection against the penetrating damp- ness and cold. A few residents with greater resources have bought pre-fab wooden homes; but most aspire to a brick structure. above), and little by little. to be bought all at once. They will build it themselves, of course, (as the family The bricks must be saved up over years, for they are too expensive 2h8 249 The securing of electricity has at least been a more collective process. By mid-1976, 180 families had light- ing in their homes. The procedures were initiated by com- munity members, in collaboration with an engineer, SINA— MOS, and the electric company. The people together in- stalled the light posts; the costs per person amounted to $60 for both installation and service. This, of course, limited the service to the few who could afford it. A more critical issue for all Santa Ana residents has been the lack of a water and sewerage system. There had been one source of mountain water available through an irrigation system installed years ago by the hacienda owners; this supply was cut off when the land was taken by invasion. A stream still runs through the lower com- munity, near the stable. However, it is polluted and smelly; some women wash their clothes there, but the water is not really safe for household use. Santa Ana residents have thus depended on the truck delivery of water from the supply of a factory across the highway. It is sup- posed to come every other day, but has been known to falter. And with the road levelling, some of the barrels were re— moved, so there have been fewer places for deposit; new wells are now being built by blocks. Worst of all, the cost of de- livery is rising, to almost $100 per week for the town, which represents mostly profit for the near—by factory, which has only to pay for transport. A community newspaper denounced this scandal: "Fellow residents, how long are we going to put up with this exploitation with the liquid — water...!" 250 251 Besides basic survival services, Santa Ana also lacks its own local institutions: a market, a medical post, a schook and a church. There are a few small grocery stores scattered throughout the settlement; and some residents raise poultry for sale, or sell fruits and vegetables as street peddlers. But most people go to the larger mar- ket (pictured here) in Tumpa, one kilometer away, across the highway. There, too, is the school that the children attend. The local Catholic parish is another kilometer beyond, and the med- ical center even further. There are plans underway for the community construction of a market, school, church, and a recreational field. The large lot on the south— west end of the town was levelled for such pur— poses. And Sundays are regularly work days for all of the community, preparing the land for con- struction. There is tension around priorities. 7 ___ _._‘._r And the ever—present economic obstacles have made the process a very slow one. Finally, the women organized, in cooperation with the regional NEC office, to set up a temporary straw building for a pre—school (above and to the right); this is the controversial struc- ture that also serves as-a meeting place for community assemblies and for literacy classes. The fate of that structure remains embedded in the persisting issues of land; and the fate of the new buildings, too, depends upon a precar- ious economic situation. In the midst of great political and economic struggles, the people of Santa Ana have shown much determination to organize themselves in order to meet some of these pressing needs. 252 Besides basic survival needs, they have also managed to tackle social needs with similar spirit. Santa Ana has guitarists and accordian play— ers; music ranges from the coastal creole watlzes and bol— eros to the huayno brought from the Sierra. And radios and TV bring international pop also into the homes. Whenever there's a good excuse, there's a party, and young and old find ways to make music that, at least temporarily, drowns out deeper concerns. Let's take a closer look now at the people, their origins and organizations. 2 51+ People and Organizations Santa Ana residents come mainly from the Sierra - Apurimac, Ayacucho, Huancavelica, Junin; many have come directly to Santa Ana from the mountains, joining family members already here, claiming "there is more money in Lima." But that illusion is soon shattered. There are attempts to cultivate gardens in the new urban settlement to supplement food needs, and frequent trips back to the Sierra yield new supplies from relatives or farms still maintained. Those that have come from the same region keep in close contact and often form regional as- sociations, meeting for local festivals with friends and relatives who may live in near-by squat- ter settlements. Community activities are really a mixture of traditional customs brought from the Sierra and new social practices adopted as a part of urban life (Mother's Day, Day of the Peasant, Catholic and pagan celebrations). Some residents will make an effort to return to their "land," as they refer to their mountain hometown, at the time of special annual festivals. Still others may even return home for good, especially if the economic pressures of the city become too great (as happened after the July 1976 crisis), and it is Still possible to live off the land. In many ways, the people are living in a state of transition. The use of language also reflects this transitional state: Quechua may be used among older residents, but most younger families are Spanish-speakers. Still, almost all residents understand Quechua, which they jokingly called "our English," empathizing with my learning Spanish. 255 The organization of the community has been alluded to; let's consider it more ex— plicitly. Politically, the town is orga— nized into block committees, with delegates from each serving on an "executive commit- tee;" the officers of this coordinating body wield the most power. The leaders are variously respected and reprimanded; some have been pressured out of office for ir- responsible actions (like not signing a document needed for the installation of el- ectricity or giving special lots to friends and neighbors). Periodically, community assemblies are held for all residents; these may be to discuss a crisis (like the sum- mons for arrest) or to make decisions about the town's development, with regard to wa- ter supply, electrical installation, build- ing of a school or church. Santa Ana's community association maintains relationships with other squatter settlements surrounding Lima, in a Confederation of Young Towns. News arrives by informal channels or com- munity leaflets about struggles or developments in near—by areas, and Santa Ana residents have often joined in solidarity with these towns. Residents have also responded in mass support of workers' struggles in the factories living the central highway. In early 1976, while men were on strike, the women of Santa Ana aided by blocking the highway with rocks and carrying baskets of food into the strikers (as in photo below). And after the July crisis, a coalition of communi- ty and religious leaders in the area met to consider alternative responses to the situation. 256 257 L85 was CflRfiS 'DE Nannie CLUB DC HADES The other major organization in Santa Ana, the Mothers' Club, was initially established by the Catho- lic Church. Although there is no church in Santa Ana, an Italian priest includes it in his extended parish, offering both spiritual and social leadership. He performs mass periodically in homes or in the com— munity meeting place, and has been eager to get Santa Ana families involved in the rituals of baptism, con- firmation, and marriage. This religious education has come mainly through the Mothers'Club (the women being the most receptive to it), set up four years ago in conjunction with CARITAS, the Catholic charity offer— ing free food from foreign missions. Santa Ana women must attend weekly meetings of the Mothers' Club to qualify for the monthly food rations (being distributed in the photo to the right)- This opportunity is 0b- viously a major motivation for the involvement of the 50 or so women who are regular members of the Club. 258 In; " 32‘ i" ’ ~:‘ »'1" “ r)! , .,‘ '_ u I '1 f) I v ‘ 9', H .9... J' , , . In. ‘ Q I ' I . " n. ,. i e It is difficult to consider either the Mothers' Club or the ALFIN literacy program in Santa Ana as separate organizations; for the two have in many ways been integral to each other. Offi— cially, perhaps, ALFIN would be considered one dimension of Mothers' Club activity. But in actual— ity, the literacy teacher has taken a major role in organizing many kinds of educational, social, and political activities with the women, which he sees as totally consistent with the goals of the literacy program. So we will consider the two as a whole, analyzing first the leadership dynamics, then the educational and community activities in detail. Clearly there are three people (above) who wield the most influence on the Club: the Italian priest who organized it, the literacy teacher who has worked through it for three years, and the community woman who is its elected president. 260 The padre's sources of power have been implied: there is an economic source - a tie to the stomachs of the women through the foodstuffs of the Catholic charity; there is the religious aura which causes the women to defer to him as priest and to see themselves as sinners; there is his European origin - which still carries a bit of the awe and discomfort of the colonial relationship; there is the desire for rituals - at least for their children - as a symbol of status and upward mobility for the urban migrant; there is the organizational history of the Club, started and thus in some ways "owned" by the padre. His relationship with the women is friendly, yet of a paternalistic nature; they respect him, but will not easily speak openly with him. Pablo, the ALFIN teacher in Santa Ana, is also part of a religious community, in nearby Tumpa, but one which takes a clear stance of active commitment to economic and political justice. The community also has foreign ties, but Pablo himself is a Serrano; his family has migrated from the same area as some Santa Ana residents and his appearance is similar to theirs. He has been univer- sity-educated and is well-traveled, but much travel and study goes into exploring the cultural roots of his people and affirming them. He leads youth study groups and actively supports peoples' struggles in neighboring towns and workers' struggles in nearby factories. He has been with ALFIN since its beginning, teaching in other squatter settlements as well, but maintaining a continual relationship with Santa Ana. His experience perhaps reflects that of others who are old-timers with ALFIN: he has lost some of the fervor of the early years, has become discouraged with the working conditions, and has shifted most of his energy from literacy per se to community work. 261 Pablo's relationship with the women is more informal and direct than the padre's; he is young and like a son to some, others call him "Brother" (also because of his religious affi— liation). His age apparently caused some problems when he began teaching: for one thing, husbands didn't like the idea of their wives spending time alone with a young man; for another, some women felt uncomfortable with his youthful informaliy, having been used to older, more distant, authori— tarian teachers; and others question- ned his sense of responsibility to the class. Overall, his style is a contrast to the padre‘s, as is evi- denced spatially in the photos to the left. The third person who exerted real influence on the Mothers' Club was its elected president. Though young and one of the few childless women in the club, she is bright, critical, and involved in community issues at several levels. A kind of intermediary between the women on the one hand and Pablo and the Padre on . 3 . U. .L' f the other, she provides a leadership that encourages the women to participate fully in the club activities and in the broader community. This comment made by her during one of the interviews, reflects her position: "We must meet and unite to demand our rights.... In all the "young towns," the people are concerned with these issues (getting water, building schools, etc.). The cost to us is our own labor, our united force. We ourselves must do it, because there is no one to finance this work. The community can develop only with the efforts of the people themselves. We don't know if we will succeed or not, but we are working at it...fl 262 263 The following review of the activities of the Mothers'Club/ALFIN program cover only the year 1976. Educational Activities Thursdays were set aside for the official weekly meetings of the Mothers' Club, when attend- ance was crucial, and this was also the time for Bible study led by the Padre. This actually gave the women some reading practice and an opportunity to express themselves in discussion. If this was done in the large group of 40 or so, most women merely responded "Si, Padre, to the priest's interpretations. And at these times, baptism and confirmation were explained; the Padre often used this as an opportunity to encourage the women to become officially married, but most pre- ferred the legal and economic advantages of a common law arrangement. . a ‘3... ’r(.\& u . ~..-.. 5 1 . . .~ - .. '. r. ‘L ‘ -' T, . yr \ . _~ . . ih' —~~ . ~ -'. 7 7.... .‘RW‘F ‘3". '1'!’ -, v‘t'vvmt'. ”mum fl‘VK'T“ “- ~“‘ 1 -1 3;? ‘35? -'«".-'II"~-;,;‘ ‘v‘Vy. a 3 ‘3 I. ‘w .1, ‘ ‘ ,' ‘v. .\,.~ '7 v. . ~-:' ,. 1’ - . _ . l x I \ L5- 5'» we...“ .. , “,5, , ‘ '.‘ . ’ ‘ l was}; In mid—1976, the Padre initiated the formation of small groups, so that these Biblical discus- sions could become more personal and relevant. In the first attempt of our group (pictured above) to discuss assigned phrases of the Lord's Prayer, one woman began to relate the issues to her life: "I've been sick a long time. But I can't stay in bed. There are eight children to feed, and what my husband earns is not enough. So I get up, and must work all day washing clothes for other women in the community down at the stream. Then when my husband comes home, he doesn't believe that I've been working all day... and when I say I'm sick, he pays no attention; he says its a mania. There's no one to take care of me. Sometimes I feel so bad I just wish God would come and get me." 26L» 265 All of the activities of the Mothers' Club ware seen as integral to the ALFIN program and vice-verse. Literacy classes per se reached their peak in 1974 and 1975 when ALFIN had the force of a campaign and coincided with the political organization of communi- ties. By 1976, there was lass demand, though classes were offered twice a week by the year's end. Although the motivations for learning to read and write were varied - most related to the survival skills named in the general discussion - there was a sense in Santa Ana that the new literacy also re- flected a new pride and new power. The Mothers' Club president recounted the testimony of one older woman: "Thanks to the Club, and thanks to ALFIN, I have learned how to read. Before when the community leaders came to my house to ask for my signature, I didn't know how to write. I didn't know how to put down my name, any more than a fingerprint. But now, being literate, I can put down my name." More interest and energy - on the part of the women and of the teacher — went into the training activities seen as integral to the program. Pab]o re- cruited a friend to come and teach knit- . ting classes; the women saw this as a supplementary income. However, attempts to get them to con— sider developing an economic cooperative to sell their works collectively were futile; most preferred to sell on their own. There were a few classes in cooking, which were as much a social activity as an educational one. Again, the lack of a meeting place hindered their development. With the new locale, Pablo initiated simple frame—making classes. Another popular class offered first—aid lessons, taught by a nun from a neighboring parish. 266 267 Pablo's forte actually was in organizing cultural events that had a critical element: films on indigenous culture, a radio novel about a community mobilizing itself to resolve a crisis, a satire on alienating consumer advertisements, a performance by a singing group (above) including protest music and political satires, a dramatic re—enactment of Huascata's history by a university theatre group. And together with a Communications Workshop team of a local university, Pablo and I organized two months of sociodramas, which involved women in acting out relationships and situations of their daily lives. The experience was rich in both content and process; but we will review the dramas only briefly at this time. First of all, the women were shown (below) a series of photographs of various kinds of relationships; through their responses to these photos, a list was drawn up of the relationships that seemed most important to them, and named with their words. Each week the women selected one relationship to act out in a spontaneous drama, defining as well the particular situa— tion. The enactments were thus small slices of their lives, sometimes exaggerated to the point of satire, but always reflecting very live issues. ‘ ~. ~ - ?.""'Z"‘."“""‘.‘?‘T"v?-T‘ii-‘-?7-73 . ., 5 .u - 2C3. ' "‘ .>. ., , 268 269 Not surprisingly, the family theme was the most popular - and returned to again and again, variations on this issue most central to their lives. The husband and wife were al— ways involved, at first in a bitter argument about a drunken spree of the man and the dom- estic inefficiency of the woman; yelling was a natural element in these combats, which the actresses enjoyed no matter which role they took. Another day, in—laws were added to the clan, and the issue was the tension between the wife and her mother-in—law in managing the household. In yet another drama, the pa- rents were united in a conflict with their daughter, who brought her boy friend home (that drama is represented here). And in a fourth dramatic rendition of the family scence, the again—quarreling couple found themselves be- fore a judge to settle their dispute. and tral re 31' ment , dom— : "as ch the thEY t0 the ween ;in8 :he pa' Ie1r ume (that :’oUrth the :5 be' Several dramas dealt with basically econo— mic relationships. Reflecting past employment, .’ the women chose to re—enact a scene (at right) i involving a wealthy housewife with three serv— ants. There were the humorous intrigues implied the issues of overwork and time off, differences . between the servants, and an eventual firing. ‘. Afterwards, many women were prompted to tell tales of their own real experiences as domestics Another sociodrama was originally to in- \ M. I ' ' v -' 1 ‘ r". 4‘ - taint... Wu volve a coastal inhabitant with a migrant from the Sierra (a mestizo-Indian contact). The wome chose to locate that relationship in the central market. At first, the seller was the seasoned Limenan, quick to trick the disoriented Sierran customer. Then, quite spontaneously, the women switched the roles and made the merchant a poor mountain farmer selling his produce to a wise— mouthed coastal shopper. 270 271 And just as spontaneously, one woman observer jumped up from the sidelines and entered the drama as an of— ficer of the municipality (seen at right), demanding documents from the poor, defenseless seller. Certain— ly, their own frustrating experiences of racial dis— crimination and urban aCculturation were reflected in these scenes, where the migrant seemed always the loser. L i A daily economic interaction involved a bus-driver, his money—collector, and the passengers (at left). The recent hikes in fares and the economic crisis were the deep- er background for that drama. One of the most spontaneous sociodramas followed a community action described earlier. The women had just returned from filling in the trenches dug by the cooperative owners at the entry to Santa Ana. With the freshness of that real—life drama, they re-enacted its un- folding for those of us who had missed it. They grabbed their shovels as props and entered into a lively argument with those playing the cooperative members. The historical ten— sion between the property owners and the Santa Ana residents was strongly displayed in this dra— matization. 272 273 There was real ambivalence about doing one of the sociodramas: one which involved interaction between a village priest and a parishioner. The women wanted to see the relationship dramatized but when it came down to acting, there were no volunteers at first. The situation chosen was a confession, but no one wanted to risk being the confessor. Nor was anyone eager to take the role of the priest: it seemed to be a sacrosanct position, demanding sophistication and piety that the women felt weren't in their experience ("But I can't even read," was one excuse). Eventually, Eventually, some volunteered, but first to enact a safer scene - the baptism ritual, then to try the confessional. Only days later did we learn that the woman who had taken the priest's role was in fact an evangelical protestant, almost synonymous with sinner to many Latin American Cath- olics; it was this detail that upset the actual Padre in Santa Ana when he heard about it, creating some unscheduled drama. A final sociodrama (at right) explored the stereotypes the women had of teacher-student re- lationships. It revealed for the most part an image of a formal school system, very authoritar- ian and book-oriented, with quite submissive students. And it seemed to be patterned on a prim- ary school experience, either drawn from their pasta in the Sierra or from their children's de- scriptions, rather than reflecting their present experiences as adult learners. The nonformal educational activities of the Methers' Club and the literacy program were apparently not asso- ciated in their minds with school and education. 27hr 275 All of the sociodramas were filmed with super 8mm synch—sound film, and were also regularly photographed. Photos of the preceding drama were returned each week to encourage more serious discussion and analysis of similar real life experiences the women had known. And two months after the dramas ended, we returned with the developed movie film. It was projected on the outside wall of a home one evening, while over a hundred residents sat or stood to see their neighbors acting out their daily lives in living color. It was the best entertainment to hit Santa Ana in a long time, and discussions on the lingering issues continued in several homes for days to come. Another study will analyze the ten sociodramas in greater detail and with more depth. In the context of this work, they portray though briefly with more personal feeling the fabric of the daily lives of women in Santa Ana. In specific relation to the interviews to follow, the socio- dramas are another source of information about the women's perceptions of themselves in authority relationships (an issue in the photo-novel in terms of teachers and students). It is also impor- tant to consider the educational value of the sociodrama experience for the women involved; the activity was a part of the ALFIN program in Santa Ana. From the standpoint of the women, the 5 "theatre," as they called it, provided entertainment, release, and an opportunity to express them- selves in public. Many shied away at first, but eventually over half of the 40 or so women volun- teered to take part. The experience seemed to increase their confidence: "Before I thought I couldn't do it, but I can," proclaimed one woman. And others saw political implications: "And now Lyou're not afraid to get up in a community assembly and say what you think.... Community Action It's obvious that the educational activities described above feed into and reflect other community activities. The Mothers' Club was recognized as a formidable force in Santa Ana, and was encouraged by community leaders to contribute very actively to its development. One example is visualized here. The local NEC asked the Club's cooperation in set- ting up the pre—school. The women joined in at several stages of its organization: they met in the middle of one night to erect a temporary straw structure to serve as a school and a meeting place (it was a clandestine activity because it was on Caselli land), they spent another week papering the inside walls, they helped to make tables and secure desks for the children; some even volunteered as assistants in the pre—school classes. 