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Examining the profession throughthe lens of social justice: two musiceducators’ stories and their starkrealizationsBetty Anne Younker a & Maud Hickey ba University of Michigan , Michigan, USAb Northwestern University , Illinois, USAPublished online: 04 Jun 2007.
To cite this article: Betty Anne Younker & Maud Hickey (2007) Examining the profession throughthe lens of social justice: two music educators’ stories and their stark realizations, Music EducationResearch, 9:2, 215-227, DOI: 10.1080/14613800701384334
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Examining the profession through the
lens of social justice: two music
educators’ stories and their stark
realizations
Betty Anne Younkera* and Maud Hickeyb
aUniversity of Michigan, Michigan, USA; bNorthwestern University, Illinois, USA
How do issues of equity inform music teaching and learning? What does it mean to teach music
through the lens of social justice with social consciousness? The two authors of this paper
challenged each other to reflect on these questions and how they pertain, past and present, to their
lives as performers, pedagogues, and researchers in various educational settings. In our
examination, we explored evidence, if any, of social justice within spaces that typically define
school-based music programs and classrooms, and Schools of Music practices.
We begin this paper by sharing four scenarios drawn from our own recent
experiences in school-based music classrooms. Responses to each other’s narratives
follow, at which time we examine the scenarios through the lens of social justice.
From these exchanges, we offer critiques and reflections for the field of music
education. Methodologically, we provide accounts of our professional lives as
situated in teaching, music making, and researching settings. These accounts frame
our career histories to date, and welcome the reader into our past through stories of
experiences in music classrooms and hallways that are diverse economically,
culturally, and socially.
For the purposes of this paper, we draw upon the writings of Kozal (2005) to
identify two critical characteristics of educative interactions: fairness and responsi-
bility; Dewey (1916) for a definition of social justice as including sound reasoning
and reasonableness in the way people are treated; and Rawls (1999) regarding the
principles of justice. Kozol identifies the ‘savage inequalities’ within the American
public education system in which local financial support and federal mandates
continue to segregate children educationally and financially. The notion of ‘public’ in
public education continues to be questioned from an ethical perspective. What is the
*Corresponding author. Betty Anne Younker, School of Music, Theatre and Dance, University of
Michigan, E. V. Moore Building, 1100 Baits Dr., Ann Arbor, Michigan 48109-2085, USA. Email:
ISSN 1461-3808 (print)/ISSN 1469-9893 (online)/07/020215-13
# 2007 Taylor & Francis
DOI: 10.1080/14613800701384334
Music Education ResearchVol. 9, No. 2, July 2007, pp. 215�227
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commitment to a consistent and fair education? Who gets ‘in’ and who gets ‘out’?
What is the role of critical inquiry within a framework of equity and fairness that
characterizes reasonable and just thinking within a ‘just’ environment? These and
like questions guided our reflection as we journeyed into various halls of music
making.
Four scenarios
No. 1: an elementary school in Chicago*/Maud Hickey
Why should we teach ‘melody’ to students? And do the theories of Dewey work with
students who seem to care less about school than most other things? With students
whose music is mostly beat and talk, jive, rap, rather than our notions of melody or
harmony? Should Dewey (or any other theories about education) fit for all? I asked
myself these questions a thousand times as I prepared a lesson for a classroom of 28
4th and 5th graders at a Chicago elementary school, where the music teacher warned
me that the students were ‘very bad’. The school, located on the south side of
Chicago, was nearly 100% African American students, with 99% of the children
labeled ‘low-income’. The school would soon be closed, deemed a ‘failing’ school
based on federally-based standardized test scores.
We brainstormed about what I might teach. ‘Don’t teach rap’ Ms Jernady said
quickly. (I did not probe to find out why she felt that way, but it crossed my mind
that, as an African-American woman, she was tired of hearing the all-too-common
misogynistic lyrics that accompany rap.) When I talked about my idea of getting
them to compose melodies, she and I brainstormed over ways in which this could be
done. About 10 of the students played wind instruments, and the other students
could share the seven electronic keyboards that were set up in the classroom. I asked
if she had any recorders for students to play. ‘They only know B, A, and G; so I’m not
sure how beneficial the recorders would be for this project.’ But I had no intention of
limiting the students to the notes that they ‘knew’, and felt that the recorders would
be perfect.
