Frank Greenall. 03 February 2015 Wanganui Chronicle photograph by Bevan Conley.
THE low functional literacy levels that seem to have beset our young in recent times are puzzling.
Not all that long ago, literacy wasn't really on the radar all that much even as a word, let alone a condition. As a condition, it more or less seemed to be a default position, with the odd exception proving the rule.
Usually there was a Roy or a Reg down the back of the class for whom the written word had as much attraction as an escargot sandwich in their lunch box. But no matter. They shot out the school gate the day they turned 15 straight into a job at the local carriers or garage and proceeded to play with machines to their hearts' content. Whatever literacy/numeracy was involved, they learnt it in the very best place: namely, on the job. To use the jargon, in an embedded context.
Not unlike many others, I started school in a small country situation with Years 1-4 (the "primers") all lumped into a single, sole teacher classroom with about 30 kids of mixed ethnicity. Today, that school would be decidedly classified as high-risk, low-decile. Yet I struggle to recall anyone who hit the "Standards" - Years 5-plus - without basic functional literacy.
But latterly, this literacy (and cousin numeracy) issue seems to have infiltrated like a creeping dengue fever, picking off the weak and vulnerable. The real puzzling thing is that it has happened during a period when teacher to pupil ratios have never been lower, and the availability of classroom resources never greater. And - with the urban sector anyway - hugely increased availability of pre-school education. What the heck's going on?
Prime suspects, I believe, have been a raft of pedagogic (fancy word for learning) theories that have insinuated themselves - mainly from abroad, but quickly permeating locally. As the bureaucracies of formalised state learning have expanded, so too have imperatives to justify their exponentially inflating existence. Consequently, newfound theories of how best to teach started flying thick and fast as a way of doing this.
One of the early bogeymen identified by these new commandos of pedagogy was rote learning. Oh the crudity of it, went up the cry - denying precious individuals the right to explore their own idiosyncratic learning pathways and construct their own relationship to the world around them! Really. No idiot suggests all learning should be rote, but it has a valuable place - particularly in the crucial formative school years of ages 5 to 8.
Another word for rote is repetition. This is what athletes do to build basic fitness and skills, without which they won't go anywhere, no matter how brilliant their strategies. Yet effective occasional rote exercises were jettisoned in favour of faddish theories like "whole language" learning. Most kids muddle through regardless, but for those not predisposed to language skills, the absence of rote left them bereft of the basics as they entered the higher grades - wayside casualties already, often with disastrous longer term consequences for the wider community.
But another crucial factor in today's fraught early literacy acquisition landscape is curiously overlooked: comics. A few generations ago they were a ubiquitous part of virtually every kid's social landscape - perhaps the most effective literacy tool ever (albeit unintentionally) devised. The fleeting contemporary digital equivalents are no match. And what fun! Rich or poor, shod or unshod, breakfasted or unbreakfasted, the Mickey Ducks, Little Lottas, Sad Sacks and Phantoms were there for one and all. Every corner dairy was stacked with them - and they were cheap. Even if a low-decile kid still couldn't afford them, there was a pal who could.
For those struggling with the written word, what better way to painlessly experience the magic mechanics and rich alchemy of text and illustration? Sadly, while many of today's comics are quality productions, their high price and exclusivity have placed them beyond the reach of the Everykid struggling reader.