276 277 The Mothers' Club was also consulted from the beginning on the planning for the new civic area, to include the school, church, and medical post. The Club contributed financially to pay the bulldozer for the levelling of the land, and the women kept the driver well-fed. And they helped to organize the Sunday work days which involved residents in laying the foundations for the new buildings. The women were also quick to mobilize in times of crisis. Their role in support of the strike of a nearby factory has been mentionned; they also organized the filling of the ditches near the privately-owned cooperative. They were clearly the most vocal in the confrontation with the SINA- MOS official.around the land issue. At several points, they held emergency meetings to discuss the water issue, especially on days when the truck failed to deliver. Even their organized social activities had some connection to basic community issues: at the end of 1976, they were sponsoring a dance to raise money toward a local water system. i In setting the scene for the four women participants in ALFIN to speak, it has become clear that literacy per se is only a small part of the educational program they partake in. It must be admitted that classes in some other communities were more successful in meeting the particular need of learning to read and write. But in Santa Ana, that need was mostly integrated with other issues and activities. And the emphasis on becoming active participants in the socio-economic- political development of their community was surely consonant with the style of the teacher working here. It is that emphasis which also permeates the interviews to follow. 5 I‘ESpOn Analysis of Interviews The four interviews that appear below were all done with the photo—novel as a stimulus and a guide. Rather than dissect them question by question, I have chosen to leave much of the dialogue in tact, and to integrate it with the analysis, maintaining a narrative form. Where the responses and the discussion refer to a particular dimension of the conscientization process, as outlined in the analytical framework, I have in the margins noted the focus symbolically, with the four-fold table used to describe the four dimensions. It is not used as a rigid tool in the analysis, but mainly helps to guide its direction. Photographs are used in this section in a special way: they are smaller, so as not to detract from the more important dialogue: but most of them are drawn from the preceding discussion of the layers of context that make up the structural reality within which the dialogues are embedded. Thus, the photos are an integral part of the attempt to connect the perceptions of the women to their social context; they are visual connectors bringing the inside-out perspective of this section together with the outsidehin view of the first section. A final note: the names of the women speaking here have been changed, to maintain their anon- ymity. The underlining is done to emphasize points of the analysis, and does not reflect any emphasis placed by the interviewees. 278 w [fihe know what we don't have and what we need.” (We are sitting on the bed, in one corner of the windowless, earthen-floored room, which serves variously for cooking, eating, sleeping, and now, talking... Sefiora Juana has welcomed Samuel and me warmly, but she has other preoccupations throughout our hour—long discussion: her husband will soon come home from the factory and will want lunch; the children tug at her skirt demanding attention...) Using the analytical framework as a screening device, we focus in on the dialogue with Sefibra Juana, first to hear her reflections at the psycho-social level, or more specifically, how she identifies with knowledge and education, and with teachers and students. Knowledge, as described by Sefiora Juana, has both a mystical quality and a very practical quality. This appears, at first, a contradiction. She identifies the teacher in the first photo-story: "This young person here, with wisdom.....he teaches children, so they can work.” Wisdom appears amorphous, yet its acquisition should prepare one to earn a living. And she associates education almost automatically with children, ("he teaches children") especially in the more formal class of the second photo-story. Even when considering her own opportunities to learn as an adult, her objectives have to do with the education of her children. And again, there are the mystical and the practical elements: "I want to learn to read and write in order to know. .and, to sign my name, to teach my children, to send letters to my relatives. You learn the alphabet in order to teach it to those in the family who don’t know." The motivation, then, is not an individualistic one, but very much other— directed. In fact, her family responsibilities take priority and sometimes conflict with her studies: "When you have to take care of the kids, there are so many things in the house you have to do. But at night, yes, it's quiet, and with a candle, you can study, learn..." The practical/mystical contradiction perhaps points to two kinds of knowledge that Sefiora Juana discerns: what she has learned through living in order to survive - "(In the Sierra) I learned to work on the farm, to graze animals, to carry the produce to market on a donkey, to prepare fbod..." and what she has to learn to survive in her new urban environment - "I was in a class in a church, we had notebooks; I got good marks and have a framed certificate. I liked it. I want to do more. ....You learn more in a public school." She is able to affirm what she has learned through life experiences, but the formal education opportunity is compelling, even if not concretely understood. It represents a world she was denied in the Sierra, "I started school,but had to stop to work on the fhrm..." yet wants for her city—bred children: "You must learn, I say to my children." Yet there's another contradiction here. She wants her children to be formally educated, but she indicates that they might be missing the experiences that taught her so much. 280 281 "we had to persevere to survive in the Sierra.... But here the children don't work, they don't db anything, they only play games...” One psychic world constantly intrudes on the other. She projects the tension of these two worlds in her description of the bored woman in the formal class: '%me has so many stories, so many thoughts. She can’t concentrate." Still in the context of urban formal schooling, those stories and thoughts do not seem to count as knowledge. In this context, rather, ’ ..those who already ’know’ have to teach those who don’t know.. Usually the know-er is the teacher. ”He teaches everything to those of us who don't know." Especially, in describing the traditional class, Sefiora Juana makes a clear distinction between the teacher and the student: ”He is ordering them..... or he is answering them, talking to them..." (while) the students look at the one who is teaching. .and they must raise their hand so they can speak. However, in describing the ALFIN story, she admits that students, too, have something to teach: "Yes, you can teach each other. Actually, right now, my mother-in-law, who already knows some of the alphabet, is teaching me. She appears to have a grasp of parts of the ALFIN method: "They ask questions among themselves; they make their own words, and with those words, they discuss things." But she's not quite sure about the right of students to challenge the teacher's authority: ”If the teacher makes a mistake, and if the student already knows how to readL then she can criticize; but if she doesn't know, then how is she going to criticise him?” Again, what is reflected is a sense of a particular "knowledge", that associated with books. Connecting the Person to the Structures "In the Sierra, when the harvest was good, there was enough and we ate until May; when it wasn't good, we didn't eat so well. But we sur- vived on the farm, how we worked for food in the Sierra. But here, it costs money, you have to bny_it." Herein perhaps lies the key for the personal contradictions that Sefiora Juana experiences around education in the city. She grew up in a rural mountain environment, where her life was integrally tied to the land: she learned from it, worked on it, and it kept her alive. She grew up in what was primarily a subsistence and market economy. Forced by the dynamics of indus- trial development to migrate to Lima, she is now trying to survive in a capitalist economy. Most of her reflections on the structures around her mention the new symbol of exchange: money. "When there' 3 no money, what can we eat? It costs so much to live. And with a family like ours, 30 soles doesn't last long. With that much, you can only get 2 or 3 loaves of bread’ In discussing community issues, the theme re-emerges: 282 "we don't have water or electricity, because we don't have money, barely enough to eat with, that’s all. The water, they still bring it from outside; we have to buy it.” She is aware of the differences between the conditions in the squatter settle- ments and those in more privileged neighborhoods, like the urbanizations: ’Whey come with light, water, everything. They have businesses, and they can count their money, but here there isn’t money. There’s hardly enough here to feed us. We want to build a house, but we lack money. In Chiclacayo, there are several neighborhoods, better ones, with big houses." She does present comparisons and pose contradictions, but she doesn't explore deeper causes of this inequality. Only a brief reference is made to the government at one point when she recalls the visit of a cabinet minister to Huascata: "He promised us things, but he cheated us ..... ; he took our money.” But in pointing out what she feels to be the critical issue facing her family and her community, Sefiora Juana returns to her roots, reflecting the historical importance of a relationship to the land: 'Terhaps most important is the question of land with Poppe, before the water issue. we don't have a house, we dbn't own our land; we're like renters. we have to present everything to SINAMOS so they will give us this land. we don’t have our property titles yet. This town is not yet free. we're in litigation with the landlord; it’s like a trial." And here she begins to describe community actions that have been taken to confront these contradictions: "we want to protest fer our town. Two weeks ago, we made a collection to send people to SINAMOS, but SINAMOS didn't want to receive them. 'we can't help you,’ they say. They’re always giving us excuses.” How ironic, then, that this constant battle for land, upon which all other fights for basic services rest, is one which has deep historical roots; for some migrants, who were once hacienda workers, it is a continuation of an effort to own land that they have worked; for small farmers, it is the struggle to recover in this new world land which at least fed their families in the old. And the connection between the land and food, and money and food appears again and again in Sehora Juana's dialogue. It becomes more understandable why she might wish for her children an urban education which would teach them to work, to earn money, to be able to eat and live comfortably with the basic services they now lack; while at the same time, she questions that possibility and recalls how she learned to survive on the land and it fed her. For she and other migrants have perhaps been hardest hit by this transition from an agricultural market economy to a capital-intensive one. The sense of authority that permeates her descriptions of the teachers in the photo-story is also reflected in her references to other authorities influencing her life and the life of the community. "They must work. . . .and give advice. . . ” This puts a lost of responsibility on the leadership, just as it was, in her opinion, the responsibility of the teacher to "teach everything." (In fact, participation by residents in community projects, according to the Sefiora, is pressured thrOugh the threat of a fine; thus, money is also on the side of the local authorities!) And both money and land also appear to be associated with the more remote power figures named: Poppe, SINAMOS officials, and the cabinet member - who are seen variously with the power to "give us this land" or to "take away our money." 284 There is still one domain where Sefiora Juana claims power for herself and for other female residents of Huascata. In discussing who knows best the problems of the community, the teacher or the women in the class, she declares: ’The women know how it is, they know how the town runs, because they live it; they know what we don't have, and what we need, especially in our homes.” This is one area where she is confident of her own knowledge and understanding. The home and the family remain a focal point for her, and all educational opportunities or community action efforts that she might join in seem directed toward meeting the basic needs of her family. She doesn't describe experiences where she has made personal behavioral changes, though her adjustment to the urban squatter settlement and her entry into an educational program seem to represent major shifts in her lifespace and activity. Like the other women interviewed, Séhora Juana rarely responds to the stories in purely personal terms; she, like they, usually speaks in the third person, as "we. " In terms of a critical quality to her consciousness, she often moves beyond the descriptive and personal association level in her comments; she has a clear sense that her issues are social issues, common to other women, to other community members, and to other poor people. She can compare her social class experience with that of middle-class neighborhoods, and compares the urban life of the migrant family to her earlier life in the Sierra. She has been involved in community actions that have clearly sharpened her consciousness. The elements of difference are clear in her dialogue: land and money, because those issues constantly touch her daily existence. But she doesn't present a clear picture of why or how these discrepancies exist, and still tends to blame persons or institutions (the landlord, SINAMOS) as responsible, in the same way that she considered teachers responsible for transmitting knowledge. LDd nd 0nd Lk; fiiifi Through her dialogue, we see a dynamic relationship between the psycho—social dimensions of her social consciousness and the structural ones; she herself exposes some of the contradictions, but they appear to remain unresolved, perhaps both in her understanding and in the social reality that surrounds her. 286 287 SEfiORA ROSA luBut I was afraid; I couldn't read. n] In the conversation with Sefiora Ross, the structure of the interview and the relationships involved reflect some of the same dynamics that she describes in responding to the photo-novel. What are these? First of all, I am accompanied by the Mbthers' Club president, one of the most active women in the community, who at times tries to guide the conversation and prods sefiora Rosa with leading questions; there may be some tension between the Sefiora and this community leader. Secondly, Sefibra Rosa does not seem stimulated by the photo-stories to tell tales of her own experience or of the community, as other women did; she responds meekly and briefly. Once she even gave one answer to an open-ended question, then quickly gave another, asking'"Is that right?" I tried to assure her that there were no right answers, but she seemed unconvinced. Thirdly, her children join us now and then, sometimes repeating as sefibra Rosa reads the text of the photo-novel; she periodically pushes them away, threatening them that "the Sefibrita gringa will punish you if you don't stOp bothering us." This relationship with her children, perhaps the only one where she feels in control, is characterized by yelling and by threats of punishment, and I am used as a symbol of fear. My sense is that Seflora Rosa's relationships with teachers, with community leaders, with employers, etc., are also based in fear, as we shall examine shortly. Using the analytical framework as a screening device for her dialogue, another observation is notable; her reflections remain primarily at the psycho-social level; she talks about how she feels about her educational experiences and her relationships in them, but she rarely relates them to structural issues. There is little analysis of community problems, nor a recognition of their social origins. Nor are there many references to active efforts to confront problems, either collectively or personally; she reveals rather, once again, a fear to take action, either in class, her at work, or in community meetings. This passivity is consistent with her behavior during the interview. The other analytical tool, proposed for discerning the levels of critical quality of responses to the photo—novel, can be applied in similar manner. More than in any other interview, Sefiora Rosa's responses remain primarily at the descriptive level: "This is a teacher," "There are two men," "She is writing," "They are sitting down." And though she does venture to make personal associations with the material ("I was afriad," "I prefer to learn..."), she doesn't often identify her problems as common to others; in fact, in listing major community problems, she includes "_y house;" this use of the personal pronoun is very uncommon in other conversations with the migrant women, who usually speak in "we" terms. With this general introduction to the texture of the conversation with Sefiora Rosa, let's examine in more detail the expression of her concerns. "In the Sierra, when I was a child, I studied up to the second year of primary school. But already I 've forgotten..." Her first contact with formal education, though short and not enduring, seems to have contributed to a quite narrow concept of education: she refers to reading, writing, and arithmetic several times, and can't understand why the teacher in the ALFIN photo-story is concerned with the problems of the community: "Why is he going around talking to the women?" In fact, when the same teacher admits later on in the story that the problem of water may be more important than reading and writing, she disagrees: "No, first I prefer to read.....no, Sefiorita...?" And in describing her experiences in the literacy class in Santa Ana, it is those basic activities that she refers to: 288 289 "We’ve done mostly reading and writing... We worked with the syllables; ta, te, ti, to, tu.., and have put words together with them. (But) no, we don’t discuss problems in class." Her main critique of Pablo, "this young teacher who teaches in a different way....,” seems to be that he isn't teaching her the mathematics she would like to know: ”I want to learn to do subtraction, addition, the multiplication tables; I want to learn how to figure out the bill...., because in whatever business, they try to cheat you..." Even her husband asked her: "What does he teach you...? Why aren't you learning this...?" But she seems afraid to bring up the issue with the teacher, because... "..he doesn’t ask us what we want to learn." This sense of fear permeates her descriptions of the teachers in the story: She describes the child looking up at the teacher: "He’s frightened, he's looking up at him and he's afraid..." And when the same teacher asks an older woman to repeat the vowels and she can't, Sefiora Rosa empathizes: "Yes, when you can't even answer, you feel ashamed." "How does this woman feel?" "Sad, she wants to cry. . . " "And have you ever felt like this?" "Yes..., I have...” Not only in school situations has she felt such fear apparently. She describes an incident years ago, when she was supposed to apply for a voting card. "I was afraid before to go; I trembled, I looked around. I was l8 years old at the time (now I'm 38), and I was working in a factory in San Miguel. Then I was supposed to get a voting card, but I was afriad; I couldn't read." This was probably one of Sefibra Rosa's first experiences as a rural migrant who had come to the city to join the urban industrial labor force. The voting card represented, as mentioned earlier, one's official identity in the city; it is a vital entry card for the migrant - in seeking work, establishing identity, gaining status. And it depended upon one's reading skill. Thus we have another indicator of the alienation experienced by a woman who was forced to leave her rural mountain home; and that alienation seems in this case to be very concretely and psychically related to her lack of formal education. Sefibra Rosa refers only briefly to other dimensions of her socio-economic situation. The major community problems, in her opinion, include: "...the lack of water; they bring water here two times a week, and we pay 30 sales a week. Also we don't have a place to throw the garbage, any sewerage system, or a bathroom." Her analysis of these problems goes little beyond the general feeling: "We suffer here, Sefibrita..." 