Journal of Teacher Education
62(2) 222 –234
© 2011 American Association of
Colleges for Teacher Education
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DOI: 10.1177/0022487110385428
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Global Crises, Social Justice,
and Teacher Education
Michael W. Apple
1
Abstract
When the U.S. government released its 2007 census figures in January 2010, it reported that 12% of the U.S. population—
more than 38 million people—were foreign born. First-generation people were now one out of every eight persons in the
nation, with 80% coming from Latin America and Asia. This near-record transformation, one in which diasporic populations
now constitute a large and growing percentage of communities throughout the nation and an ever-growing proportion of
children in our schools, documents one of the most profound reasons that we must think globally about education. This
transformation is actually something of which we should be proud. The United States and a number of other nations are
engaged in a vast experiment that has rarely been attempted before. Can we build a nation and a culture from resources
and people from all over the world? The impacts of these global population flows on education and on teacher education
are visible all around us.
Keywords
critical theory/critical pedagogy, educational policy, globalization
When the U.S. government released its 2007 census figures
in January 2010, it reported that 12% of the U.S. population—
more than 38 million peoplewere foreign born. First-
generation people were now one out of every eight persons
in the nation, with 80% coming from Latin America and
Asia (U.S. Census Bureau, 2010). This near-record transfor-
mation, one in which diasporic populations now constitute a
large and growing percentage of communities throughout
the nation and an ever-growing proportion of children in our
schools, documents one of the most profound reasons that
we must think globally about education. This transformation
is actually something of which we should be proud. The
United States and a number of other nations are engaged in a
vast experiment that has rarely been attempted before. Can
we build a nation and a culture from resources and people
from all over the world? The impacts of these global popula-
tion flows on education and on teacher education are visible
all around us.
No discussion of globalization and its relation to teacher
education can be sufficient without an understanding of glo-
balization in general.
1
Because of this, in this article I want
to do a number of things. First, I want to argue for a broader
understanding of globalization and its effects and point to
some implications that this has for teachers and teacher edu-
cators as they try to comprehend and act on their changing
situations. Second, I shall remind us of some “first princi-
ples” that should guide our understanding and actions. Third,
I will point to some key works that should be required read-
ing for anyone who wants to take seriously the realities of the
effects of globalization on many of the countries and regions
from where new populations may come. And, finally, I pro-
vide a detailed set of tasks in which critically democratic
educators and researchers need to engage if we are to take
seriously our responsibilities in building and defending insti-
tutions, practices, and intellectual/political traditions that will
enable us to understand and act on current realities. My agenda
is a large one. Because of this, I can only outline a series of
steps toward more critical understandings of globalization.
But our problems are large as well. In my notes and refer-
ences, I provide further resources that are critical for going
further into the issues I raise.
Understanding Globalization
If one were to name an issue that can be found near the top
of the list of crucial topics within the critical education litera-
ture, it would be globalization. It is a word with extraordi-
nary currency. This is the case not only because of trendiness.
Exactly the opposite is true. It has become ever more clear
that education cannot be understood without recognizing
that nearly all educational policies and practices are strongly
1
University of Wisconsin, Madison, WI, USA
Corresponding Author:
Michael W. Apple, University of Wisconsin, Department of Educational
Curriculum and Instruction, 225 North Mills Street, Madison, WI 53706
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Apple 223
influenced by an increasingly integrated international econ-
omy that is subject to severe crises; that reforms and crises in
one country have significant effects in others; and that immi-
gration and population flows from one nation or area to another
have tremendous impacts on what counts as official knowl-
edge, what counts as a responsive and effective education,
what counts as appropriate teaching, and the list could con-
tinue for quite a while (see Burbules & Torres, 2009; Dale &
Robertson, 2009; Peters, 2005; Rhoads & Torres, 2006).
Indeed, as I show in Educating the “Right” Way (Apple, 2006)
and Global Crises, Social Justice, and Education (Apple,
2010a), all of these social and ideological dynamics and many
more are now fundamentally restructuring what education
does, how it is controlled, and who benefits from it through-
out the world.
While localities and national systems affect the processes
of globalization differently and provide different contexts for
struggles, a homogenization of educational policies and prac-
tices, driven by what Santos (2003) calls “monocultural log-
ics,” is very clearly evident within and between settings. These
logics are very visible in current education policies both
inside and outside of teacher education that privilege choice,
competition, performance management, individual responsi-
bility, and “risk management,” as well as a series of attacks on
the cultural gains made by dispossessed groups (Apple, Ball,
& Gandin, 2010). Neoliberal, neoconservative, and manage-
rial impulses can be found throughout the world, cutting across
both geographical boundaries and even economic systems.
This points to the important “spatial” aspects of globalization.
Policies are “borrowed” and “travel” across borders in such a
way that these neoliberal, neoconservative, and managerial
impulses are extended throughout the world, and alternative or
oppositional forms and practices are marginalized or attacked
(Gulson & Symes, 2007, p. 9). The fact that the attacks by
conservative think tanks on teacher education institutions in
the United States are now surfacing in many other nations
documents part of this dynamic. The additional fact that per-
formance pay for teachers is now part of official government
policy in China at the same time that it is having major
effects in discussions of and policies on teaching in the
United States is yet another indication of the ways in which
policies concerning teaching and teacher education travel
well beyond their original borders.
The insight that stands behind the focus on globalization in
general can perhaps best be summarized in the words of a
character in a novel about the effects of the British Empire
(Rushdie, 1981). To paraphrase what he says, “The problem
with the English is that they don’t understand that their history
constantly occurs outside their borders.” We could easily sub-
stitute words such as “Americans” and others for “English.”
There is a growing literature on globalization and educa-
tion. This is undoubtedly important, and a significant portion
of this literature has provided us with powerful understandings
of the realities and histories of empire and postcolonialism(s);
the interconnected flows of capital, populations, knowledge,
and differential power and the ways in which thinking about
the local requires that we simultaneously think about the
global. But as I argue in the next section of this article, a
good deal of it does not go far enough into the realities of
the global crises so many people are experiencing, or it
assumes that the crises and their effects on education are
the same throughout the world. Indeed, the concept of glo-
balization itself needs to be historicized and seen as partly
hegemonic, since at times its use fails to ground itself in “the
asymmetries of power between nations and colonial and neo-
colonial histories, which see differential national effects of
neoliberal globalization” (Lingard, 2007, p. 239).
