Indigenous Epistemology and Decolonizing Praxis in TESOL

Rethinking TESOL From a SOL’s Perspective: Indigenous Epistemology and Decolonizing Praxis in TESOL

Hyunjung Shin OISE/University of Toronto

In this paper, as a ‘SOL’ of TESOL, I examine the conjunction between TESOL and colonialism, its manifestation in the South Korean context, and how to create a counter-hegemonic space to envision decolonizing TESOL praxis through explication and repudiation of such colonial discourse in TESOL. In particular, I focus on decolonizing knowledge production in TESOL through “indigenous epistemology,” an epistemology of the colonized informed by indigenous ideas and local practices (cf. Dei & Asgharzadeh, 2000; Gegeo & Watson-Gegeo, 2002), as an alternative paradigm for TESOL analysis. Political evocation of indigenous epistemology to challenge the Western canon prevalent in TESOL contributes to academic decolonization of TESOL as a global industry, and ELT theories and pedagogies.

Colonial constructions of [superior] Self and [inferior] Other, combined with factors such as race, gender, ethnicity, class, language, and others, have been constantly re/produced in TESOL (cf. Pennycook, 1998). These are constructions that can arguably be mapped onto the name TESOL itself: TE (for Self) and SOL (for Other). Despite the increasing ideological critiques of TESOL/applied linguistics (e.g., Norton, 2000; Pennycook, 2001), however, critiques of the neo-colonial role played by TESOL in the global context remain underrepresented in the field. This situation may arise, first of all, from the still prevalent view of English language teaching (ELT) as a neutral, objective disci- pline, which has nothing to do with societal power relations such as colonialism. It may also be due to the common spatial and temporal interpretation of the word “colonialism”: colonialism is a historical fact (e.g., British colonialism long past) and regional issue (e.g., experienced only by former colonies of the British empire). Additionally, we are living in an era when “the word globalization is substituted for the word imperialism” (Smith, 1999, p. 24), which further complicates contemporary manifestations of colonialism. Although it is not that

Correspondence should be sent to Hyunjung Shin. E-mail: [email protected]

148 SHIN colonial history was about simple, brutal oppressions in contrast to the “complex presents” (Pennycook, 1998, p. 29), the complexities of the present day colonialism demand different kinds of understanding and resistance to it. In this paper, as a ‘SOL’ of TESOL , I challenge what I interpret to be the pessimistic side of Pennycook’s (1998) argument about possible oppositions to discourses of colonialism in the field and examine how we can create a counter- hegemonic space to envision decolonizing our praxis through explication and repudiation of current colonial discourses in TESOL. In particular, I focus on decolonizing knowledge production in TESOL through “indigenous epistemology,” an epistemology of the colonized informed by indigenous ideas and local practices (cf. Dei & Asgharzadeh, 2000; Gegeo & Watson-Gegeo, 2002), as an alternative paradigm for TESOL analysis. My interest in epistemology to discuss TESOL pedagogies is motivated by Reagan’s (2004) argument: any pedagogical practice is fundamentally an epistemological issue in that “the way in which we think about knowledge and what it means to know” is essentially related to “how we teach” (p. 51, emphasis in original). I first introduce the terms “postcolonial” and “indigenous knowledge/epistemology” and then briefly situate myself in this writing. I next discuss the conjunction between TESOL and colonialism and continue to illustrate it with the case of ELT in South Korea. I anchor my argument for decolonizing TESOL praxis informed by indigenous epistemology in findings from qualitative studies I conducted with Korean teachers and students, before I conclude.

Colonialism has not left as yet: Defining “post-colonial(ism)” The term “post-colonial(ism)” remains a contested term, mainly because of the prefix “post”: the “post” (possibly) mistakenly implies that colonialism is “over, finished business” (Smith, 1999, p. 24) and dangerously connotes that we have made progress from the colonial past to a new, post-colonial world (of hybridity) despite the poverty and deprivation still prevalent in this new world (Dei & Asgharzadeh, 2000). So, many indigenous intellectuals have:

the sneaking suspicion that the fashion of post-colonialism has become a strategy for reinscribing or reauthorizing the privileges of non-indigenous academics because the field of ‘post-colonial’ discourse has been defined in ways which can still leave out indigenous peoples, our ways of knowing and our current concerns. (Smith, 1999, p. 24; see also Loomba, 1998; Moore-Gilbert, Stanton, & Maley, 1997)

In this paper, I follow Loomba (1998) and broaden the scope of “post- colonial(ism)” to any kinds of “contestation of colonial domination and the legacies of colonialism” (p. 12) to include both historical anti-colonial resistance and contemporary opposition to dominant Western imperialism and culture rather than implying that which follows the end of colonialism. Accordingly, the fixity of “colonial” associated with the European classical colonialism should be RETHINKING TESOL 149 also problematized and extended to include “all forms of dominating and op- pressive relationships” (Dei & Asgharzadeh, 2000, p. 308) inherent in contemporary social structures of power and privilege. With the current “re- colonization processes” (p. 301) dictated by global capital, “there is nothing ‘post’ about colonialism” (p. 306). As Macedo (1999) claims, with “Third Worldization” of inner cities in North America and First World opulence in some sectors in Third World, the colonized and the colonizer are increasingly interrelated. To sum up, the language of colonialism “may have changed” and the targets of colonization “may have shifted,” but colonialism persists (Smith, 1999, p. 100).