The lesson went okay, that is after she had to literally scream at a few students to
stop talking, and sent a couple others away with the security guard because they were
talking back or eating food. I began by playing some melodies on my trombone and
the novelty caught their attention. I offered a definition of melody, interspersed with
their suggestions, and sent them on their way to compose their own melodies.
However, the students had a difficult time focusing; they walked around the room
mostly and explored various tattered instruments lying around the room. But I am
not sure anybody really got the concept of ‘melody’ that I had imagined.
For my second visit, I set the students into groups of four and gave them a
composition assignment. I envisioned a Deweyan project, where I provide an
‘authentic’ musical task for students to work on. Each person in the group would
take on the role of melody composer, accompaniment organizer, or rhythm provider.
I would work with 12 students and Ms. Jernady would supervise a dozen or so others
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in a different room. It did not work. First, the students fought over their roles. They
did not like the individuals they were assigned to work with. Tommie pouted and
ripped his group card into two pieces. Soon, some students started playing the
keyboard instruments, and I kept moving others back to their rightful groups. As
soon as I would relocate one child, I discovered another leaving her group and
looking for different instrument. By now the groups were completely dissolved and
certain students commandeered the three available electronic keyboards in the room.
I handed out hand drums to the rest. They went crazy, but for the first time I felt
like I had control. A rhythm started going, the drum players danced about the room
with the ostinato rhythm, and the keyboard players chimed in. It got noisy, but they
were improvising together. At this point, the security guard walked in and asked if
everything was okay*/no problem I assured her. I made sure the door was closed
when she left. The dozen or so students were jamming, and I let them continue. Who
had the power in the Chicago elementary school situation? I certainly did not. Yet
neither did they.
No. 2: a suburban elementary school in Michigan*/Betty Anne Younker
Over a three-year period, I observed a fifth-grade music class in an elementary school
comprised of a diverse population in terms of economics and ethnicity. Within this
classroom, the students experienced music by singing, playing instruments, listening,
moving, and reading and writing music. The methodological approaches, influenced
by Kodaly, Orff and Dalcroze, were not implemented in a prescriptive fashion, but
served as tools to structure musical experiences and construct understandings. In
this setting, the fifth-grade curriculum was based on composing and performing the
composed music. Their understanding of music was represented as they negotiated
ideas with each other, the music teacher, a graduate student who served as a resident
composer, and for three years, me, as a participant observer.
There were many instances, at the individual and the collective levels, in which
students determined musical problems and posed solutions, either independently or
in consultation with the teacher, resident composer, or me. The students
experienced, at various levels, a fluid shifting between being students, learners,
and composers. Included in the shifting were interactions that involved negotiating
spaces, roles, and artifacts as decisions were entertained and acted upon, and
students’ fund of experiences were accepted and utilized. Thus, a ‘shared cognition’
or group intelligence (Brown et al ., 1989) emerged.
Throughout my three-year tenure at the school, I captured multiple instances of
voices being heard and accepted, and at times ignored by students and or the teacher.
Were there frustrating moments, with varying levels of success and failure?
Absolutely! There was, however, an intention of fairness and thus justice, as outlined
by Rawls (1999) and Kozal (2005). Evidence of student responsibility, as reflected in
their talk and through post-performance questionnaires, was made apparent to the
Two music educators’ stories and their stark realizations 217
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music teacher. An ethos of intention and responsibility contributed to an environ-
ment in which justice was valued and experiences were ‘educative’ (Dewey, 1938).
The question that begs to be asked is how often does this occur in other music-
making communities? What can be transferred from this environment and applied in
performing communities where, through tradition and by necessity, conductors, in
varying degrees, determine the musical decisions. What spaces are afforded by the
participants to be part of that process at the individual level within the group? What
is possible? And when we observe ‘facilitating from the podium’ and shaping spaces
in which the players make musical decisions, what are the experiences and how do
they differ from or are similar to experience group composing? As we identify
independent music making in these differing environments, how are we informed
pedagogically and philosophically?