This is not only analytically and empirically problematic, but
it may also cause us to miss the possible roles that critical
teacher educationand critical education and mobilizations
around it in generalcan play in mediating and challenging the
differential benefits that the crises are producing in many differ-
ent locations. Any discussion of these issues needs to be
grounded in the complex realities of various nations and regions
and in the realities of the social, cultural, and educational move-
ments and institutions of these nations and regions. Doing less
than that means that we all too often simply throw slogans at
problems rather than facing the hard realities of what needs to
be done—and what is being done now. But slogans about glo-
balization and what is needed to help teacher educators and our
current and future teachers understand its nature and effects are
certainly not sufficient given current realities.
One of the main problems is that teachers and teacher
educators are left with all-too-general stereotypes about
“what diasporic children and their parents are like” and what
the conditions are in the places from which they come. But
effective teaching requires not only that we understand stu-
dents, their communities, and their histories where they live
now but also that we understand the sum of their experiences
before they came to the United States. Super ficial knowledge
may not be much better than no knowledge at all. It may also
paint a picture of parents and youth as passive “victims” of
global forces, rather than as people who are active agents
continually struggling both in their original nations and
regions and here in the United States to build a better life for
themselves, their communities, and their children. Thus,
teachers and teacher educators need to know much more
about the home countries—and about the movements, poli-
tics, and multiple cultural traditions and conflicts from where
diasporic populations come.
Let me give an example. In my own university, the fastest
growing minor for students enrolled in our elementary teacher
education program is Spanish. This is based on a recognition
of the ways in which global flows of people from the South
to the North are having profound effects on educational poli-
cies and practices and on the resources that current and future
teachers require given this. I do not want to speak against
this choice of a minor at all. Indeed, I have a good deal of
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224 Journal of Teacher Education 62(2)
respect for future and current teachers who are willing to
engage with diasporic students in “their own language.”
But the final words in the above paragraph speak power-
fully to my point about knowing more about the politics and
multiple cultural traditions of home countries. Many of the
students from, say, Mexico and other Latin American nations
speak indigenous languages as their first language. Spanish
is their second language. In their home countries and regions,
there are powerful movements among indigenous groups
and their progressive allies to defend these languages and
cultures. Not understanding this political history and the cul-
tural traditions and struggles associated with it can lead
teachers to assume that students being taught in Spanish who
do not do well in spite of this are “less intelligent,” are in need
of “special educationand other interventions. Having a much
more detailed sense of and sensibility toward the complexi-
ties of the regions from which students come and the polit-
ical and cultural movements and struggles there would be
absolutely essential for creating curricular and teaching prac-
tices that are culturally relevant (see Apple & Beane, 2007;
Ladson-Billings, 1994). But this would also help prevent us
from misrecognizing the actions of parents and communities
in the areas in which the schools sit and the areas from where
the people originally may have come.
This recognition of agency, of people and movements
actively engaged in building a better future both “here and
there,” would go a long way in reducing the tendencies among
many educators in the United States to assume that they have
nothing to learn from the global flows of people who are now
transforming our nation and so many others. This is a crucial
point. Major transformations in education and social life are
going on in those nations and regions from where so many peo-
ple are coming. Those of us in education here have much to
learn about how we might transform our own often overly
bureaucratic and at times strikingly unequal institutions by look-
ing at other nations’ experiences and seeing people who have
come from these nations as resources, not only as problems.
Let me give an example here. There are powerful models
that specify more critical moments and processes in education
from which we could learn, with the work of Luis Armando
Gandin on the justly well-known reforms in Porto Alegre,
Brazil (see, e.g., Apple et al., 2003; Apple, Au, & Gandin,
2009; Gandin, 2006; Gandin & Apple, 2003), and Mario
Novelli’s (2007) discussion of the ways in which trade union
activism led to critical learning and new identities in Colom-
bia being among the more important. Gandin’s analysis of
the reforms in Porto Alegre—reforms that are having impor-
tant influences throughout Latin America—has major
implications for teaching and teacher education, since the
growth and acceptance of more critically democratic edu-
cational policies and practices there could not have been
accomplished without the participation of a core of well-
prepared and critically reflexive teachers. We have much to
learn from these reforms that link together major critically
democratic transformations in both social and educational
policy and practice and in the close connections between
teacher education and these transformations. The account
that Kenneth Zeichner and Lars Dahlstrom (1999) give of
the limits and possibilities of more democratic teacher edu-
cation in parts of Africa also serves as a good example of
the kind of work that needs to be done as well.
These examples of critical work in nations outside the
United States should not make us assume that discussions
of globalization are only about “other” countries. Any com-
plete analysis of the United States needs to be situated in the
global realities here. This involves a probing investigation of
an increasingly diverse society, one where major economic
changes and the realities of multiculturalism, “race,“dias-
pora,and immigration play crucial roles, as does the fact
that even with the legacy of such policies as No Child Left
Behind there is relatively weak central governmental control
over education. Economic transformations, the creation of
both paid and casualized and often racialized labor markets
that are increasingly internationalized and unequal, demands
for new worker identities and skills—and all of this in a time
of severe economic crisis—are having profound effects
(Apple, 2010a). None of this can be understood without also
recognizing the ways in which the realities of the United
States are influenced and often shaped by our connections
with economic, political, and cultural policies, movements,
and struggles outside our official borders.