290 291 Although she is aware that isn't so in all neighborhoods: "In other places, they have water, electricity, sewerage with their houses, pretty houses...” Yetthe explanation is simply "because they have money. We poor people, Sefiorita, until when must we live like this?! But they have their money.” And who's to blame for "leaving us out"? ”The powerful. . . ” is her sole and vague response. She makes no reference to community efforts to tackle some of the problems. And power is evidently not something she feels is within her reach, in even the most immediate and daily senses. For in describing her responses to problems, her sense of powerlessness was clear: "Have you told the teacher what you want to learn?" I had asked her. ”No, Sefiorita. ” "Have you made suggestions in community assemblies?" "No, Sefiorita. " And relating her attempts to get a voting card: ”I was afraid; I couldn’t read. " This lack of initiative - deeply rooted in socio-historical processes which seem to have swept her along — is finally reflected repeatedly in the interview itself, with this common rejoinder in each response: "Isn't it so, Sehorita?" She gives me the final authority in this situation. It is difficult to analyze in any depth an interview that produced so little response, except to speculate on the reasons for the limited response. Perhaps the emotional impact of migration and a general orientation of fear and alienation in the new setting (at the personal and interpersonal levels) contribute to a kind of psychological block, that prevents Sefibra Rosa from viewing her situation in terms of any broader structural reality and from taking any confrontative action aimed at changing that reality. This psychic effect of oppression and poverty cannot be uncommon, and must be dealt with in any effort to develop critical social consciousness among women such as Sefiora Rosa. 293 SEfiORA TOMASA [WI don't know; my head wasn't made for this."] (We find Sefiora Tomasa watching over her small herd of sheep in the meadow that lies between the highway and the settlement of Santa Ana. It's mid-afternoon, and she sits down on the ground with us to chat and to review the photo novel. We know each other from Mothers' Club meetings and classes, but the Sefiora takes a somewhat Submissive stance with me, repeating "Si, Senorita" no fewer than fifty times during cur two-hour conversation. Yet at times, she does become quite spirited, in describing her own experiences, which themselves give reasons for her patterned responses to dominant figures. The pastoral setting of the interview is appropriate, too, as her references are primarily to the Sierra and her life in the rural mOuntain part of Peru.) "I went to school years ago, up to secondary school, in my hometown, in Ayacucho. There were 60 students and only one teacher. We had to walk a long way to get there, three or four hours......and cold and hungry, we went..." Sefiora Tomasa's early experiences in school were under difficult conditions, both internally and externally. In fact, she eventually had to leave to help support her family: "They wouldn't let me go to school....; there was a lot of work to do..." But the memories of those first encounters with formal education are powerful..., and in many ways quite negative. Let's examine first Sefiora Tomasa's descriptions of teacher—student relationships, for they seem to be the roots of her more general feelings about education. She started by making general statements, first about the teacher in the second photo-story: "If he doesn't listen, then he's not interested in them..." and then, about teachers in general: "The teachers, when they are upset with you, they go mad, they forget everything they know... And when ng_punishes you, you can't concen— trate anymore. . . " She is obviously projecting her own experience on her interpretation of the story, and soon switches to these clearly personal incidents: "I was very upset, when the teacher punished me. Many years ago, I was playing with my friend in class; we were laughing, and we weren' t paying attention. The teacher got angry and punished us. ” This experience seems to have had a long—lasting effect on her feelings about school: ”And after this, I didn’t want to learn. I wanted the hours to pass faster so I could go home. I didn't like the class. I don't know; my head wasn't made fbr this." The last statement implies a self-blame for her failure; there is no critical analysis of the educational system itself. And that personal lack of confidence is reflected also in her descriptions of the woman who is having problems with the vowels in the second photo—story: ”If she doesn' t know, she remains ashamed. . . . afraid, too. She ’s nervous." This self-degrading orientation also comes through in her analysis of the woman in the first story who criticizes the teacher: ”I don't think she can...” 29L» 295 "And if he has some fault, if he makes a mistake?" I prod her. At which point, Sefiora Tomasa thinks I'm referring to the woman student and not the teacher (for the verb in Spanish incorporates the pronoun subject, which is the same for male and female). Thus, she has automatically assumed in talking about "faults", that it must be the student who would make a mistake. Still, although she makes no critique of the broader school system, she does recognize differences among teachers: "There are bad teachers, too, and with them, you cannot laugh. You are afraid to laugh, fer they will punish you. And if’you don't learn easily, they get angry." This awareness of differences seems to come partly from the fact that Sefiora Tomasa also has gone to school as an adult, in the literacy program of Santa Ana. She reflects some of the more recent experiences, perhaps, in response to the second teacher who scolds a woman for not coming to class: "The teacher bothers me when he says 'Why aren't you learning? Why don't you came to class regularly?’ But yes, this happens. There are problems at home, and then, you can't go. And the next day, the teacher asks 'Why didn't you come?’ And you have to explain to him very clearly why you didn’t come." This general sense of tension with the teacher is reminiscent of her earlier experiences, yet does not appear so brutal in the new context. She concedes: ”There are teachers who understand and there are teachers who don't understand.” And in the more particular context of Santa Ana, she admits that the women know more, about the problems of the community, in any case... "The Sehoras know, because they suffer, they experience the problems." But this experiential knowledge is only offered at the initiation of the major power figure, the teacher: "Can the Séfioras teach the teacher what their problems are?" I ask. And she responds: "When he asks them in class, they can inform him of the problems. " She seems to prefer a mixture of teacher-directed education and the participatory style. When asked which of the two photo-story classes she would prefer: the one in which the participants speak or the one where the teacher speaks, she rejected the either/or proposition, responding: "Both, wouldn't it be? Both teacher and students speaking. " And even though the authoritarian school experience left Sefibra Tomasa with bitter feelings, she ambiguously accepts that most familiar relationship structure, and even asks for it: "If they would have ordered me more, like they do here in public school, I would have learned to work, I would have learned to do something. " So there is a general belief that formal education has some vital role in teaching particular skills, in preparing one to earn a living. Referring to the diploma, she says: "They say with this you can go out and work any place. " But not everyone has access to the diploma, and she reveals more of a social consciousness in bemoaning the situation of the poor: "Poor people don’t even learn how to work, or else they only learn how to do one thing." l_ 296 297 This implies that some skills, perhaps those acquired in the rural economy, are no longer marketable in the urban context. But there is, at least, a recognition of another way of learning, an alternative to the elusive formal education: the apprenticeship practice. ”But some (poor) if they help an older person, they learn from him. Then, they can have work, then they have money.” Knowledge can be acquired in more than one way, then, and has a practical use, in Sefiora Tomasa's opinion: but formal education is still held up as a necessary rite of passage for the new urban dweller. She speaks dramatically about those who have had no exposure to the formal system: :"Those who haven't been to school don't know anything. They can't understand the names of streets, for example, or the numbers on houses.... Nothing, nothing, nothing...!" Clearly, Sefiora Tomasa's interpretations of the photo-stories and her analyses of education are projections of her own very concrete experiences; her reflections, though often bitter, are grounded in personal actions (at the psycho—social level): encounters with a punishing teacher as a child, quitting school out of economic necessity, and later joining a literacy program in Santa Ana, so that she might learn "to sign my name...., to teach something to my children." In most of these situations, she has been defeated, by greater forces or by authorities representing them; and a kind of fatalism permeates her musings. She frequently injects the dialogue with "Cdmo serd?" or "How will it be...?", in the sense of "What bad thing is going to happen to us, and how can we possibly do anything about it?" The only indication of some positive personal initiative taken is found in a description of her participation in community meetings: "For something really important, I speak up... For whatever thing we decide, if they say 'We're going to do it this way', we might say 'No, this isn't good'." So she does give her opinion, but has little hope that it will make any difference. This pessimism, too, appears grounded in other bitter experiences, this time at the level of community projects. Let's move our'analysis tothe level of the structural issues that Sefibra Tomasa discusses, and see how efforts at community-level action have also met with great obstacles. She refers to five major community problems in the dialogue: water, land, housing, school, and market. For the first two, there is an implication of outside powers to be contended with, as contributors to the problem or to its solution: for water, for example, ”...we pay a lot, a tremendous lot; and there are weeks when they don't come, too, when the roads get ruined by the water." And the deeper issue of land is raised, interestingly enough, when we are talking about the diploma of a teacher in the photo-novel; Sefibra Tomasa immediately associates that symbolic piece of paper with a certificate of property title... "Yes, we need a certificate, but a certificate of land ownership...., to be more secure." She is clear about other related problems, like housing, able to describe the issue in detail as well as to consider alternative solutions: "Cold air comes into the house. It's cold in the winter, even during the day, and in the summer, it's warm, the roof is burning hot. We want a brick house, it would be better. The straw house doesn't last long." This awareness of the major problems of the community and of the bad experiences that have led residents to seek solutions on their own, is present too, in her discussion about the school project: 298 299 "We need a school close by, because some children have died in crossing the highway to get to the school in Tumpa." This project represents a major attempt on the part of the community to act upon these structural needs: ”We're going to build a school, to put up the walls; we've already started to build it.” But there is the familiar pessimism in her tone as she ponders the subject. I ask for a confirmation: "So you're going to have a school?" "Cdmo serd? Who knows how it will be....?" "You mean you don't think the school will be built?" I question further. ”No, Sefiorita, I don’t think so.” But what are the roots of this pessimism? There seem to be two main reasons for the failure of this and other community projects, according to the critique of Sefiora Tomasa: poor leadership and the lack of solidarity among residents. Let's examine the first: "It's been a long time since the community leaders have concerned themselves with this. In the middle of the work, they leave it. They say ’We’re going to do so much, but then they leave it to you." There is apparently a history of these patterns: "For example, last year they bought a site for a mini-market. But they left it, too, they disappeared. They bought the bricks, they began the work; everybody was working but then they stopped. The community is not in agreement about one thing or another. They make us work, and then they leave it." And there are other instances: Rel But Sol- div: "For the corrmunity meeting place, too, we worked up above there, we cleared off the land on the hill; this, too, they left." Reflecting on these unfinished projects, she concludes: "This isn't good, the people say." "And whose responsibility is it?" I ask. “It should be the leaders!" "And what about the community?" "Yes, it 's their responsibility, too; but when the leaders don 't direct us, they don't care what the people do. We need more direction, leadership that leads." Here we find, once again, a tension Séflora Tomasa feels with authorities; as she was turned off to education by a teacher who punished her, she is discouraged with community work because of leaders who also upset her. And it remains largely their problem, those "who don't care what people do, who don’t direct us. " The combination of sensitive and firm leadership seem to be what Sefiora Tomasa is looking for, whether in an educational or a community project. But there is a second source of failure in the community's efforts to solve its own problems, according to her analysis, and that is the divisions amongst the residents themselves: "With the agreement of everyone in the comnunity, people can do things to improve their lives. But some are in agreement and some are not. Some are against those who are gentle and quiet; they don't care a bit about others. They deceive us, they take our money. " 300 301 The lack of agreement and solidarity really seems based upon economic differences, in Sefiora Tomasa's opinion; she thus intimates class distinctions within the community, also differentiated by their physical location in the town: ”Yes, they have money, those who live in that section up by the hill." That seems to be reason enough for their unwillingness to cooperate in community projects: "But they won’t collaborate - no, no! In cannunity projects, they won't collaborate either, in building the school or in working fer the block. In the assemblies, they say they don’t want to work. That’s the way it is: when they have more money, they don't want to work." Again, a pessimistic conclusion based on bad experiences, yet still with a sense of alternatives: ”We aren’t united. But among us all, we could do something.” Although Sefiora Tomasa's social analysis focuses mainly at the level of community problems, she does venture into reflections on broader structures, making comparisons not only within the community, but between the urban settlement life and the daily routine she was used to in the Sierra: ”The woman here are lazier. There they spin wool, carry their children, and walk all at the same time. Here afier lunch, they are resting, and there isn’t work; maybe they wash one or two days a week, iron, and watch the kids." And here a hint that intra-class differences may have arisen from the migration experience: "But some who have money don't do this, they get someone else to do it. Those who lived in the Sierra before and live here now are lazier." I try to get her to bring this structural reflection down to the personal level: "And you?" "Me, too..! (she laughs). It's a more demanding life there. For example, you get up early; and to make soup, you have to grind the grain, grow the vegetables. There you have to do it, you have to finish the work befbre you go to school. Then you go, spinning on the way, and you return at 8 in the evening. And if the food isn' t ready, then you have to cook. " The key phrase is underlined: "You have to finish the work before you go to school." The priorities in the Sierra had to do with survival, and children played a vital role in this daily economic activity. Recall Sefiora Tomasa's reflections on her own bitter childhood experience in school: "We had to walk a long way to get there..." ”If the teacher doesn't listen, then he's not interested..." "I was very upset, when the teacher punished me..." "After this, I didn't want to learn..." If, in fact, survival activities took most of the time and energy, and school was a long way away, and was also a rigid and frightening environment, then this childhood contact with formal education may have been for Sefiora Tomasa her first powerful experience of alienation; there was seemingly little relationship between what happened in school, and what happened at home. This impressing experience of cultural alienation ("I don't know; my head wasn't made for this.") was probably 302 303 a precursor for the equally alienating experience of moving from the Sierra to Lima, from a rural to an urban economy. At least, Sefiora Tomasa still has her sheep, but she is well aware of other major changes she has had to make, as described above. The changes are also reflected in and perhaps projected on her children. She seems ambivalent about this new concept of childhood: "Here the children, when they are 3 or 4 years oldL already they are thinking about going to school. ...The child comes home from school and is hungry. This thing he doesn't like, this other one he won't eat. What more db they want? The daughter is complaining: 'I'want this, I'want that, I don't want this.'" Perhaps she's not quite sure how to cope with her own children, mere products of the new culture, who make demands, and yet make no contribution to the family economy. There's a longing for the past, couched in another pessimistic conclusion: "There, at least,the children help. It would have been better than suffering here..." She has touched in her analysis on several elements of the historical process that has swept her up in its wake: migration, loss of productive activity, children's role changing from economic asset to liability, alienating education, building a new community, struggling for basic services, class conflicts, leadership schisms, etc. Although she makes no explicit economic analysis of the process producing these changes and challenges, she does imply an economic base at the root of it all..., and she also implies a process which only widens the economic gap. ”The people of'wealth have money; the poor people stay the same." In terms of the movers of this process, it is clearly the more powerful outsider, consistent with her descriptions of other power figures like community leaders and teachers; "Whose fault is it that there are poor people?" we asked: "The rich people, it would be, because they have money, they have it better." Sefiora Tomasa has often moved beyond the descriptive level in her responses to the photo-novel, exhibiting a social consciousness of some critical quality. It is well-grounded in real personal experiences or has grown out of participation in community efforts to transform the social reality. And she often mentions alternatives, is aware of solutions; but the obstacles appear overwhelming to her. For the most part, her actions and analyses have led her to a basically pessimistic conclusion, its tone characteristic of all her ramblings: "The poor people..... What can they do being poor? They stay the same...." 30H 305 ssfiom CRISTINA |"For all of this, we can do something — the teacher with the Senorasffi1 (Sefiora Cristina is an old friend, the most familiar of the four women. Perhaps this is reflected in the ease and liveliness with which she speaks. She often laughs and freely criticizes both her gringa interviewer and the literacy teacher who is also present. The Sefiora doesn't depend on us always to guide the discussion, but frequently initiates the dialogue with her own spontaneous response to photos and text. She's been a more directly active resident and much of our chatter has to do with organizational issues. Her children join in quietly, too, sometimes interpreting the photographs on their own, as we sit around a kitchen table, sipping Inka Cola.) The collaborative nature of our interview is also the character of the teacher—student relationship as Sefiora Cristina describes it. On the one hand, she has a clear sense of an authoritative responsibility of the teacher; when asked, for example, if it is important for the teacher to know the problems of the community: ”Like the president, no...? Yes, of course, he must know, in order to let us know what is happening in the connunity, and what can be done for it, so we can better ourselves. The teacher lets us know... about everything." Yet the students also have a response-ability: ”We have to support him with whatever problem. We all have to dedicate ourselves to this." And the participants in the class also clearly have some social knowledge, in Sefiora Cristina's opinion: "Who knows most about the problems of the community — the teacher or the Senoras?" "The teacher with the Sehoras. . . " She has rejected our either-or options. ”They know, for example, about the problem of water. They can tell him what we lack, that we need water, a school..." And the students thus have a responsibility not only to the teacher, but also to each other: "Yes, one woman who knows better can teach another." When I ask for confirmation, "One woman can teach another?", she is emphatic: "Surely. . .’" Well, then, I ask, "Is the teacher always needed?" ”Well, of course, he has other things to teach..." The "other things" that the teacher has to teach imply different kinds of knowledge, an interesting distinction on her part. But for that knowledge, perhaps referring to the more specific skills of reading and writing, or to a more abstract, book—oriented knowledge, there is a clear respect of the teacher: students do have something to gain from him: ”If they pay attention, they learn..." Once again, it demands something from the students; they must pay attention: "That’s how it has to be. They have to listen to what the teacher explains. " 306 307 The responsibility involves not only listening, implying a passive receptivity, but also involves an active response: "They have to participate. . . " In reviewing the two photo-stories, Sefiora Cristina clearly preferred the ALFIN method, in which the students were often seen discussing: "I prefer this one - because they participating." Participation has some concrete behavioral indicators in her mind - for one thing, it implies a regular attendance at class: "There are some who go some days and don't go other days. They’ll never learn that way." While attendance is a tangible indicator, it is connected for Sefiora Cristina with a less tangible quality — a sense of commitment. This quality is stressed in a discussion about the women's attendance in all Mothers' Club functions, not only literacy class: 'Qj'you're really committed, you should try to come; if you're not committed; you shouldn't come...” This strong vindication, however, was based upon the admonishment of another authority figure in those functions, the Padre who leads the Thursday meetings: ”He says if you come late, it’s better that you don't come at all." She compares him to the authoritarian teacher in the second photo-story: "He’s a little bit like this one... He himself calls the roll. 'Why aren’t you here at 4 p.m. exactly?’ (she mimicks his sternness). But he's right, we should arrive early." ,.—a_-._ #. —»..‘~¥ .