No. 3: elementary music classrooms in Budapest, Hungary*/Betty Anne Younker
While attending, with a colleague, several elementary music classrooms within one
school in Budapest, I noted how the children sang beautifully, with energy,
conviction, and pure tone quality. Their bodies were engaged as they moved,
reflecting pulse, rhythm, and phrasing. Their faces were alive as they sang for their
music teacher and us, the latter reminding them about pitches, intonation, and
words. I was reminded that, within the Kodaly tradition, Hungarian children are
taught how to sight sing and sing musically, often through Hungarian folksongs. I
was curious, however, about what they were thinking musically. Did they know when
their intonation faltered and how to fix it without direction? Did they understand
why the songs they sang were chosen? Did they examine the text of the songs and
discuss the meaning and inferences? Did the experiences contribute to their growth
as musical thinkers?
Elementary music programs like these are defined as performance-based, in that
performance is still a major part of what the students do. In this scenario, through
singing (and to a lesser extent, the playing of instruments) students learn music first
by rote, imitating the teacher as patterns and songs are learned, and through the
known songs learn to read and sight read music. Musicianship is defined by how well
students can imitate, acquire skills, and apply them in future settings for future
performances. Is this a complete representation of musicianship, or might it be one
aspect of musicianship? What about those who do not sing or play at the expected
level? Might students represent a depth and breadth of musical understanding in
other ways? Might musicianship also be defined by application that involves critical
reflection on musical decisions made, or by the utilization of imagination and
divergent thinking as possibilities are investigated and evaluated? What does this say
about the inclusion of multiple forms of music making, in public school settings, that
require students to be part of the music making process?
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No. 4: a junior high band room in suburban Chicago*/Maud Hickey
It is 7:00 a.m., and I sit comfortably in the front corner of the large rehearsal room
along with the handful of groggy university students I brought with me to observe
the ‘model’ junior high band program in this affluent suburb, north of Chicago. The
room is tidy, with the 70 chairs and many music stands strategically placed on
the built-in risers. The huge director’s stand and podium is planted at the front of the
room, with a chalkboard listing the pieces to be rehearsed for the day. On another
wall hangs a large whiteboard with the dates of upcoming concerts and contests.
Several plaques and trophies commemorate winning performances: it is altogether an
impressive array of success, control, and organization.
The sleepy middle school students begin to wander in for the morning rehearsal.
They are upper middle-class children, mostly Caucasian, dressed like the typical
suburban pre-teen. The students move slowly, occasionally chatting and laughing
with one another, but they miraculously fill their seats with instruments in hand by
the time the bell rings. Seconds later, Mr. Broan walks through the door, shuts it with
a bang and silence follows. It is an eerily successful Skinnerian response! He steps to
the podium, raises his baton, and without words (like magic) the daily warm-ups
begin. The sounds are remarkable, rich and warm, and perfectly balanced. We are
amazed at the efficiency and discipline, and equally amazed at the mature sounds
that come out of the instruments. Mr. Broan leads masterfully and polishes sections
of music as if he is painting a picture.
At the end of rehearsal, the students gone, the room large and quiet again, my
students and I gather round the podium for a session with Mr. Broan. He is
confident and easily answers my students’ questions about discipline and running a
rehearsal. One of the braver university students apologetically asks, ‘What do you
think of the National Standards?’ (you can tell he has been well groomed by my
lectures back at the University). Mr. Broan does not hesitate. ‘I don’t have time. We
are a performance organization, and our number one goal is to get these kids
performing. I don’t think they are bad,’ he continues, ‘it’s just that they are not part
of our program philosophy here.’
I leave feeling very happy about this experience, believe it or not. Because while I
do teach about the standards, I am glad my students could meet and observe a
teacher who does not employ comprehensive musicianship; who, by all accounts,
runs an extremely autocratic band room*/and has success. I would love to hear from
the students in Mr. Broan’s program, however. What is the musical experience like
from their perspective? Someday I shall pursue this. . .