Indigenous knowledge/epistemology Just as the term “postcolonial” is controversial, “indigenous (knowledge)” also has multiple meanings in different historical, social, cultural, and political contexts. Hence, in advocating indigenous knowledge/epistemology in this paper, I do so with extreme caution. First, I do not mean to reject all Western scholarship, or attempt to create a hierarchical construct of good (Indigenous) and bad (Western) knowledge (Dei, 2000, p. 113). Furthermore, I recognize that notions of nation (and national identity), tradition, and historic past are controversial; notions of “indigeneity/indigenous knowledge” are sometimes used (rather dangerously) to promote essentialism based on historical ethno/nationalism at the expense of linguistic/cultural minorities (see, e.g., Ku- bota, 2002, for a discussion of the nihonjinron discourse in Japan). Additionally, as Kramsch (1998) rightly points out, with increasing hybridity of language learners (and teachers) in the current global context, the Self/Other binary is being replaced with presumably more productive notions such as “in-between” so that students and teachers can choose from multiple roles of their social identities in their own contexts. At the same time, however, promoting fragmentation (or hybridity) as a universal project for all (post)colonial contexts may be prob- lematic; for some (post)colonial subjects, fragmentation is what they are/need to be “recovering from” (Smith, 1999, p. 97; see also Loomba, 1998). Thus, we should not “essentialize essentialism itself” (Bucholtz & Hall, 2004, p. 376). My evocation of “indigenous knowledge” in this paper is a political (and strategic) project for colonial power often eradicates indigenous identities of the Other so that the colonized cannot use such identities as a source of resistance (Dei & Asgharzadeh, 2000). As Dei & Asgharzadeh contend, the Kurds in Tur- key were not allowed to be named “Kurds,” but only as “Mountain Turks” in the dominant discourse; therefore, reclaiming Kurdishness was essential to Kurdish activists as a means to resist the colonial power in Turkey. Similarly, the Japa- nese colonial power in Korea banned Korean language, culture, and names to annihilate the Koreanness of the Koreans; hence, minjokjuui (or nationalism) was the central ideology of many anti-colonial movements of Koreans to re- claim Koreanness(es) during colonial times. In light of this, a sense of “indigenousness” is acquired through continuous struggles and opposition against the 150 SHIN colonial power (Dei & Asgharzadeh, 2000) rather than pre-given. Indigenous knowledge should thus be conceptualized as “a process of constantly (re)theorizing, (re)creating, and (re)structuring knowledge” (Gegeo & Watson- Gegeo, 2002, p. 381). Hence, an introduced knowledge which has been trans- formed to fit local contexts (i.e., indigenized) is considered as indigenous, although not traditional (Gegeo & Watson-Gegeo). What should be highlighted is ways of constructing and theorizing indigenous knowledge (i.e., indigenous epistemology) and ways of applying such knowledge (i.e., indigenous critical praxis) rather than indigenous knowledge itself (p. 403). That is, the “indigenous” I adopt in this paper is not about romanticism with pure, pre-colonial past (cf. Spivak, 1988), but about strategic creation of such indigenousness as a resistance tool (cf. Moore-Gilbert, Stanton, & Maley, 1997). I come back to this point later with analyses of data.

Speaking as a SOL beyond the binary of “us/them” I acknowledge my own biases and my stance on the issues I discuss in this paper, so I first situate myself in the writing: a Korean female, a former English teacher in Korean secondary schools and current full-time Ph.D. student (i.e., not poor, but not wealthy) in a Canadian academic institution with a Master’s degree from a U.S. university. If my non-North American sounding name does any justice for my claim as a SOL, my North American institutional affiliations urge me to be critically re- flective of this theoretically privileged position of mine with respect to the issue of who counts as a SOL. I acknowledge privileges of mine associated with such location and such mobility (however limited) in a field where hybridity (earned from such mobility) carries high symbolic values. Nevertheless, as someone who was born and raised in Korea before moving to North America for post- graduate studies without citizenship/immigrant status, I believe that I can still legitimately claim a SOL status and I have some objectives for this. First, positioning myself as a SOL in this paper means that I write from a position of the colonized, which I “choose to privilege” (Smith, 1999, p. 1). I recognize the heterogeneity within SOLs (and within TEs) and do not suggest that only SOLs can be aware of colonialism nor that TEs cannot be SOLs; I would argue, however, that some SOLs may be better positioned to discover and write “alternative stories” (Pennycook, 1998, p. 218) to oppose colonial hegemony and produce counterdiscourses due to their very positions as SOLs. I acknowledge that my case is never representative of SOLs and do not try to speak for SOLs; but I hope to speak with SOLs. By doing so, I hope to create a position that “avoids essentialism while remaining politically productive” (Bucholtz & Hall, 2004, p. 370). Creating this strategic position is particularly important regarding such poststructural/postmodern notions as hybridity and multiple identities. I recognize that notions such as multiple identities can work to empower traditionally marginalized groups (e.g., Norton, 2000) and I support such theoretical frameworks (see, e.g., Shin, 2005a). I reject, however, universalizing no- RETHINKING TESOL 151 tions of hybridity in TESOL. Discourses concerning World Englishes and the status of TE and SOL and native/non-native speakers (NSs and NNSs) in TESOL may have shifted, yet the material conditions of the structure (and hence, institutionalized practices) have not. For example, despite the now popular discourse of World Englishes, certain Englishes still hold more currency than others in the global market. Despite the common discourse of celebrating (cultural) diversity as norm, some (cultural) differences are constantly constructed as deficit. Despite the rapidly increasing debates on NNS issues in TESOL, some SOL scholars are still struggling to gain legitimacy as ELT professionals (cf. Lin, Grant, Kubota, Motha, Sachs, & Vandrick, 2004). When a particular kind of English is continually being privileged discursively and institutionally in global ELT and when some NSs and NNSs are more marginalized than others in current racial politics in TESOL, naive celebration of multiple identities, as if everybody could afford such hybridity and mobility (cf. Spivak, 1996), can re- sult in further subjugating SOLs (see Kubota [2004] for a discussion of limitations of liberal multiculturalism; Canagarajah [1999] and Pennycook [2001] for a discussion of limitations of studies in World Englishes tradition). Briefly, my use of the final ‘s’ in SOLs is similar to that of Smith’s (1999) in “indigenous peoples,” which recognizes the differences between different indigenous peoples, yet, at the same time, “has enabled the collective voices of colonized peoples to be expressed strategically in the international arena” (p. 7). I hope this term “SOLs” also provides an umbrella network for the SOLs in TESOL, whereby they can move beyond their own experiences and learn, resist, and act collectively. We need this support network for colonialism still exists in TESOL.