— So she respects his concern and authority in dealing with this issue, yet also concedes that he is empathetic, if unforeseen circumstances arise at home that impede attendance or promptness... "If we have to go to fetch water or something, he understands. . . " At another point in our conversation, Sefiora Cristina again refers to the Padre, in contrast to the literacy teacher Pablo. This gives us some sense of her own relationship with the teacher as well. The stimulus to this discussion is the photo in which the students stand up when the teacher enters the room. "The Padre, yes, we greet him that way...., but when our brother Pablo arrives, no; well, he's already initiated, we're used to being together with him; he's familiar - like one of the family. Yes, he seems just like a brother. But the Padre, yes, when he comes..." Then suddenly she realizes that in the Mothers' Club meetings, there are so many people and only one or two benches to sit down on, so the issue isn't the same: ”But there aren't even any desks, so in fact we're already standing...!" And she laughs. The implication still is, as I also observed, that the women make a special effort to give the Padre an official greeting, if only verbally and with the nod of a head. Clearly, Pablo is different, even though he is also a member of a religious community (it's unclear if her use of the word "brother" here is referring to his religious status or to his being "like one of the family" or both); it may be his youth, or his style. There's another indicator of a more open and direct relationship with him. A particular interaction during the interview itself was quite revealing; it perhaps reflects better than anything the initiative that Sefiora Cristina takes as a student, her sense 308 309 of her own rights and responsibilities (and in terms of the analytical framework, it's a good example of a psycho-social action). The response arose in a discussion about the planning for the literacy class. "Remember," Pablo, the teacher prompted, "how in the club meeting the other day, we decided what we were going to do on each day, asked people what their interests were, and what days they would come?" Sefiora Cristina protests: "But we were waiting fbr you to come, Brother, but you didn't come!" Pablo tries to defend himself: "I waited for you on Monday, end..." "But you didn't tell us anything and on Thursday you didh't come...!" Whether it reflects a miscommunication or a lack of responsibility on the part of the teacher, Sefiora Cristina has no problem in raising the issue. Her willingness to challenge is reaffirmed in her response to the incidence in the photo-story in which a woman critiques a decision of the teacher. "Can she criticize the teacher?" "Yes, she can...!" "And you...?" "Yes, I can.... I just did...!" And the three of us laugh heartily. There is a healthy feeling in the interaction, and a sense of a more horizontal communication that Sehora Cristina appears comfortable with. The collaborative theme has been quite clear in both the form and content of the interview. Understanding that both teacher and student have some responsibility in the educational process, she seems to accept both the human fraility and the authority of the teacher. And her explanations of behaviors that might reflect submission to authority contain, too, this combination of acceptance and critique; she implies that they have social origins: "It '8 the custom to stand up t0 rest the teacher when he enters the g OZCBBI’OOM. She's neither overwhelmed nor frightened by such practices; it's just a custom. The same attitude is present in her description of the boy who is looking up at the teacher: "He'd like to learn. .Perhaps he's afraid. Some when they first go to school are afraid." It seems perfectly reasonable to her that under such specific circumstances as the first days of school, the student might fear the teacher. But it is not a generalized fear that she projects into all her experiences. Nor does she project it on to characters in the photo-story who appear the most traumatized. The woman who bows her head because she doesn't know the vowels almost drew tears from another interviewee. For Sefiora Cristina, the interpretation is, quite simply: "She has to repeat it many times in order to learn it... She 's thinking 'I"m going to do it or I"m not going to do it' ". If anything, once again, the situation, in her opinion, depends upon the determination and initiative of the student. The analysis thus far has focused primarily on Sefiora Cristina's view of students and teachers, and of the teacher-student relationship. There were some implications in the above discussion about what learning actually involves and what different forms knowledge might take. Let's explore her sense of knowledge and education in greater depth. It seems appropriate to Sefiora Cristina that schooling deal with both the abstract knowledge of the literate and the social knowledge of the illiterate. She spoke strongly about the need for the teacher to know community problems, for example, and the need for the students to "tell him what we need..." Social issues provide a valid content for educational 310 311 undertakings. In fact, she is convinced that those problems are more important than reading and writing ("Yes, of course!" is her response to the inquiry). Clearly, also, Sefiora Cristina's emphasis on the participation of the students in the process implies that they have something to contribute, that they are not ignorant, even if they cannot yet read or write. There is a sense that life itself has "taught" them much, that they do "know" some things. But also, recall that there are references to the "other things" that the teacher knows, for which he is needed. The word "know" is sometimes used in regard to those things, which are beyond the present reach of the women. Sefiora Cristina projects her sense of this ignorance, on viewing the photo of the teacher visiting the women who want to learn to read and write: "Yes, here, too, yg_don’t know...” What are those "things" that "we" donit"know"? She speaks for herself about what she wants to learn, and why: “I want to learn so I can teach my children... I want to be able to read and write, to figure out the bill." They are things that she doesn't yet know, while the teacher does, but they are still of a very social and practical nature. The responsibility to help her children is reflected in the first motivation noted; the use of math in the market also speaks to a practical need, one necessary for economic and social survival in the city. Education should be useful - this is the implication. A further motivation is also a very practical, social, survival one - and it reflects Sefiora Cristina's openness and humor. She adds capriciously to the reasons why she wants to read: "... so our husbands won't cheat on us. When the girlfriends of my husband send him letters, I want to learn how to read in order to know what his lovers say...!" What more a concrete necessity is that..! And again, it reflects an initiative toward increasing one's power, using education to increase one's control over one's most daily life. This very practical understanding of knowledge - whether the kind of knowledge that the women create or what they learn from the teacher - has thus a basic action orientation to it. Participation is not just a, reflective process; it implies "commitment" to learning and acting, and the commitment is a collective one: "The teacher with the Sefioras..." "We must all dedicate ourselves to this. . . " "...to know what is happening in the community and what can be done for it, so we can better ourselves. . . " That is the goal — an action one, a social one. That statement is a good transition into the following discussion, which shifts us from the level of psycho-social issues (active and reflective) to the perspectives Sefiora Cristina has of structural issues. Actually, the structural has infused the psycho-social in the preceding dialogue, just as the active has infused the reflective. The difficulty of isolating those factors with an active person is notable, and their interrelationship thus becomes more clear. It is also interesting to note that Sefiora Cristina spoke more extensively about community level issues than others did, and also more than she herself spoke about personal issues. Interestingly enough, Sefiora Cristina first mentioned the major community problems in the context of the literacy class. Asked what the teacher should know, she responded: "For excvnple, that in the community, there isn't water, there isn't a school, there isn't a medical center..." . "£ . . W" 1‘ *st :35" W. ._ V .. 312 313 Not only are the social issues intimately related to the learning process. But those issues are also immediately connected by her to action alternatives, to the responsibility of the people to transform their reality: "For all of this - we can do something." And following that statement, there is a recognition of struggle implied in the effort to change, a sense of broader structures, of historical battles, of bigger powers that must be contended with in the process: "We don't lack problems....with SINAMUS....with the landlords, the Casellis." So within one of her first statements (including the last three quotes), Sefiora Cristina has moved dynamically back and forth from the psycho-social to the structural to the psycho-social, and from the reflective to the active to the reflective: structural issues (water, school, medical center) become content for the learning and reflect a teacher-student relationship in which students bring their concerns as knowledge to the class; reflection on community problems led to a statement of determination to act upon them ("We can do something"), and further reflection revealed structural obstacles confronted in past action efforts (SINAMDS, landlords); this last concern implies some interpersonal encounter (or psycho—social action) as well as a structural one. More elaborated descriptions of the basic community issues present them not only as local problems but as related to outside factors. The lack of water, for example, is discussed in terms of the particular contradictions of the present situation: "Here we have wells, one big one for all of us on the block. In some towns, they deliver the water to each house. But it's so expensive, we don't have it, just one big one." The protest becomes more active and more specific: ”But sometimes they don’t come, the truck breaks down or they don't want to climb the hill or they ruin the roads and then won't come if the roads are bad. Then we don't have water, and water is the most important thing. We need it fer everything - to cook, to wash, to drink..." So the concrete local problems are connected to outside persons (the truck driver who delivers water from the nearby factory) and are contrasted with other more comfortable communities (where they deliver water to each house). At another point, Sefiora Cristina notes areas of even greater contrast: "In the urbanizations, they have water, sewerage, electricity. They have everything. But in contrast, we here, we don't have anything. But..." (Thereis not a total defeatist attitude...) ’K..we are struggling fer the lot." This is the basic issue of land, the issue which must be resolved, before the services can be secured, the issue which really distinguished the "young towns" from the "urbanizations." There are other indicators of those differences, according to Sefiora Cristina. She responds to the dialogue in the photo-story that says "those who have money have everything": ”Yes, they have a car, those who have money." The symbol of mobility and status is one indicator. Others are revealed when she explains why: "Because they earn a lot; they work in an office, they're employed...” 31h 315 And not only the financial factors, steady employment, white-collar work gives them privileged status, but also "...they're involved, they know what's going on..." There's thus an implication that the more wealthy have greater access to information, have more opportunity for direct participation in civic affairs. This represents a quite sophisticated analysis of the cultural privileges associated with economic status. For she sees the economic as the base for this division. When asked, following the photo-story dialogue, "Why have they left us out?", Sefibra Cristina concludes: "Because they have money..." And in naming those responsible for the inequiality, she cites: "The government.. .. They don't pay any attention to us either. If it were a good government, they would come to this ”young town" and say 'They don't have water, so we 're going to send tanks of water,’ at least. But they don't do it." She considers the government responsible,then, to the poorer communities, but she also believes that it's indifferent to their suffering and that its officials are blinded by their own comforts: "It doesn't matter to them that we’re poor, and that they’re filled with money, and go off on trips...” And when outside authorities have paid attention to the community, but on the side of the wealthy, the confrontation has not always been pleasant. Let's examine the one incident that Sefiora Cristina recounts, moving into the area of structural action. "A woman down below came to get us the other day. One who lives down by the community meeting place. Caselli (the landlord) had come with the police and said they had to evacuate the land right away 'If not there will be trouble,’ they said. ’You have to leave this evening or we'll put a candle to the house.’ Afraid, she came by here to tell us, because we didn’t know about it. When we found out, all the people, we went to support her. They can't kick her out, or burn it down." This description of problems arising out of the continual struggle around the land issue shows a belief in collective action. Even though Sefiora Cristina has implied that some deeper causes for local problems lie outside of the community (the government, those who have money, Caselli, etc.), she is still committed to any community efforts aimed at solving those problems. Consistent with the responsibility she emphasized on the part of a student in a literacy class, she exudes again a sense of initiative toward tackling social issues. She offers solutions for certain issues: "For the garbage problem, we could contract a garbage collector or truck to come to pick it up.” And some solutions require direct involvement: "The people in our block are saying that we're going to ask fer a lot to build a grass hut fbr a temporary medical post." And there are some instances where she is already involved with other community members in such projects: ”They're starting the work on the school, the people themselves. This last Sunday, we made holes with a pick, we women carried rocks." Sefibra Cristina has a history of such involvement, and she describes past work projects: 316 ”Yes, several of us have worked to carry bricks up to the hill. There we were going to have the school on the hill. But about 2, 000 bricks have disappeared. And up til now, not one has been fbund. Who could have done it?” :32; ,VN“ 12’gsn'f‘ff- 1’ t 2’ eff?!» T3, She raises the issue critically, but doesn't name explicitly a culprit. Another women implicated some community leaders in this incident. Vis-a-vis community leaders, SefioraCristina reflects some of the same combination of respect and critique that she revealed in her relationship to the teacher. 0n the one hand, she clearly expects them to fulfill their responsibility. "Gary is our block representative. He has to know what the problems are, he communicates with the executive committee, and then he comes and tells us what happened at the assembly: what is happening, what do we need, what we can do. He tells us all this..." In fact, it sounds very much like her perceived role of the teacher ("...he must know... to let us know what's happening in the community,and what can be done for it..."). Again the leader (teacher) has access to important information, but it is "social" information and he has the responsibility of sharing it with the people, so that "we can do something." The function is more one of sharing and mobilizing, the information leads to action, the action is collaborative. She talks a bit differently about the leaders of the community executive committee; their job appears to be broader, more general. "They get us together, they organized the ordering of the streets and lots, they have worked with SINAMDS on the problem of’getting land titles." Still in describing their more authoritative function, in organizing the entire community and in relating to outside officials, Sefibra Cristina maintains a critical perspective toward them, jokingly calling one major leader "vivo", or wise guy, implying some healthy irreverence. Her critique of persons of authority seems to be based on a respect for them and a respect for herself, that is, a sense of her own rights. She carries this sense into almost every domain, including her relationship with the gringa researcher questionning her. At the end of the interview, Sefiora Cristina turned to me: "And when are you going to show the film of the sociodramas? Already you've let us dbwn, saying we were going to see it." I realized that I had found her challenges quite charming - until they were directed at me. I, too, fumbled with my very legitimate excuse — that the first cancellation was due to my bout with typhoid fever, that it was to be re-scheduled. Not totally convinced, she retorted: "You're not going to deceive us...!?” I was thus put under as equal scrutiny as anyone else, with my own kind of responsibilities to Sefiora Cristina and to her fellow community members. And she, remembering clearly her own responsibility, would also make sure others remembered theirs, whether they were priests, government officials, community leaders, teachers, students, or foreign researchers! This final initiative on her part - to maintain a horizontal relationship even in the interview, was one final indicator (at the psycho-social action level) of her more critical consciousness. The dimensions of conscientization were Often concurrently present in her statements, one depended on others, it was a social process aimed at active solutions to social problems. And Sefibra Cristina herself was clearly involved in the process, not just as anindividual, but as a committed social being. Her final suggestion for hOw'classes could be improved reflect that commitment, one that surely mUst be mutual, involving teacher and students together... "Classes can be improved by participating, by teaching, by going every dhy... " 319 ‘T COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS OF THE FOUR INTERVIEWS Each woman has spoken for herself, and we have captured a bit of her world view, considering it in terms of her own conscientization process, the psycho-social and structural dimensions, both active and reflective. Moving out again from the individual perspectives to the structures the four women share, let's examine some of the commonalities and the differences in their processes, to see what insight they can give us into the dynamics of conscientization in this context. Emerging Commonalities We'll focus primarily on two major contradictions that appeared critical to three of the four women. Following still the two levels of the analytical framework, we will explore first a structural contradiction and then a psycho-social contradiction which follows from it. Note that the order of analysis here has reversed. In scrutinizing the interviews individually, we began with the psycho-social dimensions of the dialogue, connecting them eventually to structural dimensions. The scrutiny revealed, I think, that the interpersonal and psychic dynamics had their roots in broader structures, historical experiences, social processes. And so, we begin this time with the socio-historic process that appears to be an origin of the positions the women took.with regard to their own educational and social experience. The major structural contradiction has to do with the migration experience of the first three women, who within their adult lifetime have left a rural peasant existence for an urban industrial one. They have been victims of the broader economic shift from a land-based and labor-intensive economy to a capital-intensive economy. As the mode of production has changed in Peru, the relationships of production have also changed. These women have not been immuned to these changes; they are reflected often in their discussions about their relationship to land in the Sierra and their current struggles with money. Recall Sefibra Juana: "...we survived on the farm, how we worked for food in the Sierra. But here, it costs money, you have to buy it....” The work of the woman and their survival were intimately linked to the land; but in the capital economy, not only have they lost the direct relationship to the land and to food, but they have .._. ...._....-. -‘ ---_-- ...h-g— -._.~-—---- lost the work that tied them to those elements. Séhbra Tomasa complains: "The women here are lazier. There they spin wool, carry children and’walk all at the same time. Here, after lunch, they are resting, and there isn't work..." Yet there is an implication that the laziness is not a luxury, but rather a disintegration, a loss of purpose, a loss of connection. "It's a more demanding life there. For example, you get up early - and to make the soup, you have to grind the grain, to grow the vegetables." For one thing, then, their work relative to the land and to food has changed. And many women find no real purposeful work in the city that contributes so directly to the economic well-being of the family. Only one woman talked about working as an industrial laborer, in reflecting some of the trauma of the early years after migration. Sehora Ross was encouraged by her employer then to obtain a voting card, another strange symbol of urban existence. "I was afraid to go. I trembled. I looked'around. I was 18 years old'at the time... and I'was working in a factory in San.Miguel. Then I was supposed to get a voting card, but I was afraid...; I couldn't read. " For those who came later, as mothers, they found that the changing modes and relations of production changed that role, too. In the Sierra, children were economic assets, needed to work the land with their parents. "But here the children don't work, they dbn't db anything. They only play games." This, of course, has changed the mothering role, and the relationship between mother and child. And the women seem uncertain as to how to deal with the dependent, demanding child of the city: "Here...the child comes home from school and is hungry. This thing he dbesn't like, this other one he won't eat. What more do they want?" In this domain, Sefibra Tomasa prefers the way it was in the Sierra. "...There, at least, the children help. It would be better than suffering here." 320 321 The present suffering referred to is not only related to the loss of relationship to the land in the Sierra, and the lack of work in the city, but also to the continual struggle that all four women experience in trying to get ownership of the urban land they now occupy. It appears no coincidence that land is still the biggest issue to these displaced peasants, that for them, all other community issues rest on the resolution of this one. sefiora Juana summarizes the issue: "Perhaps most important is the question of the land with Poppe. We dbn't have a house, we dbn't own our land, we’re like renters. We have to present everything to SINAMDS so they will give us this land. This town is not yet free..." So primary is this concern, that Séfibra Tomasa - on viewing a school diploma - immediately associated it with a land title, "We need a certificate, but a certificate of land ownership, to be more secure..." Most women realize that as migrants, they are the most marginal in their new urban environment, that their marginality is most evident in their struggle for land, and that other scarcities are also dependent on that issue: "In the urbanization, they have water, sewerage, electricity. They have everything. But in contrast, we here, we don't have anything... But...we are struggling fbr the lot, fbr title to our land." It is Sefiora Cristina (quoted above) who is most aware of these urban battles, of the myriad of institutions and authorities that have to be dealt with. It is she, who exhibits the most commitment to collective action and community solutions to these problems. It is interesting to note that she is the only one who does not in the interview process seek! out any Opportunity to talk about "how it was in the Sierra." In fact, she never makes a reference to her mountain origins. Her history, too, does vary somewhat from the others. She was reared as a peasant child in the low Andean region. She live close to Arequipa, which is not a typical mountain city; it is the second largest city in the country and has always been a center of religious and intellectual elite. At 18, she went to work there as a domestic; a year later, she arrived in Lima, promised work and schooling by her godmother. All this may have made her more oriented to the urban world. And as we shall see shortly, this may have given her a different perspective on the entire educational venture and on her place in it. Major Psycho—Social Contradiction For the three who do groundtheir descriptions in constant references to their past rural life, there is a general sense of alienation in the new environment that is reflected in an ambiguity toward education. This basic psycho-social contradiction, which stems directly from the struc- tural contradiction discussed above, has to do with a dual function of education for urban migrants: 1) On the one hand, education is almost totally necessary for developing survival skills in the city, and thus serves an adaption function; 2) On the other hand, it often serves to negate the cultural base and social knowledge of the indigenous