Questions and motivations: responses to each other’s scenarios
How do issues of fairness and responsibility as aspects of justice inform music
teaching and learning? The authors challenged each other to reflect on this question
and how it pertains, past and present, to our lives as performers, pedagogues, and
researchers. We weaved together our own stories of what ‘social justice’ in music
Two music educators’ stories and their stark realizations 219
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education might mean, and how these meanings find dissonances as well as
consonance in the various educational settings we have experienced. In the next
section, we provide our reactions to each other’s scenarios presented above.
BA response to MH scenario No. 1 (urban music setting)
When theories and methodologies are the focus as opposed to students, the
classroom is method and content-centered and often teacher-centered, thus more
prone to prescriptive teaching (Goodlad, 2004). The focus is not on individuality,
differences, and input for direction of content and processes; nor does it require an
understanding of the students, their environment and what structure and guidance is
needed to enhance senses of responsibilities. If we begin with the student and not a
theory, a method, or content (Dewey, 1938), then we are required to know the
students in terms of their understanding, environment, and values. If we begin to
construct understanding from what they know and value, then their mindfulness can
begin to be shaped (Eisner, 1998). This is the root of constructivism and student-
centered education. This differs much from theories, methodologies, and approaches
that prescribe what and who should be taught when. What students bring to the
situation and whether they are engaged in the process is not at the center. Acquisition
of skills and content is the goal that may or may not involve transformative
experiences and active participation with responsibility.
In classes like Ms. Jernady’s, the students needed guidance and space to be self-
directed and constructive. Perhaps chaos erupted because they did not know how to
handle responsibility, or because they resisted being told what to do without their
input. Nevertheless, what evolved was organized chaos generated by the students
without interruptions by the teachers; and as a result, students constructed their own
environment. It is difficult to know whether they became productive in opposition to
being controlled or whether the musical connections that evolved provided
motivation for the music making to continue and structures to be construed. The
critical point is that they were not interrupted and required to follow a
plan prescribed by the teacher; instead Maud simply observed. I suspect that
with continued space and organized guidance, respect and fairness would
become understood and embraced, and would foster motivation and self-esteem
(Bain, 2004).
MH response to BA scenario No. 2 (suburban music class)
The composing classroom that Betty Anne describes struck me powerfully as so
different from my experience in Chicago. Here is a classroom where children do not
fight with each other, where they listen to the teacher talk with rarely a reminder to
do so, where group work and the self-assigning of roles works like a charm, where
children seem not even to know how to break into pandemonious free improvisation
if given the chance, and where (by the way) Dewey and ‘doo-day’ and other
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educational theories work miraculously. While both Betty Anne’s composition
experience and my own in Chicago were successful in the end, there were great
discrepancies between the tone of comfort and positive feeling of the two spaces.
In Chicago, I struggled with ‘crowd control’, and needed to know where and how
to focus the students’ attention; while the composition class in Betty Anne’s narrative
provided an ideal space for creative thinking, student ownership, group problem-
solving, and rich musical learning. Betty Anne used such phrases as ‘a sense of
fairness throughout this process’ and ‘strong sense of responsibility on the students’
part.’ Is that what social justice looks like in the classroom, I wonder? Yet lying very
subtly in the background of her story was the person in control who ultimately
conducts this scene*/a teacher who makes sure everybody gets a chance, that there is
no marginalization, that students are carefully guided toward creative musical
learning. She described: ‘a shared cognition . . . evolves as students identify them-
selves individually as teachers, learners, and composers, and as a group that has
created and performed a piece of music.’ This sounds too good to be true. I keep
thinking of my struggles in the Chicago classroom. Why does this ideal*/democratic
and Deweyan*/seem to be so impossible to accomplish in a Chicago school?
Where does Rawls’s concept of ‘justice as fairness’ fit in? (Rawls, 1999) The
classroom that Betty Anne describes is equipped with plenty of colorful instruments
for the students. In the south side Chicago school, Ms. Jernady has to buy her own
CD-player if she wants to hear music. There are very few instruments and just seven
old electronic keyboards, not nearly enough for 24 students or more. The children in
tough urban areas have less, and they know it. They are labeled a ‘failing’ school, and
they know it. The students’ sense of who they are is shaped by these circumstances
and (needless to say) is understood much differently than those in affluent suburbs.