TESOL and colonialism

Where the empire spread, so too did English. (Pennycook, 1998, p. 20)

English education . . . would train natives who were “Indian in blood and colour” to become “English in taste, in opinions, in morals, and in intellect” [Macaulay, 1972]. (Loomba, 1998, p. 85)

The conjunction between TESOL and colonialism is evident in its name, which others people (and their languages) who do not speak English as their first language. It privileges speaking English by assigning a superior status of ‘teachers’ to the speakers of the language (as opposed to SOLs who are taught to). That is, the meaning of using English is often associated with being ‘superior’ (Pennycook, 1998; also see, Phillipson, 1992). The belief in the superiority of English (and its speakers) in colonial discourses has led to the denigrations of other languages, cultures, and people, and this stigmatization has unfortunate consequences for how ELT is practiced glob- ally. In the area of language policies and pedagogies, English monolingualism is 152 SHIN often constructed as a superior condition to bi/multilingualism (cf. Cummins, 2001). Furthermore, there is a hierarchical relationship and unequal access to job opportunities between NSs and NNSs of the language; thereby, expatriate teachers in Asia are often privileged over local senior teachers, while nonnative Eng- lish speaking teachers in North America are continually discriminated against (Amin, 1997; Auerbach, 1993; Braine, 1999; Kamhi-Stein, 2004; Pennycook, 1998). In the North American context, such colonial discourse often leads to the construction of ESL students and ESL programs as lacking, remedial, and, hence, stigmatizing (cf. Kanno, 2003; Talmy, 2004). The inferior status of ESL classes has implications for teaching practices in ESL classrooms. For example, Tollefson (1991) illustrates how social control is exerted through curricula in ESL classes for refugees (both by what is included and by what is not included) which focus on so-called “survival” English appropriate for minimum-wage work and hence contributes to reproducing their low status in society. That is, refugees (who are often people of color) are “racially identified as the natural working classes” (Loomba, 1998, p. 126) with the ideology of racial superiority masked by class conditions. At the higher education level of TESOL/applied linguistics in North Amer- ica, which is witnessing an increasing number of students from outside of North America, the SOL graduate students are often considered as “cash cows” and their needs are often not sufficiently accommodated (Mahboob, 2005; see also Shin, 2005b). As Mahboob observed in his personal communication with some senior scholars in the field, expectation of and standard for their accomplishment in the Western universities are often not as rigorous as those for the domestic students as their degrees will be brought back to their home countries. Further- more, their graduate courses often focus on Spanish-English bilingual education in the U.S., French immersion in Canada, or multilingualism in Europe, even when the majority of the students are from Korea, Japan, China, and Hong Kong. To continue to illustrate the complex operation of colonial discourses in TESOL, I now turn to a discussion of language ideologies and ELT politics in popular discourses in South Korea.

“Hi Seoul!” and Seoul English village: Neo-colonialism and ELT in Korea In conjunction with (neo-)colonial discourses and the discourse of globalization, the symbolic power of English as the dominant language in the global market has been emphasized in Korea (see also Kubota, 2002, for a similar discussion of ELT in Japan). Nevertheless, situating ELT in Korea in a post- colonial analytical framework is not a simple task. First of all, Korea was never officially colonized by an English-speaking country, although the U.S. military government ruled the South after the end of Japanese colonial rule until the establishment of the Republic of Korea in 1948. During that time, English, initially brought to Korea in the late 19th century by Christian missionaries, re- entered the South with the U.S. “liberation” army (from Japanese colonization) and the small number of U.S.-educated Korean elites gained access to prestig- RETHINKING TESOL 153 ious jobs in the (transitional) military government owing to their English ability (Park, 2004). Since the Korean War (1950–1953), the enduring military tension between the communist North and capitalist South justified the continued hegemonic role of the U.S. in the political, economical, and cultural domains in (South) Korea. Therefore, the role of English in South Korea is somewhat similar to that in former colonies of English-speaking countries (cf. Park, 2004). The consequent unequal relationship between the U.S. and the South Korean government is well exemplified in the Status of Forces Agreement (known as SOFA to most Koreans) between the two to govern the legal status of U.S. soldiers in Korea, whereby the Korean government is denied judicial power over U.S. soldiers who commit crimes against Koreans/in Korea. Thus, criticisms of the (neo- colonial) power of the U.S. in Korea are often criticized as a threat to national security (regarding potential North Korean military action) by conservatives. Hence, the strong desire for “good” English prevalent among Koreans (e.g., the excessive boom in early English education in Korea and the rapidly increasing number of Koreans leaving the country for English-speaking countries despite family separation) is related to the neo-colonial role of the U.S. in Korean history and not just to the status of English as a global language (cf. Shin, in press; Park, 2004). At the same time, however, such hegemony of the U.S. contributed to the creation of anti-American sentiment among some Koreans, which is reflected in Koreans’ attitudes towards English as well. For example, although many Kore- ans strive for “good” English ability, a strong discourse of linguistic nationalism/purism (i.e., the Korean language as a symbol of national identity) is also prevalent among some Koreans (Park, 2004). Park reports that some authors in what he called the Korean “Official English debate” made the connection between the current Korean situation and the Japanese colonization period, when the Japanese language was imposed on Koreans while the Korean language was forbidden. He argues that such analogy reflects the perception of English as a foreign intrusion. Yet, precisely because the history of U.S. neo-colonial rule is different from the Japanese colonial rule, the status of English as a neo-colonial language is different from that of Japanese as a (blatant) colonial language in Korea. Furthermore, neo-colonialism achieves its goal while preaching independence or development (Nkrumah, 1966), or globalization in the contemporary world. It is this discourse of globalization that legitimates promotion of English ability as a passport to the global (elite) community in popular discourses and some policy initiatives in Korea, particularly after the Asian financial crisis in the late 1990s. In Korea, the economic crisis was constructed as the consequence of Korea’s lack of competence (including English ability) in such global community rather than as resulting from the problems inherent in economic globalization in the contemporary world, which in turn contributed to naturalizing the belief in English as a necessity for Koreans (Park, 2004). Im- ages of Korean government officials, who were incompetent and unsuccessful at international negotiating tables due to their lack of “good” English ability, were 154 SHIN often portrayed in contrast to those of IMF executives (as a symbolic figure of global power) or MBA holders from Western universities with superb English ability (both Koreans and Westerners) as agents of the economic restructuring in Korean media. Fostering English (speaking) ability somehow emerged as an essential tool to attract foreign investment and rebuild the country’s economy for survival and further growth in the international community. The promotion of English to the status of “marvelous tongue” (Pennycook, 1998) that can equip Koreans with global standards to survive global competi- tion is most evident in the discourse of “Hi Seoul!”, a newly adopted slogan for Seoul, the capital city of Korea:

“Hi Seoul!”, a slogan representing the city’s dynamic new image, is an easy and familiar greeting, expressing the warmth and friendliness of the citizens and embodying Seoul’s “high” visions . . . a city . . . of high international standard . . . . “Hi!” . . . conveys a cheerful and friendly message while expressing the charms of the city of Seoul . . . . Pronounced the same as “High,” the slogan presents the vision of Seoul as it competes with other major cities of the world. (Hi Seoul Festival 2004 Web site, original in English)

Although this slogan earned contempt from quite a few Koreans, the discourse of colonialism, which renders English as a superior language and symbol of civilization, is obviously reproduced in the text. The English word “Hi” [as opposed to the Korean equivalent Annyong] is literally equated with “high” standards (i.e., superiority) and associated with such positive images/notions [without any linguistic or social evidence] of “dynamic,” “warmth,” “familiar,” “friendliness,” “cheerful,” and “charm” (which presumably the Korean word Annyong lacks). It is assumed that there is a positive relationship between Eng- lish ability and the economic development of the city, and hence, using English will supposedly lead to Seoul’s key role in the global community. Heller (2003) contends that the globalized new economy led to the commodification of language and identity: language becomes “a marketable com- modity on its own, distinct from [ethnonational] identity” (p. 474) and authentic- ity, too, is often commodified (e.g., cultural products). One such example in Korea is the establishment of Yeongeomaul ‘English village,’ (short-term) Eng- lish immersion camps, by provincial governments of Gyeonggi province and Seoul. The welcome messages to the “Seoul English village” from Myung-bak Lee, mayor of Seoul, and Jung-Wook Hong, president of Herald Media, a Ko- rean media (and education) company co-affiliated with the English village, illustrate how commodification of English language and culture operates alongside discourses of (neo-)colonialism and globalization:

We are living in a global village today . . . . One becomes competitive at a world-class level by attaining proficiency in English . . . . we will be able to globalize our standards when we have succeeded in creating "Seoul culture" RETHINKING TESOL 155

. . . . In the Seoul English Village, everyone is supposed to speak English only . . . . Staying in the Village and interacting with native English speakers . . . will be an unusual experience by which students will learn language and culture simultaneously without traveling abroad. (Myung-bak Lee, Mayor of Seoul, original in English)

Elementary school students . . . will . . . experience 52 diverse situations first hand, beginning from the immigration office, to the air-bus terminal, hotel, bank, police station, etc. Students will . . . learn English through . . . various English speaking environments, a technique far more effective than the customary memorization style of learning exercised in schools . . . . our children will be subjected to real life experiences. At the end of the program, parents will reunite with their children who have become more cultivated individuals. (Jung-Wook Hong, president of Herald Media, original in English)

In these texts, English is constructed as the language of the (imagined) global elite community; hence, other languages, including Korean, are not le- gitimated as valuable languages. Furthermore, without English, there is no “Seoul culture”: the colonized is constructed as a primitive being without language or culture (Pennycook, 1998). Yet, “English” and “culture” is, in fact, a particular kind of English and culture: that of native English speakers. This au- thenticity is, in turn, commodified. The English and culture that belong to the native English speakers becomes a learnable thing that has been transplanted to the Seoul English village. Hence, after a short stay in the English village, one will become a cultivated global citizen. Furthermore, using English is not just a medium of instruction but is a pedagogy that is constructed as superior and more progressive. This, in turn, misleadingly equates bilingual (Korean-English) education with memorization, or an inferior pedagogy. Moreover, such spaces as immigration offices, air-bus terminals, hotels, and banks in English speaking countries, which are probably far from the everyday experiences of elementary school students in Korea, are constructed as “real life” for them. As illustrated here, one effect of the discourses of colonialism is to make it rhetorically and ideologically possible for the colonized to adopt a colonizer’s perspective. That is, construction of colonial discourse is not always one-sided: English is being privileged within Korea, (English) NSs are being constructed as ideal teachers by some Koreans, and Koreans are being constructed as inferior language speakers/teachers (see also Park, 2004, for a discussion of what he called “self-deprecation” ideology of Koreans, which constructs Koreans as “bad speakers of English” despite the varying English skills that actually exist among Koreans). As Heller (2004) argues, struggles over languages are actually not about languages; Koreans’ struggles for English are not about English language, but for belonging to the global elite community and acquiring the symbolic power of 156 SHIN

English to gain recognition of the English-speaking community. But it “costs to belong” (Smith, 1999, p. 103). In this context, the cost to belong to the global world order is to deny one’s own language, identity, and culture; the global spread of English is not just natural and neutral (Pennycook, 1994), but desir- able, essential and a must. The problem I want to point out is not fostering Eng- lish itself, but fostering a particular kind of English, through a particular kind of pedagogy, by particular kinds of English teachers. Then how can we envision a counter-hegemonic discourse under these kinds of circumstances? It was findings from three of my studies that enabled me to seek out the possibility of resistance. I focus on two issues: the notion of silence, or not talking in the classroom, and teachers’ indigenous knowledges.