newcomers, alienating them even further from the mestizo urban world. Let's look at some of the concrete forms this contradiction takes with the four women: 1) All women affirm the value of education in helping them to survive in the city. This value appears two-pronged; it hasa practical value and has a more mystical or status- laden value. The latter is implied when Sehora Cristina appears to Speak for the women in her squatter settlement: ' "Yes, here, too, we don't know. . ." Sehora Juana reflects this as well: "I want to learn to read and write in order to know..." "Knowing" seems almost mystical, associated with others who have had the opportunity for formal schooling. And for Sefibra Tomasa, there is some doubt if she is capable of it, even if available to her: "I dbn't know; my head wasn't made fbr this." The implication is that access to knowledge is somehow biological, connected with birth - 322 323 and could lead to racist conclusions that only certain peOple are able to "know" - in any case, there is a sense of status associated with knowing, with the often abstract content of formal education. But by far the most prevalent interpretation of the value of education is its protocol use - from preparing one to earn a living: "he teaches children, so they can work..." (Séhora Juana) or "They say with this (diploma), you can go out and work any place." (Seh’ora Tomaso) to arming the migrant, new to the city markets, with skills that protect him/her from exploitation: "I want to be able to figure out the bill..." (Sehbra Cristina) "I'want to learn to db subtraction, addition, multiplication...I want to learn how to figure out the bill...because in whatever business, they try to cheat you..." (sehbra Rosa) The new environment seems to demand some simple skills that were just not vital in the rural setting: for another example, two women talk about wanting to learn merely... "to sign my name..." And Sefiora Tomasa realizes that basic literacy is necessary just to move around the more complex city: ”Those who haven't been to school don't know anything. They can't understand the names of'streets, for example, or the numbers on houses..." And being far away from one's mountain origins and often from extended family members necessitates another literate skill: "I want to learn to read and write . . . to send letters to my relatives. . . ” (Seh'ora Juana) For three of the women, acquiring the basic skills of reading and writing and arithmetic not only senses a personal practical need of survival in the city, but also senses a social function: for one thing, it makes them better mothers: "I want to learn....to teach my children....to teach those in the femily who dbn't know..." (Sehbra Juana) "I'want to learn....to teach something to my children..." (Sefibra Tbmasa) "I want to learn so I can teach my children..." CSefibra Cristina) It is as though the women are struggling to redefine their role as mothers, just as 'they have lost their own work role relative to the land and have at the same time lost their relationship to working children who were once part of a family economic unit, they are finding in the urban world that school has replaced the home as a socializing agent for their children. And so this seems to be the primary way that they can still reach their children, complementing the efforts of teachers. Perhaps in some ways they are even being socialized by their children, who move more easily in the urban world and in the world of formal education. It is not uncommon to see children reading signs or translating for their parents; and sometimes children hang around the adult literacy classes, reading over the shoulders of their embarrassed parents, at a quicker rate. Thus it is understandable that a literacy class or formal education opportunity offers these women a chance to catch up, to regain contact with their children, to again take on a training role, to be able to help them.... And it's understandable, too, that they would thus feel ambiguous about this new venture, some even wondering if the children are missing¢m1t on certain skills by not struggling as they did... "We had to persevere to survive in the Sierra. But here the children dbn't work, they don' t do anything.. ." (Sehbra Juana) Because none of these women work full-time, their major activity still centers around the home and the family. And this function, then, of "teaching my children," becomes a motivation for education that is vital to their own sense of their social role or of their own usefulness. One woman notes the usefulness of education not only in increasing her sense of purpose and power as a mother, but also in increasing her sense of control as a wife. It was Sefiora Cristina who said, "when my husband's girlfriends send him letters, I want to learn how to read in order to know what his lovers say...!" 324 325 2) This is perhaps one of the most pro-active statements about education for women, while the others have been more re-active; but all have to do with the personal,practical survival of the women in the urban migrant settlements. It is also only Sefiora Cristina, the one not of recent Sierra origin, who goes beyond that level of motivation, and sees education as serving a broader social function, not circumscribed by the family. She seems to consider social issues as valid content for literacy classes, positing that teachers should talk about... "what is happening in the commmity, and what can be done for it, so we can better ourselves..." Throughout her dialogue, education is interwoven with issues of commitment to collective community action. Yet those women most caught in the transitional state as recent migrants seem only able to focus on the practical and personal survival function of education. The other part of this contradiction is that education for these women is often only a more alienating experience, because it is divorced from their cultural origins and reinforces their sense of ignorance and powerlessness in the strange new setting of the city. Thus while they need it to survive, it can also slowly destroy their sense of self. The key to this process is usually in the teacher-student relationship, and is thus related to how the women see their own knowledge relative to the knowledge of the teacher. For on the one hand, the teacher appears as an authority at least in one area: he knows more about surviving in the city than they do... And they thus need him for certain kinds of knowledge: literacy skills, contact with outside groups, etc. But they also have the knowledge of their own experiences - both as survivors in a difficult rural economy and survivors in a difficult urban context. The critical issue becomes how that knowledge is also drawn upon in a teaching-learning experience, so that the women maintain a sense of their own strength, developing an interdependent rather than dependent relationship with the teacher. Again, the three women who are recent migrants appear the most dependent. They imbue the teacher with a lot of authority, almost mystical qualities: "This young person here, with wisdbm...He teaches everything to those of'us who dbn't know..." . ..He is ordering them. ..he is answering them, talking to them... " (Sehora Juana) Sefibra Tomasa's earlier experience of being punished in a school in the Sierra reinforces this type of image: "The teachers, when they are upset with you, they go mad,... ...Ybu are afraid to laugh, fbr they will punish you. And if you don't learn easily, they get angry. . . " But at least Sefibra Tomasa has been able to objectify that experience a bit, admitting that. O O ". . . there are teachers who understand and teachers who don ' t understand. . . " It is sefiora Rosa, the most defeatist of the four, who can hardly see beyond her own sense of ignorance to look critically at the teacher's role; her only reference is to the powerless student: ". ..when you can' t answer, you feel ashamed. . . " This statement reflects Sefibra Rosa's orientation to almost any authority; only with her children does she exert any sense of power. This almost total abdication to the authority of the teacher, then, is directly related to her sense of her own ignorance. The implication is that all the answers are "out there." Sehora Tomasa supports that perspective a couple of times, too: ”If she dbesn't know, she remains ashamed, afraid..." And when asked if another woman could criticize the teacher, "I dbn't think she can..." 326 327 Yet while Sefibra Rosa never talks about things that she does know, or can do, both Sefiora Tomasa and Seflbra Juana describe other skills, acquired in the Sierra: "I learned to work on the farm, to graze animals, to carry the produce to market on a dbnkey, to prepare fbod..." (Sehbra Juana) or in the daily struggles of the urban settlement: "The Seh'oras know (more about the comnunity), because they suffer, they experience the problems..." (Séhbra Tbmasa) Sefiora Juana also agrees that the women do have some social knowbhow: "The women know how it is, they know how the town runs, because they live it; they know what we dbn’t have and what we needL especially in our homes.” But neither of them seem to consider this kind of information or perspective as "knowledge" or as grist for the education process. It is only Sefiora Cristina who has integrated the two kinds of knowledge, recognizing that both teacher and students have experiences and skills to contribute to a broader social cause: "The teacher lets us know...about everything...and'what can be dbne fbr it, so we can better ourselves..." "...he has other things to teach..." But, the women... ”They can tell him what we lack, that we need water, a school..." In addressing community issues, then, it is, "the teacher with the Sehbras." Learning and social knowledge are not separate, and both require commitment from all sides, and lead to collective action: "If you 're really comitted, you should come. . . " "They have to participate..." "We have to support him...we all have to dedicate ourselves to this..." Thus it seems that for Sefiora Cristina, education is a much broader enterprise, and must be integrated into other social efforts to confront and solve community problems. With such a purpose, it follows that the content of education would thus be the daily lives of the women, and that they would have to be active participants and not mere passive recipients to make it work. With this recognition that both teacher and students have something to give goes the implication that both are responsible to each other. The teacher thus can be challenged to fulfill that responsibility, just as Sefiora Cristina demonstrated. From The Psycho-Social Back To The Structural It is interesting to compare the orientation toward the teacher that the four women have with their orientation toward othbr authorities or institutions in their world. For in fact, in bOth cases, this orientation reflects to whom they give power or who they see as the source of power. And for them, this source of power at the community or government level is often thus ‘yhe source of social problems, and therefore, often the source of solutions to those problems. i Compare, for example, Sefibra Juana's comments about these outside authorities: Community leaders: "They must work,...and'give orders." The cabinet minister: "He cheated us...he took our money." SINAMOS: "We have to present everything to STWMMDS so they will give us this land..." to her descriptions of the teacher: 328 329 "He teaches everything to those of’us who dbn't know...He is ordering them, answering them..." In all instances, the authority figure is the acter, the initiator, the controller, the responsible one. For Sefiora Tomasa, too, the responsibility for community projects is clearly with the leaders: "It should be the leaders. When they dbn't direct us, they dbn't care what the people db..." This vindication recalls her bitter experience with teachers, "There are bad teachers...and if'you dbn't learn easily, they get angry." Still the initiative lies with the authority - community leader or teacher; the student's input depends totally on that authority: "When he asks them in class (about community problems), they can infbrm'himz.." But Sehora Rosa's sense of total powerlessness vis-a-vis such figures doesn't even allow the possibility of such input: "He (the teacher) dbesn't ask us what we want to learn..." And all depends on knowing what he wants you to know: "When you can't answer, you feel ashamed." Séfiora Rosa doesn't even distinguish amongst other persons or institutions of authority. But in vague terms, she names those responsible for "leaving us out...": "...the powerful...” In contrast to the above three, again Sefibra Cristina has a much more critical perspective on the power of both teachers and other leaders. But still, there is a consistency between the two: ’cw in?“t he Confronting community issues, she sees community members as sources of power and initiative: "Kg are struggling for the lot..." "For the garbage, ng_could..." "flying_going to ask fbr a lot to build a grass hut fbr a temporary medical post." "Wg153_starting work on the school..." While authorities also must share the responsibility for the solutions, in her opinion: "The government. . .if it were a good government, they would. . . " And if they are abusing that responsibility, the people should challenge them, just as they did in the collective action she describes: "When we fbund out, all the people, we went to support her. They can't kick her out, or burn it donm. " For the most part, she expects the local authorities to take more of a facilitating role, to mobilize the people: " (The comnunity leaders) get us together, they organized the blocks, they worked With SINAMUS..." (Our block representative) comes and tells us what is happening, what we need, what ng can do..." Still, though, there is always a mutual responsibility involved. The same mutuality that permeates Séhora Cristina's descriptions of the teacher and students: "(The women) have to participate..." "One woman who knows better can teach another." "The teacher with the Senoras." 330 331 At all levels then, power is shared. There is still not an equal distribution of power, but it is much more socially owned in Sefibra Cristina's view than it is in the opinions of the other three women. She appears the least alienated from either education or the urban community experience, and her perspective on education is the least alienating. The other women, still in transition, are torn between negating and longing for their past experiences, and seeking and rejecting the new. It is not an uncommon situation for rural indigenous peasants entering an urban mestizo economy. The critical question becomes how does an adult literacy program deal with these ambiguities, in a way that eases the adjustment, while not destroying the cultural base of the women - if indeed,* that is possible. The ALFIN program advocated a method which drew its content from the social experiences of the-participants, reaffirming their ethno-linguistic personality, raising their consciousness of their socio-economic situation, and mobilizing them toward transforming that situation to their benefit. This exploration of two contradictions emerging from the interviews with four participants in the program..is not meant to say that the task is not being carried out. It is only meant to explore what might be some of the dynamics - and contradictions - within the context in which the program must operate. These contradictions - as part of the reality - must be confronted, and indeed become important content for the process of developing critical consciousness amongst urban migrant women. A—s JV; :: ,1- +hc Similarih'es . . . ' Lt'ii' ' 15; . .. +0 The 'DMZFctences... 332 333 EMERGING DIFFERENCES The preceding discussion of some common themes that emerged in a comparison of the four interviews also brought out some major differences between the social experiences and perceptions of the four women. In exploring further some of these differences, let's return to the two screening devices introduced as part of the analytical framework. It was suggested that the four-fold table - distinguishing different dimensions of the conscientization process - could be used both to identify layers and moments of the process (to break apart) and to examine the interrelationship between the four (to put together). A second tool was proposed also to trace the critical quality of the consciousness expressed, building from the psycho-social toward the structural, from the reflective toward the active. Let's review this decoding tool first, in light of the four distinct analyses. Recall the stages suggested as leading to a more critical consciousness: 1) Description 2) Personal Association 3) Social Relations 4) Contrasts and Contradictions 5) Analysis of Problems 6) Exploration of Alternatives 7) Critical Action Using this scale to compare the four interviews, we can find a great difference between Sefiora Rosa, at one end, and Sefibra Cristina, at the other; Sefiora Juana and Sehora Tomasa fall somewhere between these two extremes. Sehora Rosa's response to the photo-story and interview, first of all, was the shortest and least elaborated. Recall that sometimes her comments remained at the descriptive level: "There are two men." "They are sitting down." When she does move beyond mere description, it is usually in reference to her own experiences, and rarely to social issues or analyses: "When I was a child, I studied.. . " "I prefer to read..." "I want to learn..." "I was l8 years old...working in a factory, I was supposed to get a voting card, but I was afraid..." Séfiora Rosa appears stuck for the most part at the stage of "personal association" And even when describing characters in the photo-story, she seems to be projecting mainly her own feelings on them: "(About the little boy looking at the teacher) He's frightened; he's looking up at himg and he's afraid." (About the woman who couldn't answer) "When you can't answer, you feel ashamed..." "She's sad, she wants to cry." "Yes, I have (felt like that, too)." In contrast, Seflbra Cristina responds to the same two photographs in more social terms: (The little boy): "He'd like to learn. Perhaps he 's afraid. Some, when they first go to school are afraid." It is a social phenomenon that she is describing. She is still projecting her own feelings, perhaps, but they are much less fearful, more initiating: (For the woman who couldn't answer): "She has to repeat it many times in order to learn it. She's thinking, 'Iim going to db it or'I"m not going to db it.'" This is a much more confident and confronting approach than Sefiora Rosa's. And in the same way, Sefiora Cristina is often outer- and other-directed in her responses, usually starting at the level of "social relations" and moving on to point out contradictions, alternatives, actions. For one thing, she almost never uses the pronoun "I", but invariably responds in "we" terms: 334 335 "we don't know..." "we have to support him... " "we can tell him what we lack. . . The teacher 91271 the Seh'oras. " "we don' t lack problems" "we have wells" "we are struggling for the lot... " "we went to support her. . . " ‘ "we're going to ask. .. " "For all of this - _u_2§_ can do something. " She switches to "you" or "they" when challenging others to the same commitment she exhibits: "They have to listen to what the teacher explains." "They have to participate." "I f you 're really committed, you should try to come. " And she'll easily confront those who shirk the responsibility: "...sometimes they (the truck drivers delivering water) don't come.. . " "I f the government were a good one, they would come. " " (But) it doesn' t matter to them that we 're poor, and that they 're filled with money, and go off on trips..." "They (SINAMDS and the landlords) can't kick her out and'burn it dewn." "(to teacher) we were waiting fbr you, but you didn't come..." "(to me) You're not going to deceive us..." -‘-~A~ -‘ -._- 336 337 One indicator of this other-direction or social consciousness is in the layers and levels of social structure that the women identify in describing their personal worlds. We can bring Sefiora Juana and Sefiora Tomasa into the comparison here, too; for they make social references somewhere between sefibra Rosa and Sefibra Cristina. Diagramming their references as socio- grams will perhaps make the point most easily: l2"T1\e:¢xxulr4iflr1 [glen-rel. ' ‘1' twins: [1"me [Husband] [/ ‘ 1 f . 21314:!!!W #(kannnntnaktigllifllzsz ‘ @0138 ROSE mutanscmct e. _ - _ d Sierra: g'chl . [Lea efl;mum¥u /A"|°°°‘\h° “9 ° Assembu N] F Communal- /i p] Issuis: Economic. {5° Loafer. Da'uisicns SE m mmasa Land. mama d1: PUb‘tC. thatch (smurf inTump-a WTJ/ LChdldrcrq Eng-ZN W\ _mamos \ Cabinet “as her (“em W\\Adm— Class Chctacaqo: _ eoc OChcr "bane,— /n¢t9hborhcods“ SEN'O‘Kfi .06“?! C .\ Ommuqu ISSUES: / I thd, water msf Tend"! mu choklccn Ur ban'tzaft'ong; (”W Wang: E'Cch‘ icih.’ . Cars. money skadv Job Husba —/ l—G—Hnga Rcmrcfll S‘NP‘ mofl—Foencfl ‘ m HZ: {Liclfiass ///—m _ afar True: / .riuer 338 339 Note that not only the number of social references increases from Sefiora Rosa to sefiora Cristina, but the labels become more specific and less vague: from "The powerful" to "The President, SINAMDS, landlords", from "other places" to "urbanizations with water, sewerage, electricity - for pe0ple who have cars, money, steady job." The authorities are more clearly defined, and some even familiar for SefioraCristina: Gary, Padre, "vivo", Pablo, me... Let's move to the fourth level of criticalness: the perception of contrasts or contradictions. The only comparison Sefibra Rosa makes with her own experience is to point out the economic differences between her neighborhood and others: "we suffer here, Sefiorita. (But) in other places, they have water, electricity, sewerag with their houses, pretty houses..." In no other instance does she raise a question about the order to things, or point to a contradiction in the social structure. The other three woman exhibit a more critical consciousness about their situation, in varying degrees. Sefibra Tomasa, even though tramatized by an early negative experience with a teacher, still can objectively conclude: "There are teachers who understand’and there are teachers who dbn't understand." And in discussing community issues, she notes... "we pay a lot, a tremendous lot (fer water), and there are weeks when they dbn't came, too." She distinguishes between the straw house - cold in the winter and hot in the summer, and knows why "we want a brick house, it would be better, the straw house doesn't last long." She displays equal awareness about other problems: "Weneed a school close by, because some children have died in crossing the highway to get to the school in Tumpa." So in pointing out contradictions, she is actually moving into analysis of social problems, seeking their causes. About the lack of collective action on community projects, she clearly 1t, zit? ' and :tions‘ LC :ragg atized blames two sources of power: the community leaders "who dbn't care what people db, who dbn't direct us," and the wealthier residents of the town who won't collaborate on the projects: "when they have more money, they don' t want to work. " Broader social problems are attributed to the economic structure implied here: "The people of’wealth have money; the poor people stay the same." Though her analysis does become quite critical, SefioraTomasa is pessimistic about solutions, though she does allow that solidarity could make a difference: "Among us all, we could do something." The major contradiction that Sefiora Juana raises has to do with the loss of connection to the land, which consequently has changed her role as a worker, mother, and student. Within that contradiction then are many other questions: how do they survive in a capital economy? what contribution can she make to that survival? what kind of education is best to prepare herself and her children for the urban life? Sefiora Juana goes beyond analysis of the problem to discuss some alternative solutions: ".. .we made a collection to send people to SINAMOS, but SINAMOS didn't want to receive them. " But most actions directed toward change have failed in her opinion, so she appears resigned, and makes no reference to her own involvement in collective social actions. The only woman of the four who continually explores alternatives and proposes action in confronting the contradictions is SeEora Cristina. First of all, she approaches contradictions in a manner different from the other three, and almost appears comfortable with ambiguities: Speaking about teaching and learning: U/t 3&0 341 "(The woman) can tell him what we lack, etc... and "One woman who knows better can teach another...: But (the teacher) has other things to teach. .." She can with equal force critique the external forces: "we don't lack problems... with SINAMOS, with the landlords..." and the internal ones: "They have to participate." "we must dedicate ourselves to this..." "If you're really committed..." Essentially, she doesn't accept the dichotomy between the powerful outside authorities and the powerless victims. Perhaps she recognizes that they're both part of the same system, so she does not merely blame the powerful, but refuses to give them full power, where she is involved. Her action alternatives usually involve confronting some of the power conflicts at the community level and mobilizing collective forces in order to confront the broader power structure: and collaboration between the teacher and the Sefibras seems to be related to broader community collaboration to confront SINAMOS officials, landloards, etc. Her analysis seems to have grown, out of active experiences, and personal ones - and for that, it is also limited by her narrow contacts - mainly with family and community. Just as she recognized that the wealthy had more access to information, "they're involvedL they know what's going on." Sefiora Cristina suffers from a lack of broader contact, to make her analysis more complete. As is the case with all four women, there is little reference to economic structures or work institu- tions that expose the base of the social system they live in. Only as they can make direct and personal connections to these structures do they seem aware of them: for the migrants, the loss of their own economic role; for all as community members, the continual struggle with land owners. It is understandable that family and community problems - and particularly the land issue - would preoccupy the woman who have little contact with work place, banks, multinationals (the invisible forces of their society). That Sefiora Cristina's responses tend to exhibit more critical quality than the others' may also be due to her longer contact with the particular environment of the urban settlement. But she is still marginalized, as a woman, as a resident of a "young town," as a poor person. The decoding scale seems useful in distinguishing the very concrete indicators of a developing critical consciousness, and might be applied to other situations. In any case, the nature of the responses will always have to be interpreted in the light of the particular context in which they're made. One final indicator of critical consciousness seems worth exploring before concluding this comparative analysis. It has to do with the usefulness of the four-fold analytical framework in analyzing a dynamic process. It was interesting to me that in the process of using the four dimensions to isolate factors in each of the four interviews, some responses resisted such dissection. They seemed to be pointing to strong examples of the interaction of the four dimensions, the dynamic interrelationship between structural and psycho-social, active and reflective. This appears, then, to be another cue to critical quality. And again, it was most evident in the dialogue of Sefiora Cristina: First of all, in contrast to Sefiora Rosa, whose comments are almost purely reflective and at the psycho-social level, Sefiora Cristina connects her perceptions much more often to structural issues and to active experiences - Consider the constant structural connections in these comments: "We don' t lack problems with SINAMOS, the landlords, etc.. . " "Here we have wells... (but) in some towns, they deliver the water to each house (or) sometimes they (the trucks) don't come..." These descriptions imply some experiences in the past that Jeni to a structural critique; as well as grounded in action. Sefiora Cristina's comments often seem to lead into action... 342 343 "For the garbage problem, we could contract a garbage collector or truck..." "we're going to ask fbr a lot to build..." And not infrequently, the reflective is intimately related to and directed toward the active: "(Our block representative). . .tells us. . . what 113 mm what we need, what we can do." In much the sameway, the entire educational process in seen as operating concurrently at the structural and psycho-social level, with active and reflective functions. While education perhaps is considered more conventionally as primarily reflective and individualistic, sefiora Cristina sees it as almost synonymous with social change: Social issues are content for learning: "What is happening in the comunity. . . ..the problem of water, the lack of a school..." and a pro-active stance is advocated for both teacher and student: In fact, it is much as it appeared in the second photo-story, to which Sefibra Cristina responded: "I prefer this one - because they are participating." In one further way, there was a dynamic relationship between the reflections of Sefiora Cristina and her actions. Consistent with her descriptions of the teacher as one with a clear responsi- bility to both give and take - she interacted with Pablo in the interview accordingly - with respect, yet challenging him for not fulfilling his function. This congruence carried over into her interaction with me as an interviewer. It reflects, in the terminology of the analytical framework, a psycho-social action - perhaps a behavioral change - but at least the ability to act upon a very concrete problem in an interpersonal context. But the action appears integral to her broader structural analysis and her commitment to collective action. .. The sense of connections between these elements may be one further potential measure of critical consciousness. This discussion surely leads us into the next section, which leaves the particular persons and context that have been central to this study, and moves into the more general realm of theoretical considerations. It is time to pose some questions: so what can be learned from this kind of an exploration? What new insights do we have into the dynamics of the conscientization process? How do the questions raised here connect with other similar efforts? What issues do they raise about Freire's own theoretical reflections? How are the central themes related to existing sociological theories? How do they lead to new explorations..? 3hhv S ECTION III: THEORETICAL. IMPLICA'HON' S A Compagative Critique of FreireL Martin. Smith, and Barndt 9 I chose to place this discussion at the end of this study for a couple of reasons. For one, I have not followed the usual pattern of building research solely upon theories of others providing me with hypotheses to test. One starting point clearly was my contact with the ideas of Paulo Freire, but the research process brought me immediately into contact with other people, other ideas, other contexts. The dialogue thus continued as I confronted the particular reality of urban migrant women in Peru.., and my own thinking was radically changed through that confrontation. It seemed most congruent with my experience and also consistent with Freire's notion of the dialectic between action and reflection, context and consciousness, to ground any theoretical discussion in those objective and subjective realities. Secondly, the process of returning to Freire's writings and to the analyses of his thought by other writers — only after I had already struggled to develop my own analysis in a particular situation - has given me a deepening understanding of some of the issues I was grappling with and continue to confront. I can more easily step back from my specific context and from my own research process, compare it to others, and begin to do a critique of my own work. Thus, I am at a stage of "reflecting on my own reflections" - which is serving, in a way that my active experience did to transform 3N6 347 my views, to change my approach to action in my own context. In working on this section, I have begun to see clearly some of the weaknesses of what I attempted in the previous sections. The tendency is to feel that I should thus return to those parts and "correct" them or to negate some things that I previously affirmed. It could be disturbing to the reader to find such inconsistencies within one's work. But I ask rather that the reader join me here as a critic, to learn from my own process, and to continue on with his/her own process. The value of being able to follow the development of one's thought critically, 'of de-mystifying it and seeing it as unfinished and Open to question has become clearer to me as I reread the writings of Freire, covering a time span to some 15 years, and during which Freire moved from his own cultural context to Chile, to the United States, to Europe, to Africa.' I found myself almost angry with his earlier writings, until I realized that Freire himself and submitted his own thinking to critique and confrontation with new contexts, becoming much clearer about his positions in more recent writings. But, still, he remains open to critique. The temptation, unfortunately, is to fall back into old patterns of deifying one theoretician - and of trying to compare or justify one's own thinking only in relationship to his words. I hope to resist this — and rather enter into dialogue with Freire about issues of common concern. And I've chosen to bring into the discussion as well two other persons who have explored the process of "conscientization,' stimulated by Freire's initial conceptions of it. Their analyses, 3p? too, took the form of dissertations: one, however, appeared to me to be a real distortion of the process, while the other was more consonant with my own perspectives. Both were extremely valuable to me in clarifying my own positions and problems of analysis. They also made me aware, once again, that we all tend to relate to the issues that Freire raises according to our own cultural and class biases. All fouroi us, too, remain middle-class intellectuals, trying at one level to justify our role in the kind of society we each envision. Thus, again, I invite the critique of the reader from this standpoint. The process of comparing our positions on common themes is a useful way of developing a more critical perspective on them. I would like to build the comparisons around some of the issues that seem most important to me in the context of thus study. First, the definition of "conscientization" is at question: we have different ideas about "what" it is and what goal it is aimed at, as well about "how" it should or does happen. Secondly, I want to explore the implications that these different definitions have for educational programs. Specifically here, I'll focus on the student-teacher relationship and the concept of knowledge, as they were both ~vital in my study. Thirdly, an analysis of the different research methods we have used will challenge their consistency with the espoused ideology, will look for contradictions between form and content. 348 349 Conscientization: What is it? In describing his early experiments with literacy in Brazil just after he was exiled for them, Freire (writing in 1965, English publication in 1973) defines "conscientizacao" in quite " "education for critical vague terms: "the development of the awakening of critical awareness, consciousness." The emphasis on cognitive processes is reflected in the use of words like "awakening" and "awareness." Though he also stresses that it is a process of "becoming more fully human" - "in relationships gi£h_others and gi£h_the world (history and culture)," there is little sense of how the world of others affects that process. His analysis of how the particular socio-economic structure of Brazil at a particular moment in history affected his own "conscientization" work is quite weak. At most, he suggests that recent urbanization and industrialization of Brazil created an environment more conducive to the development of a critical consciousness, but that view appears laden with "modernization" perspectives - implying that only middle class urbanites can develOp their thinking to a critical level. Martin (1975) has pointed to the same weakness, as have many other more politicized critics in reading Freire over the years. His major critique is that Freire lacked a careful social structural and class analysis in describing the Brazilian experience. The core concept of "conscientization," for Martin, "is the relation of consciousness to society," but, in his view, Freire over-emphasized the "consciousness" side, while not providing a Clear analysis of society. Still, Martin appreciated "his stress on problems of consciousness (as) a useful complement to the almost exclusive emphasis on political economy which characterizes most of the Marxist intellectual tradition." In devoting more energy to "consciousness" issues, Freire developed at that time a series of constructs, or types of consciousness, that could give cues to its development (1973). He suggested that as people become more "conscientized," they move from magical consciousness to naive consciousness to critical consciousness. Magical consciousness "attributes to facts a " manifested, superior power by which it is controlled and to which it must therefore submit, according to Freire, in the fatalism of peasants or the resignation of the poor (and in this study, perhaps reflected in Sefiora Rosa's outlook) . Naive consciousness "considers itself superior to facts, in control of facts," and is manifested in over-simplification of problems, nostalgia for the past, underestimation of the common man, and polemics; this is the stage where one either blames oneself or others for problems, rather than examining the system as whole (somewhat as ‘Sefiora Tomasa and Seflora Juana did in describing authorities.) Critical consciousness, in contrast, "represents things and facts as they existmempirically,in.their casual and circumstan- tial correlations,’ and is exemplified by a deeper interpretation of problems, as systemic, 350 351 causal principles instead of magical explanations, willingness to test one's findings and revise them, avoidance of preconceived notions, refusal to transfer responsibility, rejection of passive positions, sound argumentation, dialogue, and a receptivity to the new (some of these characteris- tics were present in the dialogue of Senora Cristina). Freire does not attempt to operationalize these constructs or to explore the cognitive development process in much detail - either theoretically or practically in the context he's discussing, except to suggest that the literacy programs attempted "to move from naivete to a critical attitude" and that "urban dwellers showed a surprising interest in education, associated directly to the transitivity (critical quality) of their consciousness." .Both statements implied (questionably) that rural illiterates were by definition naive. This implicit assumption and the focus on "conscientization" as a cognitive process of development from magic to naive to critical consciousness has been built upon by Smith (1976) in a study of Indian peasants and mestizo leaders in Ecuador. Smith saw in Freire's musings "a major new developmental theory" which "defines a conceptually systematic educational ideology." He attempts a fit, then, between Freire and educational psychologists Kohlberg and Mayer (1972), whose "structural developmentalism" posits a "progression through invariant ordered sequential stages." Calling itself a "progressive ideology," this psychological approach to 4_._—d\_.-——‘-_- a grow mat‘ C02 of de growth "rejects traditional standards and value relativism in favor of ethical universals...," arguing that the stages are "culture-free," because they represent "developmentally advanced or mature stages of reasoning, judgment, and action." The discussion of these hierarchical cognitive stages leading to a "higher human state" and "superiority" never touches on the effects of context on the process, and in fact claims universality. In trying awkwardly to equate this development theory to "conscientization," Smith admits that Freire is interested in "historically and culturally conditioned levels of understanding." But perhaps Smith is merely repeating and amplifying the weaknesses of Freire's early descriptions of "conscientization." He has captured only the psycho-social dimension of the process, ignoring almost completely the structures that one must interact with in any particular context. He has also focused on the reflective process involved in conscientization, while giving little attention to the role of action, either individual or collective. This general orientation is reflected in Smith's own various definitions of "conscientization" as "a process of growth," "consciousness-raising, problem-solving,‘ and "self-actualization." These terms tend to equate the process, then, with personal growth, avoiding broader political issues; they all, too, probably reflect the cultural and class milieu of Smith.himself, influenced by 88- sentially an apolitical human potential movement of the U.S. in the early 70's. And although in quoting Freire, Smith makes constant reference to the "system" which must be "transformed" 352 353 by the critically conscious, he never clearly describes the socio-economic or political character of any system he's working in. Smith makes an interesting attempt to operationalize "conscientization" and its three stages, with a coding system that he hopes will also be universally applicable. His position is that one's response to a context will be the same regardless of the context; magical consciousness represents a "conforming" stage, naive consciousness is reflected in "reformers," and the critically conscious are committed to "transforming." For each stage, there is a different way of naming problems, reflecting upon them, and acting upon them. Those operating at a magical level of consciousness deny that problems exist or see them as mere survival issues, attribute everything to superiors, and are resigned to their oppression. The reformers, of naive consciousness, tend to blame themselves or others for problems and ultimately accept the oppressor's ideology and even model it. The critically conscious name the system as the problem, reject the oppressor, work to understand and change the system. But the goal of the latter in Smith's model is "self- actualization," and this "personal growth" emphasis is present in his delineation of two aspects of "conscientization": the first is "personal self-affirmation" and the second is "a conscious- empirical attempt to replace an oppressive system with a just and malleable system." The underlined terms reflect Smith's orientation toward the individual as the "end" of the process, and toward a controlled replacement of one system for another. There is also an implication that systematic change comes 3:535 self-actualization, and that both are static, attainable, finished products. Missing is the dynamic meaning of transformation, the ongoing interaction between people and with society, a collective process... Indeed, this perspective, a common outcome of socialization in an individualistic, capitalistic American context, sounds uncomfortably similar to Smith's description of naive consciousness and those who represent it: "They naively, romantically, nostalgically assume that individuals are basically free agents, independent of the socio-economic system in which they live." Having been socialized in the same system, I can identify with the orientation - and can see clearly its presence in my own early interpretations of "conscientization." Recall that my original research plan was only to focus on self-concept and self-actualization in terms of interpersonal relationships. In slowly developing my own consciousness of the structures of the context within which I was working, I became more concerned with the dynamic relationship between subjective and objective realities. But still in using my framework, I began with the psycho- social and reflective dimensions as a starting point for analysis of the interviews. The dialogue of the women themselves pointed me to the structural origins of their perceptions once again. What's more, it seemed that the more critically conscious responses did not isolate the psycho- social from the structural. This implies that such isolation reflects a less critical 354 355 consciousness. And in terms of these issues, an application of my framework might reveal the early Freire descriptions of "conscientization" and Smith's interpretations of those to be heavily psycho-social and primarily reflective, to the point of representing actual distortions of the process. Freire would be the first to admit the distortion. Looking back critically at his early definitions, he warns readers against their "psychological and idealistic connotations." He realizes that he mistakenly took "the moment when social reality is revealed to be a sort of psychological motivator for the transformation of reality,... as if I were saying that to discover reality already meant to transform it, not considering the dialectic between the two." His concept of conscientization was clarified in his experiences in Chile and in the United States; in an interview in Chile before the coup, he describes his early theory as "naive," the product of an "ideologized ingenuous petit bourgeois intellectual," admitting, too, that he thus "opened the doors for naives and experts to co-opt the concept, and use it in reactionary terms." (1976) The major fault of his vague social analysis, he claims, was that it did not take into account the development of class consciousness and thus the truly political nature of education. In a more recent publication, he clearly takes a position about the importance of the class question: "..there is no liberation without a revolutionary transformation of the class society, for in the class society, all humanization is impossible. Liberation becomes concrete only when society is changed, not when its structures are simply modernized." (1977) This is a far cry from the intellectual musings about magical, naive, and critical consciousness. Structural change is imperative for liberation and humanization; and more "modernization" is not the kind of structural change that transforms, that creates the climate for the development of critical consciousness. He distinguishes, now, between two levels of working class consciousness: "Consciencia en sf," (1976) or consciousness in and of itself, that represents an awareness of needs, but still at the level of secondary interests, that are aimed at adapting people to the system, not changing it. (In Santa Ana, these would include the community issues the women discussed - land, water, schools, etc.) "Consciencia para sf" or consciousness for itself, is genuine class consciousness, an awareness of an economically- exploited group in relationship to a dominant group. In any case, it is clear that "conscientization" or the "prise de conscience" has become for Freire neither intellectual, or individualistic, but firmly based in the economic structure and intimately tied to the mode of production underlying the society. In reporting on recent collaboration with educational references in Guinea Bissau (1977), Freire uses economic terms in describing the prerequisites for education transformation: "it requires not only an indispensable increase in production, 356 357 but the redistribution of that production... a political clarity for the decision of what, how, and for whom to produce." In the present study, there was clear attention given to structural issues, by devoting the first section to a careful description of the layers of context that make up the world of the urban migrant woman, and by attempting to connect the world views of four women to those structural realities. Also, the basic contradictions emerging from the interviews with the women had to do with the major recent historical change in the economic structure of the society, tied to global economic processes. But I see weaknesses in my analysis around these questions with regard to ‘ three areas: 1) I have not attempted any careful class analysis of the Peruuian society, and particularly the variations within the urban migrant population (that might account for variations among the four women); 2) I have not considered critically what the particular historical contextual conjuncture (the military junta in 1976) meant for any conscientization efforts, i.e. what in the system encouraged or discouraged the development of critical consciousness; and 31 I have focused more on the women's responses to community issues (secondary interests) than on their awareness of the economic system, implicitly supporting a consciousness "en 81" rather than a class consciousness. A fourth weakness leads to the next area of discussion. By focusing on women individually and analyzing their consciousness at one point in time, I have not really captured a sense of the process as an ongoing dynamic process, and one that is social rather than personal. Only by comparing the four women and relating their views to their social context were some of those broader dynamics revealed. But the process and its rhythm deserve more careful attention. Conscientization: How does it Happen? Again it is somewhat artificial to separate the "what" from the "how" of "conscientization." A process has been implied - in various forms - in the above discussion of conscientization. In fact, the attempt to separate the end from the means, the content from the form is perhaps just another distortion of the concept of "conscientization," as we are coming to understand it. For the dialectic between the person and society, the psycho-social and the structure affirmed in the preceding discussion implies a dynamic process, in which both the individual and the world are constantly changing. This is Freire's idea of person ig_the world as subject, not as object, as capable Of creating culture while being created by culture. It's basically a revolutionary view of the human being that underlies the conscientization process. It assumes .._ -..