MH response to BA scenario No. 3 (Budapest music classes)
Betty Anne and my recent experiences in elementary music classrooms not only
highlight differences in cultures across America, but also across countries. Common
sense might take care of my own plight in the urban classroom: of course I cannot go
into such a classroom and expect transformation without having developed some
trust with these students. But there is yet another view that crosses my mind as I
reflect on Betty Anne’s specific experience in Hungary: our (White, middle-class,
university-trained) concept of democratic education or social justice might not be the
‘right’ one for all. Perhaps there is no one ‘social justice’; rather alternative
conceptions that honor others’ cultures and ways of learning. Delpit (1988, 1996)
makes this point powerfully. As an African American woman trained in all the ‘best’
progressive educational theories, she posits that we (White folk) are trying too hard
to nurture and support the ‘mis-behaving’ African American child in ways that are
appropriate only for a larger White culture. Through her experience as a writing
teacher caught between the skills versus process debate, she speaks of ‘the
estrangement that I and many teachers of color feel from the progressive movement
Two music educators’ stories and their stark realizations 221
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when writing-process advocates dismiss us as too ‘skills oriented?’ She suggests ‘that
it was incumbent upon writing-process advocates*/or indeed, advocates of any
progressive movement*/to enter into dialogue with teachers of color, who may not
share their enthusiasm about so-called new, liberal, or progressive ideas’ (Delpit,
1988, p. 281).
Delpit’s words make me think twice as I reread the words I wrote about my
experiences to Betty Anne, assuming that these mis-behaving children could ‘care less
about school.’ More importantly, Delpit’s writings makes me question my negative
assumptions about teacher-centered places, like the performance-heavy junior high
band scenario and the situation Betty Anne described in Hungary.
BA response to MH scenario No. 4 (junior high band)
Enter any performance-based rehearsal space and observe students as they come for
class or rehearsal and you are likely to experience what Maud described in her
observation above. There is an immediate awareness of the multiple phenomena that
occupy our senses. The space is filled with chairs, music stands, desks, pictures,
plaques, chalkboards, and posters. The routines carried out by students as they
unpack and put together instruments, retrieve music folders, adjust chairs and
stands, and begin to warm up (interspersed with discussions with other members and
their instructor) reflect a group of individuals who appear to have communal
purposefulness (Dewey, 1938). The sounds of instruments gradually taking over the
sounds of talking gain in momentum, until either the conductor or a student (who
has been selected by the conductor) begins a routine of warm-ups.
If one were to ask the conductor to describe the students and their backgrounds,
typical descriptive phrases might include ‘academically successful’, ‘motivated and
involved’, ‘trained by private teachers’, ‘from families in which parents are involved’,
and ‘middle to upper class’; so, they are often part of the ‘club’ of students who
succeed and are motivated, attend schools where resources are more bountiful than
other schools, and have been part of the musical system in which performance is the
medium.
The typical performance classroom may lead us to ask many questions: What
about those students who have begun in such programs but because of financials
struggles could not afford lessons, and thus could not keep up technically; whose
parents do not support the required practice at home, provide the necessary drives to
schools outside of bus time, and attend concerts; who attend schools that do not have
the financial base to support such programs; whose ‘clique’ does not value the music
composed for the performance-based groups, or school-based music; who make
music on a regular basis as a listener, in a garage band (Green, 2002), or on their
laptops at home with technology-based programs? And what about those 60�75% of
the high and middle school students who do not participate in performance-based
programs? We do not interact with them, nor hear what they think constitutes music
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and music making. Thus, we may not understand the majority of the students in
public school spaces, and yet we are in the profession of music education.
Rawls (1999) reminds us about the reality of the differing advantages situations in
which we are born. That just ‘is’. But how do individuals and institutions deal with
the differences? This identifies the levels of justice and injustices. How do we respond
to the inclusion of exclusion of those who have or do not have the necessary financial
support to participate in many of the public school performing groups? Should not
public institutions, in which many of us work, include all students, thus affording
their right to be educated? (Dewey, 1934; Eisner, 1998). What is the level of
responsibility and fairness and how is justice and injustice identified within our
school-based music programs in terms of who has access, the kinds of musical
experiences that are available, and the level of inclusion during the musical process?