A critical question remains, however. How are we to
understand these global realities and relations critically? This
requires that we also criticize some of the accepted tenets of
critical analysis in education itself. In some of the critical lit-
erature, there seems to be an unstated assumption that one can
comprehend global realities through the use of a single lens—
through class politics or gender or race—or more lamentably,
that poststructural analyses are total replacements for struc-
tural understandings. Yet no one dynamic nor one single the-
ory is sufficient (Apple, 2006; 2010b). It is the intersection of
and sometimes contractions among multiple dynamics and
histories—what is called in the literature on critical race the-
ory “intersectionality” (Gillborn, 2008)—where we can find a
more adequate sensitivity to the utter complexities surround-
ing globalization and its effects. When one adds to this a set
of compelling understandings of “empire” and colonial and
postcolonial realities (Apple, 2010a), we get much closer to the
complex foundations of the growing transformations of pop-
ulations in the United States and other nations and the ways
in which they understand the world and their place in it (see
Apple, 2000; Apple & Buras, 2006; Fraser, 1997; Gillborn,
2008; Leonardo, 2009; Rege, 2003; Stambach, 2000).
These complexities require an analysis of many things that
are foundational for a more thorough comprehension of what
we face in education and of the causes of these conditions:
political economy and the structure of paid and unpaid work
both in the United States and in the countries from where
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diasporic people come; the ways in which these realities are
structured and experienced differently around such markers
as class, gender, race, region, and increasingly religion; the
identities that people bring with them and the ways in which
these identities are transformed in the process of building a
life here; and the fact that many people have hybrid identities
based on their experiences of constantly crossing geograph-
ical borders as they go back and forth between countries,
living basically in both (see, e.g., Lee, 2005, 2009; Sarroub,
2005; Suárez-Orozco, Suárez-Orozco, & Todorova, 2008;
Vélez-Ibáñez & Sampaio, 2002).
Because of all this, the situation we face in education also
demands a rich mix of theoretical and critical traditions, all
of them appropriately political, that deal with both of the sets
of dynamics that Nancy Fraser (1997) had identified as cru-
cial to the reconstruction of our core institutions: the politics
of redistribution and the politics of recognition. The first refers
to the ways in which the economy works, how it is controlled,
and who benefits from it. The second deals with cultural
struggles over identity, the gaining or denial of respect, and
the basic ways in which people are recognized or misrecog-
nized as fully human and deserving of rights.
Of course, there are those who would reject this more inte-
grative approach, who believe that there is only one way a
critical scholar/activist can be legitimately critical. For them,
an approach that seeks to deal respectfully with and learn
from critical theories and resources from multiple sources and
multiple critical traditions is misguided. For me and many
others, however, the key is to heed Fraser’s (1997) aforemen-
tioned absolutely imperative call for a politics of redistribu-
tion and a politics of recognition in ways that do not interrupt
each other. Such an approach, one in which individuals learn
respectfully from one another and respectfully disagree when
necessary, is not an example of losing one’s political soul.
Indeed, as I have said before, while we need to be very cautious
about theories that turn the world into simply discourses and
that fly above the gritty materialities of real life, we are not
in a church so we should not be worried about heresy (Apple,
2006). The key is the relationship between one’s nuanced under-
standing and one’s concrete political/educational action—
and a willingness to build alliances and participate in the social
agendas of other groups who suffer from the structures of this
society. This will require using theoretical/political resources
that are varied but still intensely political and committed.
Without expanding our critical theoretical and empirical
resources, we will not be able to answer two of the most
crucial questions facing educators and activists today: What
do the global realities that increasingly challenge education
and teacher education look like? And, what can we as educa-
tors and community members do to alter these realities?
Facing Reality
Before we go further, however, it is important to face real-
ity, both in terms of the ways many educators, even many
progressives who say that they are committed to social jus-
tice in education, misrecognize the nature of educational
reform in terms of the daily lives of millions upon millions
of people throughout the world.
Let us be honest. Much of the literature on educational
reform, including much of the mainstream literature in teacher
education, exists in something of a vacuum. It fails to place
schooling sufficiently in its social and political context, thereby
evacuating any serious discussion of why schooling in so
many nations plays the complex roles that it does. Class and
gender relations, racializing dynamics and structures, politi-
cal economy, discussions of empire and colonialism, and the
connections between the state and civil society, for example,
are sometimes hard to find or when they are found seem to
be words that are not attached to any detailed analysis of how
these dynamics actually work.
But this absence is not the more mainstream literature’s
only problem. It is all too often romantic, assuming both that
education can drive economic transformations and that reform-
ing schools by only focusing on the schools themselves and
the teachers within them is sufficient. Policies that assume
that instituting such things as performance pay for teachers
or marketizing teacher education will basically solve the
educational crises in inner cities provide clear examples of
this tendency. When policy limits our attention only to schools,
it cuts us off from powerful external interventions made in
educational movements in communities among oppressed
people. The naiveté of these positions is not only ahistorical;
these positions also act as conceptual blocks that prevent us
from focusing on the real social, ideological, and economic
conditions to which education has a dialectical and pro-
foundly intricate set of connections (Anyon, 2005). A con-
cern for social justice may then become more rhetorical than
its proponents would like.
One of the most important steps in understanding what
this means is to reposition oneself to see the world as it looks
like from below, not above. Closely connected to this is
another step, one that is directly related to the topic of this
essay. We need to think internationally, not only to see the
world from below, but to see the social world relationally.
2
In essence, this requires that we understand that in order for
there to be a “below” in one nation, this usually requires that
there be an “above” both in that nation and in those nations
with which it is connected in the global political economy.
Indeed, this demand that educators think relationally and
face the realities of the global political, economic, and cul-
tural context has been one of the generative impulses behind
the growth of critical analyses of the relationship between
globalization and education in the first place (Apple, 2010a;
Apple, Kenway, & Singh, 2005).
Any future or current teachers who wish to take the issue
of teaching in a global world seriously need to understand
global realities much better than they often do today. For
example, in Cultural Politics and Education (Apple, 1996),
I spend a good deal of time discussing the relationship among
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226 Journal of Teacher Education 62(2)
“cheap French fries,” the internationalization of the produc-
tion of farm commodities, and the production of inequalities
inside and outside of education. I focus on the connec-
tions between the lack of schools, well-educated teachers,
health care, decent housing, and similar kinds of things in
one particular Asian nation—all of which lead to immense
immiseration—and the constant pressure to drive down the
cost of labor in the imperial center. My basic point is that the
connections between the exploitation of identifiable groups
of people in the “Third World” and the demand for cheap
commodities—in this case potatoes—here in the United States
may not be readily visible, but they are none/the/less real and
extremely damaging. We might think of it as the “Wal-
Martization” of the world economy.