— 358 359 a dialectical relationship between people and the world, between a subjective reality and an objective reality. Even in his early works, Freire (1973) saw this as a "dynamic, historical-cultural process," in which both people and the world are "unfinished products,‘ constantly transforming and being transformed. But the active element of the interaction was always complemented by a reflective dimension. Freire rejected totally any attempts to dichotomize action’and reflection; one fed the other and both were necessary for critical consciousness. Goulet (in Freire, 1973) clarifies Freire's position that "action without critical reflection and even without gratuitous ' and conversely, "theory or introspection in the absence contemplation is disastrous activism,’ of collective social action is escapist idealism and wishful thinking. Genuine theory can only be derived from some praxis rooted in historical struggles." Still, Freire's early tendency was to over-emphasize the reflective; for example, he initially defined liberating education as one that "enabled people - to reflect on themselves, their responsibilities, and their role in the new cultural climate, indeed to reflect on their very power of reflection." Again he tended toward the cognitive, psychological definition of consciousness. He was an intellectual justifying intellectual activity. In trying to define the conscientization process more operationally in those days, Freire was clear that the action component was essential; but even the term he used, "problematizing," implied primarily a naming of problems and reflecting on actions taken or to be taken. "Problematization," he wrote, "is inseparable from concrete situations; it implies a critical return to action, it starts from action and returns to it..." Still there wasn't much clarity about the concrete active experiences out of which Freire developed his theory; and his critique of mistakes leading to the 1974 coup in Brazil criticized naive activism, and the lack of critical reflection. In the conscientization process which involved "decoding experienced reality," Freire described an unveiling of myths, an uncovering of contradictions. Yet his early use of this dialectical term also put the emphasis on its reflective, abstract nature: contradictions are seen as "emerging values in search of affirmation and fulfillmentclashing with earlier values seeking self-preservation..." The conflict of different power groups is implied, but never clearly specified in economic terms. Again there is the lack of a sense of a material base, of historical contradictions between classes whose interests relative to the means of production conflict. Smith's use of the word "contraditions" also lacks a reference to concrete historical social forces. In fact, he describes the uncovering of contradictions by the oppressed as the discovery of differences between the actions and goals of the oppressors, between the rhetoric 360 361 of the system and its results. This represents a purely literal use of the word as discrepancy between word and deed. It is again psychologistic and primarily reflective. Smith casts other related terms in a similar light: "dialogue" is seen in its narrow sense as conversation between two equals, rather than as a social process involving as well as response to concrete reality, and active as well as reflective responses: "Instead of raving against the oppressor, the individual is interested in talking to his peers. Hating the oppressor is simply less important than understanding one's peers." .Once again, a dynamic historical conflict between groups within a system has been reduced to an interpersonal encounter. The conflict is denied; the tone is moralistic, rather than dialectical: "Critical level organizations of oppressed peoples see power not as a way to destroy the oppressor nor as a means for defending themselves against the oppressor, but as a way of creating a system of justice, a new system of relationships." Somehow it is assumed that a new system can be built - out of nothing - without any destruction of the old, and the new system has no material base - it is interpersonal, based on justice. Even in describing a model cooperative movement, Smith calls it a "new way of looking at the relationship between producer and consumer," without any reference to changing the productive process itself. It's hard to tell how this change of relationships (n: conscientization is going to happen under Smith's schema. For in the more empirical part of his study, he tests his coding system with two groups - a group of "carriers and loaders" of peasant origin that he claims exhibit "magical consciousness" and a group of mestizo non—formal education leaders whom he considers at the level of "naive consciousness." He explains that he was unable to identify a group of people with "critical consciousness," because of the rural context and "given the present socio-political climate these individuals are particularly reluctant to participate in the kind of experience which the coding process demands." Not only that, but the criteria used to distinguish between the groups with different levels of consciousness implied that to become critically conscious, one must have a middle-class occupation, a comfortable economic standard, formal education, fluency in Spanish, and a leadership role in the community. In other words, conscientization was dependent on becoming western and middle-class, consistent with the "modernization" theories of development. In a way, Smith has only followed the elitist orientation of Freire's early work; "democratic practice," as he called it then, could not flourish in the old Brazil "based on dispersed, self-contained land holdings (that) did not permit the development of cities with a middle class possessing a reasonable economic base." (1973) But again, fifteen years later 362 363 in Guinea Bissau, Freire himself has changed. Now he speaks of moving urban teachers and students into rural areas "to take part in production activities, learning from peasants and teaching something to them in return." Now in a very particular and concrete historical context, the active and reflective dimensions of conscientization are more dynamically and intimately related: "the aim...(is) to combine labor and study in such a way that the former would gradually become the latter's source... There is a proposal for setting up study centers in the field relative to different aspects of production, "deriving from productive activity the ' so that "one studies as one works." The economic base of contents of several disciplines,’ educational work has become much clearer for Freire; in fact the content of learning is based on work, action has become the starting point for reflection, there is a stronger unity between theory and practice. Is it merely because he is now working in a post-revolutionary context or does it reflect a greater politicization of Freire himself..? This greater synthesis between pedagogy and politics is also advocated by Martin, as he calls for "a revolutionary educational strategy that... raises consciousness through (not excluding) social analysis and political organizing." The terms are more operational referents for the active (organizing) and reflective (analysis) dimensions, of conscientization, while clearly implying a social-political, and not an individual, process. Martin's analysis moves much more into some of the strategic and tactical questions of conscientization that Freire rarely tackles. After critiquing Freire's lack of contextual and conjunctural analysis of the Brazilian experience, he applies a similar critique to the group he worked with for a few months in Bolivia. Their "cultural research" of Aymaran labor exchange which provided form and content for "cultural dynamization" groups failed, in his opinion, to address the basic economic issues and to assess the "historical potential of the present reformist political climate..." And yet, he recognizes that their "non—divisive stance in political debate" may have helped them to survive the 1971 coup. The organizational and tactical concerns of Martin reflect a more pragmatic, and perhaps more North American, orientation to the process of conscientization. In my own consideration of the application of the Freire method to a program in another Latin American context, Peru, I fell short of a political analysis of the program at an operational level. While pointing out the changes it experienced because of the structural progressions and regressions of the junta, I didn't carry the analysis to the different strategies used by teachers in the program in response to these changes. And although the world views of four women were quite intensively explored, there was little directmconnection made between the expereince in the literacy program and those views. 364 365 Thus from the standpoint of the action-reflection dynamic, I, too, sometimes fell into a more reflective stance. The photographs and interviews provoked women to describe their own experiences, and perceptions were usually grounded haconcrete actions, but the analysis ultimately was one of reflections on actions, or on reflections. I did not follow the women in a behavioral sense, to see if they acted in accordance with their expressed attitudes. Nor did I relate their particular views to their personal participation in club and class activities. That connection was only made in a more subtle, general way. In: another sense, too, I feel that I sometimes tended to dichotomize action and reflection. Perhaps the most blatant example is found in the 7-stage scale I developed to assess the critical quality of the responses, and thus of the consciousness. The stages at first appear primarily reflective (description, personal association, social relations, contrasts and contradictions, analysis, exploration of alternatives), except the last one - action, based upon critical reflection. The starting point here thus seems to be reflective; except that in codifying themes in photos and texts, and in encouraging people to project their own experiences on those objectified ones, the action-reflection dialectic is also at work: participants first use their own actions as referents and eventually the actions of others; as the reflection becomes more social - truly a collective exercise - then the possibilities of collective action also increase. Clearly, one feeds the other, and this kind of decoding process, if followed generatively rather than informatively, can lead to structural transformation, while rooted in personal reflection, and vice-versa. There is at the more critical level, then, a clear interplay between active-and- reflective, psycho-social-and structural. This is where the analytical framework, too, if used to look at dynamic interrelationships, rather than isolated factors, can be useful. In fact, the strength of my interpretation, I think, is its concern for giving equal weight to all four dimensions of conscientization, avoiding the "psychologistic" distortions mentioned above or the "economistic" view devoid of pe0ple5‘while also avoiding the naive verbalism or naive activism Freire warned against. The danger of my framework is that it be used to objectify and measure isolated factors, in a way that the Smith study treats consciousness devoid of context. The four-fold table may tend to encourage such rigid treatment: a way to express visually the dynamics of a non-linear, dialectical thinking will have to be devised. In any case, as I re-evaluate the framework and glean from.my own study my major learnings, I think I would rename, reframe, and re-arrange the dimensions treated in the framework. The revised version might look like this: 366 367 Pascnce: Tacos? W .* "Theory" and "practice" seem more commonly used and understood terms than "reflection" and "action." Practice is placed first, to give new emphasis to the experience-grounded nature of all critical thought. "Person" replaces "psycho-social," capturing the individual and the subjective element. "Context" is used instead of "structural;" it seems to envelope the related issues of time and space, history and culture. And "context" is placed at the bottom to emphasize its importance as the source of consciousness. The squares have been replaced by circles that in joining are transformed into infinity signs - to capture symbolically some of the dynamic, on-going nature of the process of conscientization. The renaming reflects my concern that the tool appear less stifling and academic; the reframing reflects a need for less rigidity in the framework. The re-arranging of the order -giving context and practice the most prominant spot - replacing psychological reflective - reveals a real shift in my own thinking about the forces of history and culture, and the sources of consciousness. This re-evaluation on my part has stimulated me to explore some of these issues further in Marxist literature. It is Marx's basic contention that: "It is not the consciousness of men that determine their existence, but, on the contrary, their social existence determines their consciousness." (1959) But by giving some priority to "context" and to "practice" in the new framework, am I merely negating the dialectic again - but on the side of the structural determinists rather than the psychologically oriented "evolutionist positivists?" Perhaps I am in dialectic with my own thought, rejecting a past over-emphasis for another, swinging with the pendulum to the other pole. But in this initial exploration, I have found Gramsci the most amenable to a clearly dialectical interpretation of conscientization. He saw "consciousness transformation (as) an inseparable part of structural change," and persons as the center of the revolutionary process, "restoring the subjective dimension to socialist politics." (1976). This expression of his clear commitments to the Marxist concept of praxis is reminiscent of Freire's more recent statements: "..this uniting of theory and practice, thought and action, subject and object was not only a guiding theoretical promise but was also central 368 369 to his own personal—political life. Revolution therefore demanded not only rational-cognitive activity, but a passionate, emotional commitment and an intense partisanship on the part of the theorist - a commitment and partisanship rooted in everyday political struggle." (1976) It is in this direction that I see my own thinking and working moving. This is only to reaffirm that this process will go on for me, in dialogue with others - in new contexts, in new writings. Implications of Conscientization for Educational Prgggams In continuing the comparison and mutual critique, I would like to focus on a couple of aspects of educational programs: the kind of student-teacher relationship they promote and the concept of knowledge on which they are based. The teacher-student relationship represents one of the several interactions that an illiterate participant might have with authorities, or power figures usually coming from the dominant class. Although in two of the programs referred to in the present analysis (Bolivia and Peru), there were attempts to recruit teachers, or "coordinators," from among the peasants themselves, there were still usually some differences between the students and the teachers, at least in terms of literacy training, and dealing biculturally with the rural and urban world. And in many cases, the teacher was drawn from a mestizo or urban environment, ususally middle class and formally trained. Such is the nature of educational work in literacy, that somehow still depends upon some external, book-oriented definitions of knowledge so that these outsiders are seen as essential to the process. This dependence could surely be questioned. Central to Freire's definition of the conscientization process is the dialogical method - a critical search by two (or more) people who are open to learning from each other, exploring problems that emerge from their discussion, creating new knowledge collectively. This kind of relationship - based upon Christian principles of "love, humility, hope, faith, trust" (1973) is always contrasted by Freire with anti-dialogue, the vertical relationship involving the arrogance and self-sufficiency of people who claim to already know all and have no need for others. Freire's best known work PedagoEy of the Oppressed (1971) treats in some depth the relationship between the -hypothetical oppressor and the oppressed. They are seen as representatives of social groups but at this point, Freire is still fuzzy about their class connections. Nonetheless, he recognizes that they are part of the same system, that their relationship reflects that system, that their psychos and their behavior are in symbiotic, almost parasitic relationship to each other, that both are unfree. Memmi (1963) describes this same relationship in the context of colonialized economies in Africa: "One is disfigured into an oppressor, a partial, unpatriotic and treacherous being, worrying only about his privileges and their defense; the other, into an 370 371 oppressed creature, whose development is broken and who compromises by his defeat." In the traditional educational context, the teacher has been expected to know everything, teach, think, talk, choose, and act while the ignorant students listen, comply, adapt, receive. With "problem-posing education," Freire (in.IDAC, 1974) proposes that "the teacher is no longer merely the one-who-teaches, but one who is himself taught in dialogue with the students, who in turn while being taught also teach. They become jointly responsible for a process in which they all grow." Still in Freire's first reflections about the literacy experiments in Brazil, he refers to the urbanébred teachers as "investigators" of the reality of their rural students, he advocates that they be professionally trained in sociology and psychology, he describes a standardized "conscientization process" in "culture circles" involving themes chosen and analyzed by "specialists" and codified by a professional artist. In fact, the process of decoding also appears to be quite teacher-directed, abstract, conversion-oriented. Freire admits that the difficulty then was not in the "technical aspect of the procedure" but in the "creation of a new attitude" on dhe part of teachers,... one "so absent in our upbringing and education;" but Freire sometimes seems to fall victim to his own warning. Smith in his study of consciousness as an individual developmental process does not devote much attention to the relationship necessary to the development of a critical consciousness. He only makes reference to relationships in describing his own research with Ecuadorian peasants. The peasants who were involved in the study of "magical consciousness" were offered in reciprocity a two-day workshop on educational materials during which they were "told about a new concept of education, one which relied on mutual sharing, rather than vertical imposition." Somehow there appears a contradiction between the content of that statement and the process through which it was "shared," one which does not meet people where they are and start with their own concerns and activities as content. Martin looks at the role of the radical educator and his/her relationship with the people from a class perspective. The same critique of Freire's lack of careful class analysis in Brazil applies here. In Martin's view, Freire's terms "oppressors" and "oppressed" are not defined as clear political categories, with objective re- ferents. Power relations are not so simple; there is "a need to distinguish between different factions of the ruling and working class: the urban unemployed, the actively employed, the foreign-dominated employed," etc... These differences also enter into the relationship between teacher and student, and into relationshipsamongst students, (another area of dialogue not thoroughly explored by Freire). Again Freire's distinctions between different kinds of teachers/ leaders have been more at the abstract, value-defined level. In early works, (1973), he talks about the "radical" rather than the "sectarian" approach, "in which problems of analysis and strategy would be considered with the people, not for them..." The complex influence of 372 373 different class experiences and cultural orientations is not taken into account. In recounting the GuineajBissau experience (1977), Freire still avoids confronting these subtleties,except to say that some post-revolutionary leaders were obviously more interested in perpetuating internal colonialization. But he is much clearer about the political role of the educator: as "a militant and notazneutral specialist or technician;" and this role can only be assumed by those "who have agreed to commit 'class' suicide." The peasant, the participant, is clearly