Challenging Pessimism: Resistance in Korea Rethinking silence For my M.A. graduation paper, I explored how critical curricular initiatives (cf. Freire, 2000) can be practiced in Korean secondary EFL classrooms. Colo- nial discourses in ELT have created the cultural image of (East) Asian classrooms (perhaps due to its Confucian heritage) as rigid and hierarchical with teachers who are authoritarian and students who are reluctant to challenge au- thority (cf. Kubota, 1999). Thus, these classrooms are often believed to be un- conducive to a critical pedagogy or even some (perceived) progressive pedagogies such as Communicative Language Teaching (CLT). I employed both theoretical and historical recuperative work and empirical study to contest such constructions. I (and my co-author) first reviewed educational activism (and resistance) in Korean history (cf. Shin & Crookes, 2005a) to challenge the colonial construction of the Other’s history as a void to be filled by the Self (Pennycook, 1998) and to show that colonialism is not the only history of Korea (cf. Loomba, 1998). Indeed, indigenous ideas and practices have existed and interacted with colonialism in Korean history to produce various innovative educational movements both in the past and at present: nationwide anti-colonial educational movements during the Japanese colonial period; a very unique culture of student political activism against military dictatorship and foreign (neo-colonial) power over domestic issues in modern Korea; teachers’ struggles to establish the Na- tional Teachers’ Labor Union; and, more recently, the Union’s collaborative production of lesson plans and instructional materials concerning important social issues such as Japanese history textbooks that repeatedly distort historical facts during the colonial period, Koreans’ protest to amend the SOFA caused by the tragic death of two teenage schoolgirls run over by a U.S. military vehicle in June 2002, and anti-war education against the Korean government’s decision to dispatch military troops to Iraq. Furthermore, my critical pedagogical practices during the study demonstrated that Korean students in secondary EFL classrooms could actively engage in dialogue in classrooms and could critically discuss social issues (e.g., college entrance exams, plastic surgery, early English RETHINKING TESOL 157 education) when prompted by an appropriate curriculum context (cf. Shin & Crookes, 2005b). Similarly, Sullivan (2000) reports that the Vietnamese EFL classroom she observed was (contrary to the common image of such classrooms in the West) full of laughter and jokes with an entertaining teacher. My point is not to argue whether such representations of Asian classrooms are true or not. Nevertheless, when “we do not see ourselves” in what we read, or when we do but “barely recognize ourselves” (Smith, 1999, p. 35) in such accounts, creating alternative literature to talk about our experiences as SOLs is important in academic decolonization in TESOL. For instance, with the popular- ity of CLT in the global TESOL community, some western expatriate and local ELT professionals working in an Asian EFL context often comment that their classrooms cannot accommodate CLT because students are not communicative. Yet, students’ comments in my study stating that they “highly valued the class discussion as an opportunity to listen to the thoughts of their peers” and “learn from” their peers led me to ponder how to better conceptualize silence in the classroom and what counts as communication. East Asian philosophy (particularly Buddhism) conceives of silence as the most sophisticated form of communication while the West often understands silence in the classroom as an inability or unwillingness to participate in the class interaction. Although there are different kinds of silence, we need to inter- rogate common construction of silence as a sign of incompetence in language classrooms (often in/by the West). When some East Asian students do not talk in the classroom, for example, it may indicate a form of linguistic practice (i.e., listening to, understanding, and appreciating others’ thoughts) or a form of learning (see also Pon, Goldstein, & Schecter, 2003, for a discussion of silence in a Canadian ESL context). Equally important is that not all ‘talking’ is in- tended to contribute to the class as it is often conceptualized in the West. For example, some of my American/Canadian colleagues tell me that they say things at the beginning of the class because they only read the first chapter of the read- ing material or they would be selective in what they say in front of the professors because they wanted to get a Graduate Assistantship or admission to the Ph.D. program. Hence, the colonial process of knowledge production in TESOL should be demystified: that is, what and whose knowledge gains legitimacy and why, and what are the consequences? The data I report below illustrate that some Asian students perceive that their silence (or not talking) in the classroom is often constructed as “deficit,” not as difference in the West. In the Spring semesters of 2002 and 2003, I conducted a qualitative interview study to explore identity construction of nonnative English-speaking students from East Asia in a TESOL graduate program in the U.S. (cf. Shin, 2005b). In-young and Seung-su were second year M.A. students from Korea in the program at the time of the study. They both held a Master’s degree from a Korean university before they entered the program and were interviewed together upon their request. The conversation below followed Seung- 158 SHIN su’s account of (cultural) differences in the U.S. as he was told by his Korean professor:

Hyunjung: What would be an example of such difference that you noticed (or experienced), when you first came [to this program]? In-young: Here [in the U.S.], you should talk a lot, you know. But in Ko- rea, [when you talk in class] you should be to the point, and that’s what counts most, you know (laugh) . . . . [We] do not ask stupid questions [in Korea] (everybody laughs). . . .You know, they often say that East and West are different and they recognize the difference. Nevertheless, if you do not speak [in class], well . . . [it is considered as] something like you don’t understand . . . there are some disadvantages. Seung-su: We have many students from East Asia, so I think professors in this program are tolerant of and patient toward the NNSs . . . . but recognizing it [cultural difference] . . . doesn’t necessarily mean that they accept [affirm] it as a classroom practice. If I don’t talk in class, for example, they think I don’t know [the an- swer], whether I actually know it or not. So, I don’t feel comfortable when I’m not talking in class. So I try to say something even when I don’t want to or when I’m not quite ready, then I go off topic (laugh). (2002, April, Interview, my translation)