Powerful descriptions of these relations are crucial, and
as conditions worsen, some deeply committed scholars are
bearing witness to these realities in compelling ways. Per-
haps one particularly powerful author’s work can serve as an
example. It is a book that should be required reading for any
teacher and teacher educator who wants to get a clearer pic-
ture of the conditions of people’s lives and of the resiliency
and struggles in many of those nations and regions from where
new populations are coming. If ever there was a doubt in
anyone’s mind about the growth of these truly distressing
conditions, Mike Daviss volume Planet of Slums (2006) makes
this reality crystal clear. At the same time, Davis powerfully
illuminates both the extent of, and what it means to live (exist
is a better word) in, the immiserating conditions created by
our need for such things as the “cheap French fries” that I
pointed to. Let me say more about Davis’s arguments, since
many of them stand at the very root of a more adequate
understanding of the realities a vast number of people face
throughout the world.
Davis provides us with a powerful analysis of political
economy, of structures of dominance, one of the key elements
that I mentioned in building an adequate understanding of
globalization. And he does this not simply by rhetorically
challenging the economic, housing, ecological, educational,
and other policies that are advanced by international bodies
such as the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund
(IMF) and by dominant groups within the “less developed”
world. Rather, Davis draws together empirical and historical
evidence that demonstrates time and again not only the nega-
tive effects of dominant policies but also—given the realities
of poor peoples’ lives—why such policies cannot succeed
(see also Apple et al., 2009; Robertson & Dale, 2009). And
he does this by placing all of these proposals for reform
directly into the contradictory necessities of daily life in the
increasingly large and growing slums throughout the “less
developed” world.
One third of the global urban population now lives in
slums. Even more staggering is the fact that more than 78%
of urbanites in the least developed countries live in slums
(Davis, 2006, p. 23). The economic crisis in these slums is
experienced by the people living there in ways that are
extraordinarily powerful. Rather than thinking about “jobs”
in the usual sense of that term, it is better to think of “infor-
mal survivalism” as the major mode of existence in a major-
ity of Third World cities (Davis, 2006, p. 178).
Echoing the situation I described at the beginning of this
section, Davis (2006) is clear on what is happening through-
out the Third World:
As local safety nets disappeared, poor farmers became
increasingly vulnerable to any exogenous shock:
drought, inflation, rising interest rates, or falling com-
modity prices. Or illness: an estimated 60 percent of
Cambodian small peasants who sell their land and move
to the city are forced to do so by medical debts. (p. 15)
This understanding allows him to show the dilemmas and
struggles that people must face every day, dilemmas and
struggles that should force us to recognize that for the poor
certain words that we consider nouns are better thought of
as verbs.
Take “housing,” for example. It is not a thing. Rather, it is
the result of a complex, ongoing—and often dangerous—
trade-off among contradictory needs. Thus, the urban poor
who live in the slums “have to solve a complex equation as
they try to optimize housing cost, tenure security, quality of
shelter, journey to work, and . . . personal safety.” And while
the very worst situation “is a . . . bad location without [gov-
ernment] services or security” (Davis, 2006, p. 29), in many
instances these people have no choice. As Davis documents,
the role of the IMF in this process is crucial to see. Its poli-
cies, ones expressly supported by the United States, have
constantly created these conditions and made them consider-
ably worse over time (Davis, 2006, pp. 66-69).
If all of this is so visible to Davis and many other com-
mitted people, why do the realities and very real complexities
in this situation seem to be so readily ignored by governments,
international agencies, and as Davis also demonstrates, a num-
ber of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs)? Part of the
explanation is that many Third World cities (and diasporic
and poor populations of cities in the First World as well)
exist in something like an epistemological fog, one that is
sometimes willfully opaque. Most governments—and unfor-
tunately not a few teachers in our urban areas and the teacher
educators who teach them—know least about the slums,
about the housing in them, about the services that their inhab-
itants need and (almost always) don’t get, and so on. The lack
of knowledge here provides an epistemological veil (Davis,
2006, p. 42). What goes on under the veil is a secret that
must be kept from “public view.” To know is to be subject
to demands.
3
It is important not to give the impression that the utter
degradation that is being visited upon millions of people like
the ones both Davis and I have pointed to has led only to a
politics of simple acceptance. Indeed, as I argued earlier, one
of the major elements we need to better understand is the
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Apple 227
agency of oppressed people inside and outside of education.
This is a crucial step in our rejecting the stereotypes that
often go with an almost missionary sense that pervades
teachers’ perspectives on global immigrants: “They are pas-
sive, less intelligent, and need to be saved.”
While Davis’s book is not a conscious response to Spivak’s
well-known question, “Can the subaltern speak?” (Spivak,
1988), it does provide a number of insights into where and
how we should look to recognize the agency that does exist.
Such agency may be partial and even contradictory, but it is
nearly always present (see Pedroni, 2007).
As Davis (2006) shows in his own accounts, the infor-
mal proletariat” of these slums is decidedly not passive:
Even within a single city, slum populations can sup-
port a bewildering variety of responses to structural
neglect and deprivation, ranging from charismatic
churches and prophetic cults to ethnic militias, street
gangs, neoliberal NGOs, and revolutionary social
movements. But if there is no monolithic subject or
unilateral trend in the global slum, there are nonethe-
less myriad acts of resistance. Indeed, the future of
human solidarity depends upon the militant refusal of
the urban poor to accept their terminal marginality
within global capitalism. (p. 202)
Davis’s discussion of the ways in which resistance operates
and its organizations and forms is thoughtful. It helps us
think through the manifold and sometimes contradictory
voices and identities taken up by subaltern groups (Apple &
Buras, 2006). Just as crucially, it documents how creative
poor people are. This makes me stop and wonder whether
many current and future teachers and many teacher educators
actually recognize how powerfully resilient and creative the
parents and communities of their diasporic students actually
are. Only if these characteristics are recognized can we engage
in a politics of recognition and respect and see global dia-
sporic people as resources of hope in our schools and comm-
unities. They have already demonstrated through their lives
how much they are willing to sacrifice and constantly struggle
to assist their children in having a better life. Why do so
many educators here in the United States look at them as if
they were uncommitted to education and simply knowable
by their economic circumstances now? Perhaps by thinking
of words such as “housing” and “food” as verbs, as requiring
constant labor and constant strategic and intelligent action,
we might give “the others” the respect they have earned.