Upon viewing this cycle through a lens of social justice, our thinking is jolted, and
we are reminded by Goodlad (2004) that ‘tradition’ in teaching and learning is often
the denial of entropy past the point of being obsolete and stubbornness to change
towards something more relevant! How do those actions, as indicated above, inform
the public�parents, students, administrators, and teachers about who we are and
what we value in terms of music education, exclusion and inclusion, and
accessibility?
Involving students in performance-based programs as described above has
contributed much success to our field. Students are involved in meaningful
performances, often at high skill and musical levels, and in some settings are
involved in the music making processes. It might, or might not guarantee, however,
that students transfer what they know to new situations, and make musical decisions
as musicians do, thus thinking and acting like musicians (Bruner, 1960). With these
thoughts and questions, let us continue our journey and enter the hallowed corridors
of our university Schools of Music.
Schools of Music
How often do we attend concerts put on by exceptional ensembles within our
Schools of Music and wonder where and who is the audience? Survey students on
stage and one will note that the vast majority are White, come from middle to upper
level income families, and had the private music tuition necessary to prepare for a
successful audition at top-ranked conservatories. While marginalization and diversity
occurs within multifaceted forms, we resonate with many of the students who are
‘like us’, i.e. those who began studying music privately at an early age, were
successful in the performance-based ensembles in schools, were leaders of sections:
first chair students and selected soloists. We were encouraged to continue with our
music, and, as a result, became music majors who ended up teaching students in
public or private-based music programs who are very much like us. So the cycle
continues.
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These thoughts raise more questions: How are decisions made about admission
into music programs at the university level? What constitutes a successful audition,
and are aptitude tests administered as part of that decision making process? What
representation of power is being constructed as we audition, include, accept, reject,
and financially support? How are identity, self-esteem, and motivation affected?
What of those students who come to us with strong musical skills, who play or sing
with incredible technique and sensitivity, and yet labor with the canon of theory,
sight-singing, and history classes? Does what they know have a place in the academy?
And, as importantly, how (if at all) do university music educators involve potential
music education majors in critical discussions about these issues?
Perhaps a critical examination of equity and social justice in music education will
open borders for students who will someday teach in public schools, and might offer,
in addition to continuing with the traditions that have been so strong, differing views
of music making. The possibilities of expanding what we do and becoming more
inclusive could be possible.
In university music education classes, there are opportunities to inspire students to
be change agents. We can begin by acknowledging what has been expressed in the
previous paragraphs, i.e. the exclusivity of school-based performance programs, the
lack of parity between schools in poverty-stricken areas compared to affluent
neighborhoods, the differences in how cultures learn and interact with music, and
yes, how our authority complicates these conditions. We need to be responsible*/to
examine the reasons for exclusion from a perspective of social justice, and to view
music education in its broadest sense.
In addition, we need to begin a critical examination of who attends our concerts,
who does not, and why. We need to re-examine our role in bringing the music out
into the communities and inviting the community’s music into our halls. Until we,
and our students, are explicitly aware of these issues and the lack of inclusion that is
being exercised in our classrooms, studios, and programs, we will continue to play for
each other, and have our students play for us, and each other. And those on the
outside will not have access or may not have the desire to have access.
We have suggested in this paper that school-based music programs, from a
structural and process perspective, has experienced minimum change, if any. The
fairness of education in terms of accessibility, and the presence of those voices who
are denied access due to economic inequalities and oppression (Kozal, 2005) have
measured little regard.
Conclusion
Where do we start to locate social justice in music education systems? Perhaps one
place is to examine power, to identify and define the presence and role in our
classrooms and rehearsal halls, and identify and characterize those who own and do
not own the power. Delpit (1988) thoughtfully reminds us of the sensitivities
inherent between power and culture:
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1. Issues of power are always present in classrooms.
2. There are codes or rules for participating in power; in other words, there is a
‘culture of power’.
3. The rules of the ‘culture of power’ are necessarily a reflection of those who have
and control power.