a resource, a teacher in this process: "If the educator's position is a revolutionary one, and if his actions are to be consistent with this political position, he will consider the process of education... as one which which the student is an active agent." But I find contradictions remaining in a few instances: For one, Freire praises the role of Cabral, the national revolutionary leader of Guinea-Bissau, inordinately, and attributes much of the change to Cabral's "prophetic vision." It seems unrealistic and uncritical to give credit to one "person" and his "thought" for a socialist movement depending on the conjuncture of many complex historical forces. Freire clearly affirms in this way a role for the revolutionary hero (and for revolutionary thinkers?) - in comparing Cabral and Guevara and Fidel for their common role of leading the "vanguard alongside the masses." Somehow, the vanguard still appears as deified,and not 2f the people in this context. This, of course, raises many deeper questions about the kinds of leaders needed at various historical moments in a nation's deve10pment - an issue we don't want to go into further at this point. The other remnants of paternalism notable in Freire's description of the militant educator's task are found in statements like these: their work in Guinea-Bissau involved "giving back to the people in organized form what they give to us in unorganized form." Why are not the participants involved in the "organizing" process, which surely must be another source of power? This orientation perhaps reflects the particular role of the outside team with which Freire visited Guinea-Bissau. As militant educators there to facilitate adult education programs as an integral part of an overall national development plan, they were to return to their Geneva base to develop didactic materials for the programs. Even though a constant dialogue and checking between the field and the educators was to assure their relevancy, it remains questionable why nationals are not involved in the creation of materials they are to use — and on site. In my own study of adult education programs in Peru, I found similar remnants of paternalistic relationships present amidst attempts to develop more horizontal communication between teacher and students. But in developing my own analysis, it seemed a critical issue to consider in the development of a critical consciousness. The illiterate woman's sense of her power in relationship to the teacher was a basic indicator of her relationship to other authorities and institutions that converged to oppress her. This consistency appeared in the interviews; but the critical quality of the relationship varied from one woman to another. Senora Cristina, who exhibited 374 375 attitudes and behavior associated with a consciousness more critical than the others, was also able to look critically at the leaders around her. Her view seemed based on a respect for herself and for them; she demanded equally of them and herself a fulfillment of social responsibility. This seems to point to some behavioral referents of the dialogue necessary for encouraging critical consciousness: partners in dialogue should arrive at a point of mutual critique, if they are truly to learn from each other, and move beyond individual contributions to the collective creation okanowledge. The dialectic of dialogue thus involves a constant breaking down and building up, not of the persons, but of each person's limited perception, incomplete analysis, imperfect action. When leaders or teachers are still deified, this is probably not happening. A recent study of a Tansanian literacy program (Kassam, 1977) that tries to give precedence to the words of the new literates and their new sense of power by leaving their dialogues in-tact still reveals an uncritical perspective of the powerless toward the powerful - in this case, the teacher or President Nyerere, who are constantly praised for their role in "bringing the light" to the once illiterate. Such lauds are dependent upon the self-degradation of the student; she/he describes the experience of learning to read and write in conversion terms, denying having known anything before, and giving all credit to the bearer of knowledge.. In an example more close to home, a teacher applying the Freire method in teaching English to immigrants in Canada cited this indicator of when the conscientization process was beginning to A ‘ — ...a— _—‘ -—-‘ \ h: happen: when the students began to freely question her about her salary and her social role relative to theirs. This issue seems critical to me - and not critically dealt with in Freire's writings or interpretations of them. Of course, again, the particular context is going to color the tone of the student-teacher relationship. In my study, I failed to examine that relationship in actual social behavior in the classes, relying mainly on the women's description of how that played out and some genralizations from my own observations about the leadership/teaching style of the literacy teacher (in contrast to the Padre, for example). Another real weakness in my research was to have omitted a thorough interview with the teacher, using the same tool to provoke his projectionsabout the teaching/learning process and the relationships involved. And even though the teacher was present in three of the four interviews, so that there was some dialogue and exchange, the conversations were still somewhat individualistic; and the two facilitators both represented potential authority figures for the women. It would have been more congruent with the broader meaning of social dialogue to have involved several women in critical discussion with each other about those issues. This did happen somewhat in the eight pre—testing interviews I carried out with the photo-novel, and created a quite different dynamic. I think I fell into the narrower definition of "dialogue":hlstructuring the inquiry process in a traditional top-down, one-to-one fashion. 376 377 The differentiation discussed above between student and teacher roles really rests on epistemological issues concerning the nature of knowledge. Different definitions of knowledge can thus also be found among the interpreters engaged in this comparative analysis. On this point again, Freire isn't clear at the start. The first "culture circles" in Brazil were to draw out the knowledge of everyday experience from the participating peasants, but the analysis seemed dependent on the abstract conceptual categories of the investigators and coordinators. In discussions of literacy teaching per se, there was an implication of two kinds of knowledge: 1) the everyday experiences which provided content for the classes and were re-posed as problems for critical reflection and action; and 2) the knowledge of the literate teacher, the ability to symbolize and decode symbols, associated with abrstraction. There are times when this latter is given a superior tone, as though literacy were truly an indicator of intelligence, negating the fact that there have been successful illiterate civilizations (including, recall, the Incan which provides the cultural background for the women in my study). Freire's later analysis of these differences once again denounces the view that knowledge is an objective commodity, to be "acquired" by those who can afford it. He sees more clearly the ideological basis of this view of knowledge - emerging from a capitalistic industrialized social system - supported by a concommitant educational system, "which sees the educator as the 'owner' of knowledge whose function is to transfer such knowledge to students." (1977) In Guinea-Bissau, where the class society has been denounced and partially destroyed, a revolutionary education acknowledges two different kinds of knowledge: "knowledgeofprevious knowledg_ - analyses of their own practices within the social context - paves the way for new knowledgg, revealing the real causes of facts and phenomena." In this sense, knowledge becomes a social construction, synonymous with a collective analysis process that involves participants in transforming their individual perceptions or knowledge seeking together the causes of common problems. Freire proposes a new organization of study centres in Guinea-Bissau on specific themes like agriculture and health which would allow nationals to think about practices, and improve them, thus "systematizing knowledge." It's still unclear who does the systematizing, but the separate knowledges implied earlier as "abstract and formal" on the one hand, and "concrete and everyday" on the other seem to have merged in this new conception. The woman interviewed in the Peruvian literacy program had not achieved that unity in their own perceptions of knowledge. The more powerless and less critical responses revealed a view of knowledge as "out there,' exclusive property of the privileged, to be obtained "if one was capable." Three of the women talked about things they knew that they hadn't received from a 378 379 ' .. ..”..‘uv.--. -m M Mfla- .“wan‘-.. ..< ..A. n -..a .- ---u-.-.l- u.-r-s.t - . v .o c . teacher or books, but only Senora Cristina saw those as representing a form of knowledge. She distinguished between the Senoras'awareness of their own problems and the "other things" that the teacher had to teach, but the dichotomy remained. The possibility of creating knowledge collectively was only implied in her concern for participation in the program, "the teacher with the Senoras." In one clear sense, though, knowledge has been redefined, like conscientization, as a "process" and not a "product." This implies, then, that it is on-going and constantly changing, as the world changes. Smith's work reveals, however, more a view of knowledge as something given and static. His concern for developing "precise objectives for conscientization," that would make it measurable and universal is based on this epistomological notion. And the way to establish "more precise and more effective consciousness-raising goals," in his opinion, is to train more "systematic trainers" who could do "diagnostic evaluation of participants" and could "set critical goals for magical individuals." The coding instrument, then, is aimed at arming new trainers with a tool, providing them "with a conceptual whole, with an explanation of the consciousness-raising process." But in applying the instrument to the Ecuadorian context, no one else could code his material "due to the unique combination of expertise required in English, Spanish, Quechua, and the coding system." This makes the tool quite inaccessible to common people; and the view of knowledge as exclusive property of "experts" is reinforced. 31 ,m A critical look at this view once again reveals the ideological underpinnings of any conception of knowledge, which Freire became clearer about as a result of his own.conscientization. To understand Smith's perspective, one must also understand the context out of which he comes, and in fact a context that has had similar impact on Martin and myself, and even Freire, as a bourgeois intellectual in Brazil or a cosmopolitan in Geneva. The issue returns to one of context. Once one begins to look critically at one's own world view, to have it shattered and to shatter it while uncovering an unjust system beneath it, what does one do with the more critical awareness? The above discussion of socially-created knowledge, intimately tied to the kind of relationship that would foster such collective critique and structural changes, remains in the idealistic realm. I can find the imperfections, or contradictions, in most any concrete learning program, in any conscientization process; they promise to appear without fail, and in the best of cases, those very contradictions become grist for the process of developing a more critical consciousness. But if any theme shouts out from these pages, it is that consciousness does not exist in a vacuum, and educational programs, consequently, if they are to exist in the real world, must confront the very conditions of the socio-economic-political structure of which they are a part. This means in operational terms remaining tactically inside the system, but strategically outside of it . It means constantly analyzing the concrete situation '- time and space - within which one is working - 380 381 to determine what is historically possible." Freire lately has elaborated in this notion of "free-space" - the area within which one can act, respecting both the ultimate constraints of the system and its (sometimes hidden) possibilities. It involves a maneuvering which some dogmatics would call compromise; it requires continual analysis and continual testing of the possibilities, it raises as any action does - the chance of failure, it reflects a commitment to work gith people, to engage in the imperfect world, to struggle to change it. It is an area in which all four analysts have been weak. My own attempt to connect people to structures did not reach the point of deeply analyzing the possibilities and the constraints of the Peruvian context in 1976, which caused the government to eliminate the ALFIN literacy program in 1977. This is a task which would surely have to involve the nowhunemployed teachers and coordinators, the now programrless participants. But this inadequacy of analysis points to another commonality amongst the four of us. We were all outsiders to the contexts we've been analyzing (with the exception of Freire in Brazil in the early 1960's); the three North Americans went - perhaps ironically - to Latin America to learn more about a method that advocates people analyzing for themselves their own context. There can be no doubt about the value of the. experiences for us, the researchers; and getting outside our contexts has surely helped to clarify our perspectives on our own cultural worlds. But we cannot avoid questioning the value of our exercise for the people we claim to be concerned about. Outsiders are interveners in social processes, and they can contribute positively to a genuine conscientization process. But in reviewing the studies, too, it became clear that it is also possible for such ventures to disrespect the process of the people, to try to "own" it. These issues raise some deeper questions about the research process itself - whom it services, what ideology it reflects, how it could also become militant and critical and on the side of the oppressed. A brief comparative analysis of research strategies used amongst us will illuminate some of these important ethical and political issues. Analysis of Methods and Analyses The approaches we have each taken to our studies reveal, as is already clear, our own cultural backgrounds and ideological positions. "Methodological failings can always be traced ' wrote Freire. A critical look at our methods should reveal some of to ideological errors,‘ our contradictions, and help to clarify our ideological stances. Smith, in adopting a North American sociological structural-functional perspective and a research methodology based on the natural sciences, attempts to objectify "conscientization" in a "Protocol Collection Instrument," a label heavy with value-laden terms. He proposes basically a value-free, "culture-free" analysis with the "universally applicable" coding system; this approach is consonant with North American model-building schools of sociology. What he fails to do is a 382 383 sociology of his sociology: it would reveal an individualistic, cognitive focus that also fits well within a capitalist economic system, perpetuated by an education system which isolates individuals through competition, intelligence testing, and top-down evaluation. His methodology is essentially reductionist; his analysis, deductive. The test of the usefulness of his work will come in seeing how "universally applicable" his coding system actually is; its testing in the Ecuadorian context revealed that he was the only one able to use it fully. He devotes some discussion to ethical issues, and his expressed wish it that the instrument lead toward a "greater understanding and control over consciousness-raising programs." The main danger (and Smith is aware of this) would be that because it was developed out of context, by an outsider, to be used by experts, it might only contribute to continued and more sophisticated oppression of the people it purports to serve. By attempting to be apolitical, in the tradition of value-free model-building sociology, Smith is in fact reinforcing the system, which he has said is to be "transformed." My own research approach, especially initially, reflects a similar training in social science methods and ideology. The individualistic nature of the entire PhD dissertation process surely is a product of an educational system which merits individuals for building on the accumulated knowledge of experts, and at best creating their very own theories. I have neither resisted the temptation. But if I were to be totally honest, I would see my process at many points - especially in the field - as one which became so collective that the ideas emerging b“_.«__‘ from it could not be attributed to any one person. Such is the real social nature of knowledge. I clung to my existing frameworks - and even created new ones based on my own limited knowledge. Such is the nature of individual work. But by entering fully as a collaborator in the program I was studying, I unknowingly made my personal process a collective one. By even crossing over the delicate boundaries defined by the more organic participant - observation method, I found myself confronted with choices - about whom I was to work for and what would be my role relative to the people I came to care about. The engagement, the confrontation, the contradictions ' or at least a "participatory researcher.’ radicalized me, and made me a more "militant observer,‘ Returning to North America for a year of analysis and writing - "on.my own" - has seemed in some ways blasphemous following the collective process that I came to know in the field. It has taken me longer because I have constantly sought out shared analyses or new active experiences that gave me new insight into the process. I had hoped to have this theoretical section grow out of a workshop with friends, analyzing critically my own and others' interpretations of conscientization; time (another ideological implication) did not permit. Still, the constant input of others continues to feed my analysis. One friend recently pointed out the cOntradiction in my original title: "Connecting People to Structures." "Who's doing the connecting?" he asked. I realized that by doing the analysis of the interviews on my own, and not with the women, I was in fact usurping the process from them - counter to genuine 384 385 ... ‘u_-~“ .————o-. m conscientization. Actually, I welcome continued critique of these interpretations and re- interpretations - that illuminate my contradictions and shatter some old useless preconceptions. The challenges that Freire first made to the conventional dichotomies between action and reflection, person and structures, force us also to question the conventional separation of research and education. Why should they be two different processes with different labels..? If all people have the capacity for inquiry and learn about their own situation as they analyze it, why can't research involving all actors be seen as an integral part of any educational venture..? We are exploring ways in which communities, and particularly more powerless groups, can begin to carry out their own studies, making them more critical analysts of their own situation,enabling them to act more critically to change it. If "education" is thus taken out of the realm of schools and placed in the community, oriented to their needs instead of to an abstract accumulation of ahistorical facts, then the whole process immediately becomes more than reflective, it becomes at the same time active. And, in more recent Freire terms, only such a process permits a genuine reflection: "Reflection is only legitimate when it sends us back, as Sartre insists, to the concrete context where it seeks to clarify the facts. In doing so, reflection renders our action more effective." (IDAC 1974) Martin, in his appraisal of the implications of conscientization, moved from his experience in the Bolivian context to assess briefly its potential in a Canadian context. Though his research in the Latin American context was not very intensive or extensive, and his response to it is more intellectual than grounded in personal experience, he does speak with more familiarity about some of the factors to be contended with in the North American adult education scene. In the present study, I have given primary focus to integrating a larger experience I had in a contextnot my own, trying to glean from its richness some guidelines for re-entering my own context as a more critical and active participant. I have come to realize in the process that I would probably not repeat the experience, nor advocate the kind of research that I undertook. The contradictions of being a white gringo intellectual mining the very difficult real-life struggles of Peruvian urban migrants for a thesis became too great; Ican say that now that it is over and the degree is almost in my hand. But I became more critical about what I did in the process, and want to share that learning along with the others. Surely the experience of living in another context, and one that is typically labelled "under—developed" has given me a more global perspective, which must also be applied to my own context. And the contradictions do not go away, even if one comes home. The only difference is that now I am finding contradictions at much broader levels as well as at the personal and close-range perspective. 386 387 An example will clarify this: on returning to Canada, I found the first few months a real difficultythire-adapting to an environment more affluent than the one I had left. One morning, after reading my field notes about the Santa Ana women calling an emergency meeting to discuss a water crisis, I went out for a walk. A few blocks from my house, I discovered a notice on a telephone pole, announcing an emergency meeting in my neighborhood. The urgent issue to be dis- cussed was the over-crowding of residential streets by the cars of students at a nearby college. The meeting was to be held in the castle, a fantasy landmark of downtown Toronto. I began to com- pare: the Santa Ana meeting was held in the dirt street, because there was not even a straw but at the time; the topic of their meeting was the failure of the truck to deliver water, the lack of a basic necessity required for their daily survival. And I had been wondering why the readjust- ment was so diffidult; the contradictions between my life and theirs, my neighborhood and theirs, were visceral and were immense. They involved systems and processes much beyond my power. But, growing out of my experience in their world, I was developing a deeper commitment to use my un- easiness and to use my own power to enter into a process of trying to transform the systems that create such injustice. This time, my setting was to be my own context. And leaving Peru behind, *that's what I more clearly enter now. This response is natural to a process, which Freire himself I'm sure would support. Another "loving critic" (Boston, 1972) has said the same: ”The point is to do for ourselves what he has done for himself and his situation. Freire cannot liberate us; we must liberate ourselves." '39—'96 @116 .mLunsv F! smnn ...Eu,,.fl__._ g“, .- Wtb. 1)”qu 22am [“3" LBNRGNVII uh .. um r .\ ‘ DIKUIS Voua "Mun: “any...“ was (4'1 ALAN (Assume VIN} Hm‘l/ Spun )"H “Nfllgtox-s; HM'LTEE' “(Urn-u, nu (..uy ("a canvas IN own not» I” Gun-u Btuuu an own. 388 389 BIBLIOGRAPHY Alers, J. Oscar, and Appelbaum, Richard P. 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