Planet of Slums provides us with a deeply honest account
of the realities and complex struggles in which diasporic peo-
ple engage. We cannot, however, ignore education’s role in
challenging such immiseration. Indeed, as the aforementioned
example of Porto Alegre in Brazil so clearly shows, when
deeply connected to a larger project of critical social transfor-
mation, educational transformations in schools, in the
relationship between schools and communities, and in teacher
education can and do take on crucial roles in altering the rela-
tionship between the state and local communities, in radically
challenging the unequal distribution of services, in helping to
create new activist identities for slum dwellers and for the
teachers of their children, and in using local resources to build
new and very creative forms of oppositional literacy (Apple,
2010a; Apple et al., 2003; Apple & Buras, 2006; Fisher,
2009). Combining Davis’s thoroughly unromantic picture of
the conditions, struggles, and creative resilience of the poor
with a recognition of the ways in which schools such as those
in Porto Alegre can often serve as arenas for building toward
larger social transformations (see Apple et al., 2003, 2009,
2010; Apple & Buras, 2006)—and how teacher education pro-
grams can participate in assisting in these transformations—
can provide us with some of the tools we need to go forward.
Inside the Global North
My discussion in the previous part of this article has largely
been on the Third World and the “Global South.” But even
given the immensity of the problems that are occurring in the
slums to which Davis bears such eloquent witness, we also
need to focus a good deal of our attention on what is (perhaps
too arrogantly) called the “First World.” We need to do this for
a number of reasons. First, there is ever-growing immisera-
tion within this part of society, stimulated by exploitative
economic conditions and international divisions of labor and
the border-crossing populations that accompany this, by the
move toward what has been called “knowledge economies”
and new definitions of what are “required skills”
4
and of who
does and does not have them (Apple, 2010a; Lauder, Brown,
Dillabough, & Halsey, 2006), by the severe economic crisis
so many nations are experiencing, and by the fact that in
essence “the Empire has come home” (Centre for Contempo-
rary Cultural Studies, 1982).
Second, as I mentioned earlier, we need to think relation-
ally. There are extremely important connections between
crises in the “center” and those on the “periphery.” Of course,
even using such words to describe these regions is to repro-
duce a form of the “imperial gaze” (e.g., Bhabha, 1994; Said,
1993). Yet, not to focus on what is too easily called the cen-
ter can lead us to forget something else. Not only do eco-
nomic, political, and ideological crises in those nations “at
the centerhave disastrous consequences in other nations,
but the more privileged lives of many people in these more
advantaged nations also require that other people living there
pay the costs in the physical and emotional labor that is so
necessary to maintain that advantage.
As Pauline Lipman (2004) has clearly demonstrated in
her discussion of educational reforms in Chicago, the advan-
tages of the affluent in global cities (New York, Chicago,
Los Angeles, and so many others) depend on the availability
of low-paid—and gendered and raced—“otherswho are
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228 Journal of Teacher Education 62(2)
“willing” to do the labor that underpins the affluent life-
styles of those higher up on the economic ladder. No analy-
sis of the realities of schooling in cities in the United States
or of the relations between cities, suburbs, and rural areas
in the United States can be complete without an under-
standing of how schooling is implicated in these relations.
And no significant changes in preparing teachers to teach
in these areas can be successful if these realities are not
given due attention.
This is the case not only in our urban areas. Throughout
the rural regions and small towns of the United States, large
numbers of Latino/as are working on farms, in meatpacking
plants, and in similar occupations. Their labor (often in deeply
exploitative conditions) also underpins the “American life-
style.” This says something important about what teachers
and teacher educators often assume about globalization. It is
seen as a “problem” of cities. This is decidedly not the case.
Just as the growth of the U.S. economy depended originally
on slavery, on the unpaid domestic labor of women in homes
and on farms, on the removal of native populations from the
land, on a large numbers of workers from all over the world,
so too do we now massively benefit from the often unseen
labor of these urban and rural workers today. Thus, once
again, rather than seeing poor diasporic students and their
parents and communities as problems to be “fixed,” we must
first start out by acknowledging our debt to them. Their labor
underpins our relative affluence.
Like all educators, teacher educators themselves need
more adequate pictures, and theories that give these pictures
meaning, that provide more powerful critical insights and
descriptions of what all this means for our work. Having
future and current teachers come to grips with a critical anal-
ysis that places the schools into urban and rural political
economies, that demonstrates how the lives of so many more
middle-class and affluent urban and suburban dwellers are
fully dependent on low-paid and often disrespected immi-
grant labor, is crucial if teachers and their educators are
to recognize the contributions of globalized workers both
here in the United States and around the world. Critical intel-
lectual resources—theoretical and historical—are essential
tools here.
The Uses of “Powerful” Theory
To understand this fully, I need to say more about the word
theoretical in the previous paragraph and its place in critical
work in education on issues surrounding globalization. In so
doing, I want to ground the current section of this article in
what may seem a somewhat odd, and partly autobiographi-
cal, way. When I was being trained as a teacher (I use the
word trained consciously), I went to a small state teachers
college at night. Nearly every course that I took had a spe-
cific suffix—“for teachers.I took Philosophy for Teachers,
World History for Teachers, Mathematics for Teachers,
Physics for Teachers, and so on. The assumption seemed to
be that since I had attended inner-city schools in a very poor
community—a community that had a large immigrant popu-
lation and had been rocked by economic decline caused by
the mobility of capital and its factories as they moved to
nations where labor was less organized and could be more
completely exploited—and was going back to teach in those
same inner-city schools, I needed little more than a cursory
understanding of the world around me, of the disciplines of
knowledge, and of the theories that stood behind them. The-
ory was for those who were above people such as me. As
long as I had some grounding in various practical teaching
methods, I would survive.