4. If you are not already a participant in the ‘culture of power’, being told explicitly
the rules makes acquiring power easier.
5. Those with power are frequently least aware of it, and least willing to
acknowledge its existence. Those with less power are often most aware of its
existence (p. 282).
So where to start locating social justice in music education systems?
One such place might be at the individual level and formation of self. Bruner
(1996) points out two aspects of selfhood that are regarded as universal, and in which
schooling plays a great role: agency and evaluation. Agency is the ‘sense that one can
initiate and carry out activities on one’s own’ (p. 35). Where does the power and
responsibility lie in educational settings? Do students have power? Are they given
agency to make responsible decisions? Doubtful in the environments we have
experienced. The second universal aspect of selfhood, for which schooling plays a
primary role, is evaluation. Our ability as agents is directly tied to the evaluation of
ourselves. Bruner labels this mix of agentive efficacy and self-evaluation ‘self-esteem’
(p. 37). ‘More positively, if agency and esteem are central to the construction of a
concept of Self, then the ordinary practices of school need to be examine with a view
to what contribution they make to these two crucial ingredients of personhood’
(p. 38). Inviting inquiry into what is occurring, whether through musical decisions,
choices of repertoire, the running of ensembles, or the running of the educational
space provides all stakeholders opportunities for reflection on the choices and self-
reflection of one’s learning. Through such opportunities, ownership evolves,
motivation increases, confidence emerge, and values are embraced. Students are
given voices and spaces to think and evaluate. A basic liberty, among others listed by
Woodford (2005), is ‘freedom of thought’. Within music making, these freedoms of
thoughts can be expressed musically. We might think of justice as arising from a
participatory, democratic community, in which opportunities for opinions, informed
decisions and justification are understood and accepted at the tacit level, and fairness
and responsibilities are expected and practiced.
Coda: into communities
So what of all this talk? As academics who deliver and publish papers for like-minded
people, what responsibilities do we have to the wider communities of music
educators? At what point do we take our words and put them into action, place
ourselves in the role of change agents, engage those who interact with K-12 students
on a regular basis? The following represents our thinking (at this point in time) of
possibilities that have emerged from our story telling and reflections.
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1. Afford all students a sense of self that includes agency, the power to act and
make responsible decisions. Those in higher education need to be the first to
work in less than ideal conditions; making our students*/future teachers*/aware
of these conditions and building a consciousness of service (Freire, 1990;
Jorgensen, 2003; Kozal, 2005; Woodford, 2005).
2. Think of justice as arising from a community of learners, a participatory
democratic community in which opportunities for opinions, informed decisions,
and justifications are understood and experienced (Bruner, 1996; Allsup, 2003;
Younker, 2004). We must model this process in our classrooms at the university
settings.
3. Make explicit to future teachers that music making through performance does
not constitute the only way of understanding music (Wiggins, 1992; Reimer,
2003; Hickey, 2003).
4. Continually re-examine traditional programs, the canon of our profession, and
make explicit that traditions preserve what is, and do not necessarily call for
critical examination, nor demand progressive thinking (Bruner, 1996; Younker,
2005, 2007).
5. Finally, let us embrace inquiry and recognize it as critical for continual growth,
individually and collectively. If we view music education as a discipline of
inquiry, rather than a system of methodologies or craft, then the profession
might continue in a state of educative growth for as long as it exists (Dewey,
1938; Woodford, 2005).
This process of examining our profession through the lens of social justice has
required us to critically examine ‘what is’. For us, ‘walking’ through the hallways of
our experiences as educators, musicians, and researchers and telling our stories
brought the students to the center of our examination. It is the students that require
us to examine our values and pedagogies, and coupled with the conditions of our
humanness that are felt through musical experiences, are what motivates us to
continue in this profession. We must continue to evaluate and think of music
education in all of its inclusive, and broad and deep possibilities.
Notes on contributors
Betty Anne Younker is Associate Professor of Music Education and Associate Dean
for Academic Affairs at The University of Michigan.
Maud Hickey is Coordinator of the Music Education Program at Northwestern
University, Evanston, Illinois.
References
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