In-young and Seung-su perceived that “talking a lot” counted more than being “to the point” in their U.S. classrooms; hence, they believed that differences in their classroom practice (i.e., not talking a lot but trying to be to the point) were constructed as inferior and disadvantageous as they were against Western norms. On the other hand, stories of (white) western women learning Japanese in Japan, for example, represent complicity with the colonial superiority of native English-speaking academics in an Asian context (e.g., Ogulnick, 1998; Sie- gal, 1996; see also Ohara, 2001): their language learning is often disturbed by the (perceived) difference of the Other or of the languages of the Other (e.g., high voice pitch levels of Japanese women). That is, the difference of these western language learners in Asia is still constructed as the norm and it is instead the target society/culture that is constructed as the problem. Although these studies are valuable, as Kubota (in press) rightly points out in her review of Ogulnick’s book, such emphasis on the exoticism of the Other (probably un- wittingly) further essentializes the Other, while the privileges of TEs are instead constructed as vulnerability (see also Murphey, 2004, for a similar representation of Japanese entrance exam practices). It is not that these Western academics are “telling lies”; however, we should be wary of such accounts and the circulation of such knowledges in TESOL. Although such images are merely Western representation of East Asian culture, RETHINKING TESOL 159 due to TEs’ privileged positions in TESOL, they are often constitutive of reality (cf. Said, 1978), and more problematically, they are often endorsed by SOLs themselves. After all, knowledge about non-Europeans was “part of the process of maintaining power over them” (Loomba, 1998, p. 44; see also Said, 1978). Therefore, we should unravel and challenge the process of colonial knowledge construction in TESOL so that we do not write about ourselves “as if we really were. . . the ‘Other’. . .” (Smith, 1999, p. 36). Likewise, SOL teachers’ indigenous knowledges should be re-conceptualized as legitimate knowledge in TESOL, which I discuss next.

Reconceptualizing local/indigenous knowledges of (Korean) English teachers

In the summer of 2001, I investigated how Korean English teachers re- sponded to the debate around a Korean language policy announced earlier that year (later called TETE [teaching English through English] in Korea), which required that English be taught without first language support in certain school grades and hence that “every school should first assign those teachers who can do so [who can teach English through English] to the third, fourth, and seventh grade.” (Song Young-sup, an official in the Ministry of Education and Human Resources Development of Korea, as cited in Seoul/Yonhap News, 2001, my translation, my emphasis). Although facilitating wider use of the target language in EFL classrooms appears to be legitimate, the rhetoric of the policy constructs the issue of using English as a medium of instruction solely as a matter of “ability” of the teachers, not as a matter of a pedagogical choice of the teachers. Hence, “English-only” classrooms are constructed as superior to Korean English bilingual classrooms; English teachers who have high oral English proficiency and so can teach the “English-only” grades are constructed as superior to those who remain in Ko- rean-English bilingual classrooms. Furthermore, the construction of oral English proficiency as the most important qualification for good English teachers (at the expense of other educational goals) is analogous to the colonial construction of the NS as a superior language teacher (over the NNS). Unlike my initial assumption that teachers would suffer under such circumstances, my interview with Korean English teachers showed that they resisted the dominant discourse embedded in the policy and reclaimed themselves as “conscientious educator” or “competent local professional.” An interview with Junki, a male high school teacher with three years of teaching experience, provides a representative case of this. When asked what the possible contributions to the profession for NS teachers and NNS teachers would be, he answered:

I don’t think I am less qualified compared to a NS teacher. I know the Ko- rean educational system, how to prepare students for the entrance exam, and

160 SHIN

how to make things meaningful for the students . . . . It’s often more than teaching English and they [NS teachers] don’t understand this. (Interview with Junki, July, 3, 2001, my translation, my emphasis)

As illustrated in the previous extract and from comments from other teachers such as “We are not just teachers of a language but are rather responsible for education in general” (Interview with Jong-su, June, 20, 2001, my translation, my emphasis), many of the Korean English teachers in my study showed greater attachment to ‘education’ (i.e., the ‘teacher’ part of English teacher) than to ‘English’ (i.e., the ‘English’ part of English teacher). Such counter-hegemonic discourse was informed by teachers’ indigenous knowledges: both Korean traditional philosophy which emphasizes teacher’s moral and parental role (e.g., the role of homeroom teacher is often valued over the role of a subject matter teacher in Korean secondary schools) and local practices in their workplace (i.e., interacting with beginning learners of English, often in a large classroom, both as an English teacher and a homeroom teacher). Similarly, the two Vietnamese teachers in Ha (2004) perceived themselves both as ‘a teacher of English’ and ‘a Vietnamese teacher.’ Hence, their perceived role as English teachers was not limited to the teaching of English, but as good Vietnamese teachers, they were socially expected to “educate” students and work as ‘behavior educators’ or ‘moral guides’ as well (though not in an imposing way). As data from Changsu in my study indicates, however, resistance is not always possible solely at the level of individual effort:

I know that we [Korean English teachers] don’t really need NS-like oral proficiency, and teaching English using English only is not effective in the current situation; but if I argue this, people will think that it is because I’m not confident in my English ability. (Interview with Changsu, July 3, 2001, my translation)