There were elements of good sense in this. After all, when
I had been taught particular kinds of theory both at that small
state teachers college and even at times later on in my gradu-
ate studies, it was all too often totally disconnected from the
realities of impoverishment, racism, class dynamics, gen-
dered realities, decaying communities and schools, cultural
struggles, global forces, diasporic peoples, and the lives of
teachers and community members. It too often also was dis-
connected from critically democratic educational practices.
The realties of teaching, curriculum, and assessment in con-
stantly changing urban and rural schools were in essence
seen as forms of “pollution” that would somehow dirty our
search for pure theory.
But the elements of bad sense, of being intellectually mar-
ginalized because of my class background, and of being
positioned as a “less than” were palpable. For me and many
others who grew up poor in that largely immigrant commu-
nity and who wanted to understand more fully both our own
experiences and why schooling, the economy, and indeed the
world itself looked the way they did, the search for adequate
explanations became crucial. Learning and using powerful
theory, especially powerful critical theories, in essence,
became a counterhegemonic act. Getting better at such theo-
ries, employing them to comprehend more fully the ways in
which differential power actually worked, using them to see
where alternatives could be and are being built in daily life,
and ultimately doing all this in what we hoped were nonelit-
ist ways gave us two things.
First, all of this made the realities and complexities of
dominance both sensible and at times depressing. But, second,
it also provided a sense of freedom and possibility, espe-
cially when it was connected to the political and educational
actions in which many of us were also engaged. These same
experiences could be spoken of by members of many other
groups who have been marginalized by race, by sex/gender,
by class, by colonialism, and by an entire array of other
forms of differential power.
I say all this here because these memories remind me of
some of the reasons why critical theoretical, historical, polit-
ical, and empirical resources are so essential to creating a
richer and more detailed understanding of the society in which
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Apple 229
we live and the role of education and teacher education in it.
New and more honest political and ethical perspectives pro-
vide resources for building and defending more politically
and ethically wise responses in policies, schools, classrooms,
and teacher education programs—if once again these theo-
ries are also connected to specific movements and actions
and to the major transformations that are occurring in our
schools and communities.
First Principles
But how are these theoretical, historical, political, and empir-
ical resources to be mobilized? There are some key princi-
ples that are significant in this regard. Over the past four
decades, I and many others have argued that education must
be seen as a political act. As I stated earlier in this article, we
need to think relationally. That is, understanding education
requires that we situate it back both into the unequal rela-
tions of power in the larger society and into the realities of
dominance and subordination—and the conflicts—that are
generated by these relations. Take the issues surrounding the
curriculum, for example. Rather than simply asking whether
students have mastered a particular subject matter and have
done well on our all-too-common tests, we should ask a dif-
ferent set of questions: Whose knowledge is this? How did it
become “official”? In our increasingly globalized world,
what is the relationship between this knowledge and the
ways in which it is taught and evaluated, and who has cul-
tural, social, and economic capital in this society and others?
Who benefits from these definitions of legitimate knowledge
and from the ways schooling and this society are organized,
and who does not? How do what are usually seen as “reforms”
actually work? What can we do as critical educators, research-
ers, and activists to change existing educational and social
inequalities and to create curricula and teaching that are more
socially just (Apple, 1995, 1996, 2000; Apple et al., 2003;
Apple & Beane, 2007; Au, 2009; Buras, 2008; Gutstein,
2006; Lipman, 2004; North, 2009; Valenzuela, 2005)?
As I also stated, answering these questions requires that
we engage in the process of repositioning. That is, we need
to see the world through the eyes of the dispossessed and act
against the ideological and institutional processes and forms
that reproduce oppressive conditions. Engagement with this
process has led to a fundamental restructuring of what the
roles of research, researcher, teacher, and teacher educator
are (Apple et al., 2009; Smith 1999; Weis & Fine, 2004). This
role has been defined in many ways, but perhaps the best
descriptions center on what the Italian political activist and
theorist Antonio Gramsci (1971) called the organic intellec-
tual and the cultural and political historian Russell Jacoby
(2000) termed the public intellectual (see also Burawoy, 2005).
The restructured role of the researcher and teacher
educator—one who sees her or his task as thinking as rigor-
ously and critically as possible about the relations between
the policies and practices that are taken for granted in education
and the larger sets of dominant national and international
economic, political, and cultural relations, and then connects
this to action with and by social movements—is crucial to
the task of a more invigorated and critical teacher education.
In order to understand this more fully, I need to say more
about the specific tasks of the critical scholar/activist in edu-
cation. Although some of these arguments are developed in
more detail elsewhere (Apple, 2010a; Apple et al., 2009),
detailing the complexities of this role will enable us to see
more clearly what we need to do in the context of growing
global inequalities and can push us toward an enlarged sense
of our intellectual and political responsibilities as teacher
educators.
The Tasks of the Critical
Scholar/Activist in Education
In general, there are nine tasks in which critical analysis (and
the critical analyst) in education and teacher education must
engage.
1. It must “bear witness to negativity.”
5
That is, one of its
primary functions is to illuminate the ways in which educa-
tional policy and practice are connected to the relations of
exploitation and domination—and to struggles against such
relations—in the larger society.
6
For all educators and espe-
cially the educators of our current and future teachers, this
requires a firmer foundation in global realities, in the ways in
which our actions are affected by and strongly affect other
nations and regions, and in the debts we owe.
2. In engaging in such critical analyses, it also must point to
contradictions and to spaces of possible action. Thus, its aim
is to examine critically current realities with a conceptual/
political framework that emphasizes the spaces in which more
progressive and counterhegemonic actions can, or do, go on.
This is an absolutely crucial step, since otherwise our research
can simply lead to cynicism or despair. In this regard, as we
document the dangers of the powerful attacks on critically
democratic educational policies and practices in schools and
in teacher education programs, we also should do so with an
eye to where we can make gains at the same time (see, e.g.,
Cochran-Smith, Barnatt, Shakman, & Terrell, 2009; Cochran-
Smith, Feiman-Nemser, & McIntyre, 2008; McDonald, 2005;
McDonald & Zeichner, 2009; Zeichner, 2009).
