Physical Professionalism

Teach again, teach better? #1

I’m back teaching again. I’ve always tried to keep my hand in as a supply teacher (and have suggested that all education policy people should do the same), but this time it’s a more sustained, serious part of my week. Four days in a beautiful primary school in Tower Hamlets, mainly teaching one Year 3 class with a sprinkling of Year 5 and 6 cover. It’s not the building that’s beautiful - it’s what it’s filled with: positive teachers and support staff; a leader who is present (often in hi-viz) and ready with praise; and friendly, engaged children. You are never far from a smile - or, for some reason, a piece of fruit. The Friday school assembly is about as close to a 90s rave as you’ll get in a primary school. 

I may not last beyond the Summer holidays, but for the moment, I’m bouncing into school every day. I’m learning, thinking, and writing so much, as I re-hone my pedagogy, build relationships and observe all the micro-decisions that schools make. The distance between policymakers, with all their strident reports and catastrophising comments, and the classroom feels more remote than ever. I’ll rant on this another time. 

The main differences I’ve noticed between this job and my old one are, to my surprise, physical. I feel tired in a completely different way. I am moving all day, in every direction and dimension. I probably stroll around more than most teachers: my classroom management relies partly on old-school (nope, Doug Lemov didn’t invent it) door greetings; my height necessitates a lot of bobbing and weaving; and my ageing ears means I get close to whoever I have asked to read, comment or answer questions; and all I do is teach - none of the desk work of planning and other tasks that most teachers have to do as well as be with their kids. By the end of the week my body is knackered all over my voice is thin (something I need to get on top of), but I don’t have the backaches and eye aches inherent in the so-called ‘knowledge work’ I’ve done so much of in the last few decades. If I counted my steps, I’d be off my old scale.

I thought about my new-look fatigue as (hooked around my laptop, as I am now), I read the Chartered College of Teaching’s’ excellent new report on teacher professionalism. Combining an exploration of the ancient and recent literature on teacher professionalism with an astute analysis of current policy dynamics and the growing complexities in the role of teachers, Lisa-Maria Müller and Victoria Cook have created a new and compelling definition of teacher professionalism, with three domains and four outcomes.

But what about a physical domain? The quest for jobs to be seen as ‘professions’ almost always involves a quest to play up the intellectual side of the role and, implicitly, relegate the physical element. ‘Manual’ - even ‘skilled manual’ -  is a dirty word, at risk of regressing the professional back to artisan, or turning the arts and science of pedagogy into a ‘craft’.  This, for instance, has meant the teaching assistants now do some of the routine physical work that teachers used to do. No more - or at least far less - time at a photocopier, with a guillotine, at playground duty or up a ladder with a staple gun. It has meant a welcome reclamation of teachers as reclamation of teachers as active users and creators of research evidence, and intelligent shapers of policy.

However (and like so many public sector roles) teaching is at its very heart a very physical job. Even in the usually more sedentary environments of secondary schools, teachers are on the move - within and between classrooms; leaning into whole classes or individual students. We have to be there: making our voices and bodies felt in the most effective ways possible; choreographing the physical movements (even if it’s just a call to ‘pick up your pen and start writing’) of tens or hundreds of pupils, all the time; using our physical presence to ensure that all our pupils feel seen and heard, valued and valuable.

The physicality of teaching should not only be seen as a core part of our professional identity. It should be celebrated as a soulful part of the job, something you are unlikely to get in an office, let alone in the glimmering light of a supposed work-from-home nirvana. The physical aspect of the job is without doubt exhausting, and maybe it’s not what many graduates want (or at least not for 5 days a week). But for me, and I’m guessing many others, the physical domain is a vital, vibrant part of what makes the profession of teaching so wonderful.