Changsu was very fluent in English and was a highly recognized teacher in the city with 18 years of teaching experience. Nonetheless, as a NNS of English, he is not a legitimate speaker (cf. Bourdieu, 1991) to critique the policy and so his critique would not gain the kind of recognition it deserves. This is why we need to theorize these “indigenous knowledges” of SOL teachers, which are (re)created and (re)constructed by their local practices (see also Canagarajah, 2002, for a related concept of “local knowledges”). We need to legitimate their ways of doing ELT as colonial discourses in TESOL continuously marginalize them. For example, SOL teachers are continually constructed as authoritative knowledge-transmitters in a teacher-centered grammar-translation class under current colonial politics in contrast to the images of TEs as egalitarian facilita- tors in a student-centered communicative classroom (cf. Ha, 2004). Mai, a Viet- namese teacher interviewed by Ha, however, presents an alternative story. Mai RETHINKING TESOL 161 did not consider her grammar lessons necessarily lacking students’ involvement in communicative activities. In addition to explanations of grammar rules and structures, she used what she called ‘communicative-oriented’ grammar activities that she developed to foster both linguistic and communicative competences of her students. And she was “very confident” in her teaching because she “of- fered what her students needed” (Ha, 2004, p. 54). In relation to this, Sullivan’s (2000) critique of the current definition of CLT as merely reflecting an Anglo-Saxon notion of being “communicative” (e.g., emphasis on group work and pair work), which is only one view of being communicative, deserves recognition. Her discourse analysis of a Vietnamese classroom illustrates that the Vietnamese teacher in her study skillfully adapted CLT to his teacher-fronted, whole-class format instructions (the physical set-up of the classroom was most conducive to such a format), which was CLT derived from a Vietnamese value system (i.e., valuing group harmony). Yet, the communicative nature of this Vietnamese class may not be fairly evaluated under the current CLT framework prevalent in TESOL. My point is not to emphasize cultural (in)compatibility between a certain ELT pedagogy and a local (cultural) context nor to blame or reject CLT but to highlight that we should be able to particularize the universalized Western (An- glocentric) values embedded in many ELT theories and practices (see also Chakrabarty, 2000, for a concept of “provincializing Europe”). I underscore how these SOL teachers created a new, third space to construct a counter-hegemonic knowledge (and pedagogy) in their local contexts based on their indigenous knowledges. For instance, Ha (2004) argues that the explicit use of expressions such as ‘impose’ and ‘pour knowledge’ adopted by the two Vietnamese teachers in her study indicates that they were aware of the images of Eastern teachers by the West under the TE/SOL binary. Hence, the identity of a Vietnamese teacher they constructed does not necessarily refer to ethno/nationalistic notions of Vietnam- ese-ness, but a new, alternative identity constructed in resisting such images. Similarly, the experienced Vietnamese teacher in Sullivan’s study had created what Sullivan called a Vietnamese way of doing a CLT in his classroom. Like- wise, Junki adopted the identity of a Korean ‘educator’ who knew “more than teaching English” while resisting the dominant discourse in ELT in Korea, which overly emphasized the English ability of English teachers (and hence possibly constructed a Korean teacher as “less qualified compared to a NS teacher”). His creation of such Koreanness was informed by his local practices and Korean educational thought. In-young constructed her own classroom practice (i.e., less frequent talking) as a Korean one (as she refers to “in Korea”), whereby her practice could be constructed as an effort to be “to the point” rather than as simple incompetence as it may have been understood in the dominant discourse in the West. This Koreanness is created as a new, alternative space in response to the dominant discourse. But I recognize the fact that both Junki and In-young talked to me as another Korean could have played a role in construct- 162 SHIN ing such identities as the constructions of counter knowledge and resistance to colonialism are situated.

Conclusion: Toward decolonizing praxis in TESOL I have discussed how ELT in Korea is implicated in discourses of colonialism and how we may create a counter-hegemonic discourse in TESOL through the legitimation of SOLs’ indigenous knowledges. I hope we can understand that speaking about (post) colonialism is not to create a “problem” (Dei, in press), but to highlight what already exists in TESOL: Colonialism has never left and still remains powerful in TESOL, constantly transforming itself. Therefore, decolonization in TESOL is also a “long-term process” (Smith, 1999, p. 98), unfin- ished business. Classroom practitioners seeking a “cook book” of post-colonial pedagogy will no doubt be dissatisfied with this paper, but that is, actually, how it should be. For a post-colonial pedagogy is not about following recipes or teaching by numbers: it is about questioning commonsense assumptions, privileging the situatedness of the local knowledge (and pedagogy), and understanding that one- size does not fit all. Nevertheless, I hope that the introduction of indigenous epistemology to challenge the Western canon prevalent in TESOL contributes to the academic decolonization of TESOL as a global industry, and ELT theories and pedagogies. For example, if most Koreans do not need to use English for communicative purpose in everyday contexts and when many Korean teachers continually report that implementing CLT is very difficult in actual classrooms (e.g., Jung & Norton, 2002), we may want to question whether promoting oral proficiency (or CLT) is actually the most viable goal for ELT in Korea, instead of blaming teachers for their (perceived) lack of English proficiency. We may question whether improving critical literacy ability (cf. Wallace, 2002), instead, may be a more appropriate goal at least for Korean secondary students who study English mainly for academic purposes. Furthermore, by legitimating indigenous knowledges and ELT practices of SOL teachers, we may reconstruct them as legitimate knowledge producers in TESOL so that we can interrupt a “one-way flow of prescriptivist knowledge” from the Western academic institu- tions to English classrooms in less developed countries (Pennycook, 1989, p. 596). Teachers in the Korean English Teachers’ Group, for example, have actively disseminated their indigenous knowledges through publishing teacher- produced materials such as CD-ROMs, supplementary material handbooks, and newsletters (cf. Cho, 2001). Policy makers may allocate greater funding to support such teacher research. ELT publishers may collaborate with SOL teachers to better incorporate the local into global ELT textbooks (see Gray, 2002, for his suggestion for a glocal coursebook). As Park (2004) insightfully maintains, language purism in Korea has an effect of recreating the Korean language as a sign of progressiveness and creativ- ity. For example, increasingly popular native Korean terms, which were initially RETHINKING TESOL 163 reintroduced and reappropriated mainly by college students (e.g., dongali to replace the English loan words geulup ‘group’ or seokeul ‘circle’ to refer to student clubs), often represent the openness and vitality of the college culture (p. 54). That is, the recreation of the Korean language contributes to a recreation of Koreanness. We may recreate English in a similar way, in a third space, not as a colonial language but as a “shared language” (Smith, 1999) to talk about colonialism and resistance to it. In doing so, we can reestablish TESOL as a field where TEs and SOLs collaborate to teach English to Speakers of Our Languages.