3. At times, this also requires a broadening of what counts
as “research.” Here I mean acting as critical “secretaries” to
those groups of people, social movements, and teacher edu-
cators who are now engaged in challenging existing rela-
tions of unequal power or in what elsewhere has been called
nonreformist reforms, a term that has a long history in criti-
cal sociology and critical educational studies (Apple, 1995)
and one that might also productively find its way into the
thoughtful discussions in teacher education. This is exactly
the task that was taken on in the thick descriptions of critically
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230 Journal of Teacher Education 62(2)
democratic school practices in Democratic Schools (Apple
& Beane, 2007) and in the critically supportive descriptions
of the trans formative reforms such as the Citizen School
and participatory budgeting in Porto Alegre, Brazil (Apple
et al., 2003; Gandin 2006). Thus, we need to redouble our
efforts at compelling descriptions of existing critically dem-
ocratic teacher education programs and of their effects in
creating deeply committed and successful teachers of all
students (Cochran-Smith et al., 2008; McDonald, 2005;
Zeichner, 2009).
4. When the noted Italian political theorist and activist
Antonio Gramsci (1971) argued that one of the tasks of a truly
counterhegemonic education was not to throw out “elite
knowl edge” but to reconstruct its form and content so that it
served genuinely progressive social needs, he provided a key
to another role that “organic” and “public” intellectuals might
play. Thus, we should not be engaged in a process of what
might be called intellectual suicide. That is, there are serious
intellectual (and pedagogic) skills in dealing with the histo-
ries and debates surrounding the epistemological, political,
and educational issues involved in justifying what counts as
important knowledge and what counts as an effective and
socially just education in general and in teacher education
programs in particular to prepare teachers to engage in such
an education. These are not simple and inconsequential issues,
and the practical and intellectual/political skills of dealing
with them have been well developed. However, they can atro-
phy if they are not used. We can give back these skills by
employing them to assist communities in thinking about this,
learning from them, and engaging in the mutually pedagogic
dialogues that enable decisions to be made in terms of both
the short-term and long-term interests of dispossessed peo-
ples (Borg & Mayo, 2007; Burawoy, 2005; Freire, 1970).
5. In the process, critical work has the task of keeping
traditions of radical and progressive work alive. In the face
of organized attacks on the “collective memories” of differ-
ence and critical social movements, attacks that make it increas-
ingly difficult to retain academic and social legitimacy for
multiple critical approaches that have proved so valuable in
countering dominant narratives and relations, it is abso-
lutely crucial that these traditions be kept alive, renewed,
and when necessary criticized for their conceptual, empiri-
cal, historical, and political silences or limitations. This
involves being cautious of reductionism and essentialism
and asks us to pay attention to what, following Fraser
(1997), I have called both the politics of redistribution and
the politics of recognition (see also Anyon et al., 2009).
This includes not only keeping theoretical, empirical, his-
torical, and political traditions alive but, very importantly,
extending and (supportively) criticizing them. And it also
involves keeping alive the dreams, utopian visions, and
nonreformist reforms that are so much a part of these critical
traditions in education and in teacher education (Apple,
1995; Jacoby, 2005; Teitelbaum, 1993).
6. Keeping such traditions alive and also supportively
criticizing them when they are not adequate to deal with cur-
rent realities cannot be done unless we ask, “For whom are
we keeping them alive?” and “How and in what form are
they to be made available?” All of the things I have men-
tioned above in this taxonomy of tasks require the relearning
or development and use of varied or new skills of working at
many levels with multiple groups. Thus, journalistic and media
skills, academic and popular skills, and the ability to speak to
very different audiences are increasingly crucial (Apple,
2006). The popularity of neoliberal and neoconservative crit-
icisms of teacher education programs and of schools of edu-
cation themselves and the Right’s ability to circulate these
criticisms widely point to the importance of our finding ways
of interrupting these arguments and of showing their weak-
nesses. This requires us to learn how to speak in different
registers and to say important things in ways that do not
require that the audience or reader do all of the work. Of cru-
cial import right now is the ability to expand the spaces of
articulate uses of the media so that different ideas about the
power of critically democratic teacher education programs
circulate widely (e.g., Boler, 2008).
7. Critical educators must also act in concert with the pro-
gressive social movements their work supports or in move-
ments against the rightist assumptions and policies they
critically analyze. This is another reason that scholarship in
critical education implies becoming an “organic” or “public”
intellectual. One must participate in and give one’s expertise
to movements engaged in actions to transform both a politics
of redistribution and a politics of recognition. It also implies
learning from these social movements (Anyon, 2005) and
listening carefully to the needs and accumulated wisdom of
diasporic people. This means that the role of the “unattached
intelligentsia(Mannheim, 1936), someone who “lives on the
balcony” (Bakhtin, 1968), is not an appropriate model. As
Bourdieu (2003) reminds us, for example, our intellectual
efforts are crucial, but they “cannot stand aside, neutral and
indifferent, from the struggles in which the future of the
world is at stake” (p. 11).
8. Building on the points made in the previous paragraph,
the critical scholar/activist in teacher education and in other
areas of education has another role to play. She or he needs
to act as a deeply committed mentor, as someone who dem-
onstrates through her or his life what it means to be both an
excellent researcher and teacher and a committed member of
a society that is scarred by persistent inequalities. She or he
needs to show how one can blend these two roles together in
ways that may be tense but still embody the dual commit-
ments to exceptional and socially committed research and
participating in movements whose aim is interrupting domi-
nance. It should go without saying that she or he needs to
embody all of these commitments in her or his teaching. If
we do not embody these global understandings and social/
educational commitments in our own classes, how can we
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Apple 231
expect that our students—our current and future teachers—
will do this in their own settings (Cochran-Smith et al., 2008;
Zeichner, 2009)?
9. Finally, participation also means using the privilege
one has as a scholar/teacher/activist. That is, each of us needs
to make use of our privilege to open the spaces at universities
and elsewhere for those who are not there, for those who do
not now have a voice in that space and in the “professional”
sites to which, being in a privileged position, we have access.