Notes 1. I recognize that the ‘TE’ and ‘SOL’ dichotomy is controversial. I am also aware that my writing as a SOL may appear as if I were writing through West- ern academia’s view of the Other under colonial binary of Self and Other (although that is not my intention at all). I feel, however, I need to strategically keep such essentialism (cf. Spivak, 1993) to be able to talk about struggles and oppositions of SOLs from a SOL’s perspective. 2. By “pessimistic,” I simply refer to Pennycook’s remarks about the impossibility of concluding his (1998) book with undue optimism of postcolonial resistance due to the powerful effects of discourses of colonialism on English and ELT and the reappearance of such discourses that he was observing (pp. 214–217). 3. Similarly, Dei & Asgharzadeh (2000) argue for an anti-colonial discursive framework, which recognizes the importance of locally produced knowledge “emanating from cultural history and daily human experiences and social inter- actions” (p. 300), as opposed to Western analytical/theoretical frameworks that many postcolonialists still rely on (p. 301). 4. Here, I, rather stubbornly, resist reinscribing myself within a western frame of reference (e.g., race, gender, class, and possibly sexual orientation). I state ‘a Korean female’ instead of ‘a woman of color’, for example, not to invoke an essentialistic nation/state identity (i.e., nation = identity) but to resist “becoming Asian”, or becoming racialized, in dominant racial discourse in North America (see, Kramsch, 1998, for a discussion of how race is used as a legitimate social category in census in the U.S. and so how immigrants to the U.S. need to “learn to racialize themselves and the society” (p. 45) according to such racial classifi- cations of the population of the state). 5. Park (2004) claims that even critical discussions of the relationship between English/ELT and colonialism (e.g., Pennycook, 1994, 1998; Phillipson, 1992) do not sufficiently account for “how local speakers come to conceptualize Eng- lish in a particular way so as to adopt, resist, and appropriate English within their social situations” (p. 23). 6. Detailed discussion of theories of identity is beyond the scope of this paper. Given the recent number of post-structural identity theories in the field, however, I would like to highlight that some scholars emphasize the importance of understanding the historical contexts and institutional structures which maintain intellectualism (e.g., Dei, in press). That is, some non-western scholars suspect 164 SHIN that poststructuralist theories of fragmented identities became popular just when they started building a collective voice and recognition for their ideas (Loomba, 1998, pp. 247–248). Hence, Loomba provocatively asks: “Is the notion of the decentred subject the latest strategy of Western colonialism?” (p. 248) 7. Some examples of this network may include the nationwide Korean English Teachers’ Group, a grassroots professional organization for secondary school English teachers in South Korea, which belongs to the Association of Subject- matter Teachers of Chonkyojo ‘the National Labor Union of Teachers’ (cf. Cho, 2001); and the Nonnative English Speakers in TESOL Caucus in the North American context. 8. Nkrumah (1966) defines neo-colonialism as the “sum total of . . . modern attempts to perpetuate colonialism while at the same time talking about ‘free- dom’” such as “‘giving’ independence to its former subjects, to be followed by ‘aid’ for their development” while devising “innumerable ways to accomplish objectives formerly achieved by naked colonialism” (p. 239). 9. This is why I choose to use the term “neo-colonialism” to describe the South Korean context, at least in this section, to highlight the peculiar situation of Ko- rea: The Japanese colonial domination in Korea (1910–1945) was followed by neo-colonial dominance of the U.S. (with U.S. military bases established in South Korea) after World War Two. 10. In November 1997, the South Korean government officially announced that Korea was seeking an International Monetary Fund (IMF) rescue package. As- tonished Koreans soon had to witness their government forced to implement severe economic restructuring under the supervision of the IMF and suffer the consequences of such restructuring first-hand (e.g., massive layoffs, increased job insecurity, and poverty). 11. In fact, to some Koreans, the financial crisis was somewhat a reminder of the Japanese colonial rule and the effort to rebuild the economy was seen as a re- gaining of lost economic sovereignty. One such effort was a pan-national gold collection campaign where millions of Koreans contributed their personal items made of gold (including wedding rings) to help raise badly-needed foreign currency. This was often associated with gukchebosang undong (the ‘national debt remuneration campaign’) in 1907, shortly before the official annexation of the country by Japan, whereby Koreans were encouraged to quit smoking and col- lect money to repay debts owed to Japan (Gold collecting campaigns, 1998). 12. The study took place in two different EFL classes in a large city in Korea during summer 2001. My first attempt was in an after-school English class at a junior high school. Over fourteen class periods, students developed their own ‘travel plans’ through small research projects and discussions. Student presentations were followed by critical discussions on “(cultural) stereotypes,” which emerged from the presentations. I also joined a high school English class as a co-teacher for sixteen class meetings with four different groups of students. Over four class periods, students investigated the topic of “current Korean culture” through discussions, presentations, and written reports. The classes were RETHINKING TESOL 165

all audiotaped and some videotaped. I also interviewed the teacher and collected students’ work sheets, written reports, computer files of student presentations, and course evaluations. 13. Participants’ names have been changed in the paper. 14. The study was conducted in a large city in Korea during May to August 2001. Participants included 39 Korean English teachers, 98 students, and 30 teachers who teach subjects other than English. Data were collected through semi-structured interviews, survey questionnaires, classroom observations, and my field notes (cf. Shin, 2005c).

Acknowledgments I sincerely thank anonymous reviewers of this special issue, Angel Lin, Steven Talmy, Ryuko Kubota, and Ena Lee for their encouragement, support and in- sightful feedback on earlier versions of this article. However, I am responsible for any remaining limitations.

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