This can be seen, for example, in the history of the activist-
in-residence program at the University of Wisconsin Havens
Center for Social Structure and Social Change, where com-
mitted activists in various areas (the environment, indigenous
rights, housing, labor, racial disparities, education, and so on)
were brought in to teach and to connect our academic work
with organized action against dominant relations. Or it can
be seen in a number of women’s studies programs and indig-
enous, aboriginal, and first nation studies programs that his-
torically have involved activists in these communities as active
participants in the governance and educational programs of
these areas at universities. What roles might community
activists from diasporic and global rights groups play in our
teacher education programs and in challenging the ways in
which we think about and interact with their children, their
schools, and their communities?
The list is not meant to be a final one. But it suggests a
range of responsibilities, many of which of are currently being
taken very seriously in some of our teacher education programs
(Cochran-Smith et al., 2008; McDonald, 2005; McDonald &
Zeichner, 2009; Zeichner, 2009). Of course, no one person
can do all of these things simultaneously. These are collective
responsibilities, ones that demand a cooperative response.
But these varied tasks should constantly be on the minds of
all of us who are dedicated to building teacher education pro-
grams that deal powerfully with the global realities our cur-
rent and future teachers will increasingly face.
Some Final Thoughts
In taking these tasks as seriously as they deserve, we can be
grounded in something that Ricardo Rosa (2008) has articu-
lated: “For new structures to come into being and new politi-
cal engagements to be nurtured, it is necessary that we have
a language to bring it into existence—a lexicon of change, so
to speak” (p. 3). One of these languages of course is the lan-
guage of globalization. But this language can both open and
close at the same time. It can provide us with powerful resources
of understanding and of possible educational actions, but
only if it is connected to a rich and detailed sensitivity to
complexity, to politics, to cultural struggles both here and
abroad, to an enhanced sense of agency and respect for those
whom this society all too often sees as “the other,” and finally
to a recognition of the debts we must repay to those who
labor so hard for our benefit.
The language of globalization speaks to the constant
struggles both to understand more fully the global and local
forces of dominance and to keep them from preventing or
destroying an education worthy of its name. These struggles
for what I have elsewhere called thick democracy occur both
inside and outside of schools, colleges, and universities
(Apple, 2006). They signify the continuation of what Ray-
mond Williams (1961) so felicitously called “the long revo-
lution,” the ongoing movements in so many nations to create
a vision of critical democracy and critical teaching that
responds to the best in us.
A key here is what I mentioned in my taxonomy of tasks
in this article: nonreformist reforms. Reforms such as build-
ing and defending schools and teacher education programs
that are grounded in more global realities, that can be jointly
controlled by all of the people involved, and that may partly
interrupt dominance are crucial. But of the many reforms
that are needed, we should engage in those that we predict
will more clearly lead to expanding the space of further
interruptions. Reforming teacher education programs and
institutions must be done with an eye toward their role in
expanding the space of even more critically democratic reforms
(Zeichner, 2009).
The ongoing relations among education and dominance/
subordination and the struggles against these relations are
exactly that, the subject of struggles. The constant attempts
by real people in real movements in real economic, political,
and ideological conditions to challenge their circumstances—
and the ensuing actions by dominant groups to regain their
hegemonic leadership and their control of this terrain—make
any statement about a final conclusion meaningless. What
we can do is to help ensure that these movements and coun-
terhegemonic activities in teacher education and in the schools
and communities such programs ultimately serve are made
public and that we honestly ask ourselves what our roles are
in supporting the struggles toward the long revolution.
What I personally can hope for is that the critical theoreti-
cal, educational, and political resources I have suggested here
can help us “bear witness”; illuminate spaces for critical work;
keep alive the multiple critical traditions in teacher education
and the larger field of education; and act as secretaries for the
tendencies, movements, and people who demand something
better for themselves, their children, their schools, and their
teachers in a world filled with both pain and possibility. The
first step is having a firmer understanding of globalization and
its effects. But let us then take the many steps that follow.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interests with
respect to the authorship and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research and/or
authorship of this article.
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232 Journal of Teacher Education 62(2)
Notes
1. A shorter version of the arguments advanced in this article can
be found in Apple (2010a).
2. Such relational understanding is also based in a recognition of
the importance of Bourdieu’s (1999) comment that “intellec-
tual life, like all other social spaces, is a home of nationalism
and imperialism” (p. 220).
3. Thus, here the very lack of Foucault’s panopticon (Foucault,
1977) constitutes a form of control. This is a political and con-
ceptual intervention that is not overtly made by Davis, but it
is a significant one. I hope that it causes some of those within
the postmodern educational research community within teacher
education and the general research community who are uncriti-
cally wedded to Foucault as a theorist of new forms of con-
trol to raise questions about whether the absence of knowledge
and the absence of the panopticon may be equally as important
when we are talking about massive structural global inequali-
ties such as those being discussed here.
4. The concept of “skill” is not neutral. It is an ideological and
political concept. For example, the work that women and minori-
tized people have historically done has had a much harder time
being labeled as skilled labor.
5. I am aware that the idea of “bearing witness has religious connota-
tions, ones that are powerful in the West, but may be seen as a form
of religious imperialism in other religious traditions. I still prefer to
use it because of its powerful resonances with ethical discourses.
But I welcome suggestions from, say, Muslim critical educators
and researchers for alternative concepts that can call forth similar
responses. I want to thank Amy Stambach for this point.
6. Here, exploitation and domination are technical not rhetorical
terms. As I noted, the first refers to economic relations, the
structures of inequality, the control of labor, and the distribution
of resources in a society. The second refers to the processes of
representation and respect and to the ways in which people have
identities imposed on them. These are analytic categories, of
course, and are ideal types. Most oppressive conditions are partly
a combination of the two. These map on to what Fraser (1997)
calls the politics of redistribution and the politics of recognition.
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About the Author
Michael W. Apple is John Bascom Professor of Curriculum and
Instruction and Educational Policy Studies at the University of
Wisconsin, Madison. Among his recent books are The Routledge
International Handbook of Critical Education (2009) and Global
Crises, Social Justice, and Education (2010).
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