Burlbaw, Lynn M. and Field, Sherry L. (Eds.) (2005).
Explorations in Curriculum History.
Greenwich, CT: Information Age Publishing, Inc.
Pp. ix + 410
$34.95 ISBN 1-930608-42-X
Reviewed by Mark Nagasawa
Arizona State University
August 29, 2006
“One often advises rulers, statesmen, and peoples to
learn from the experiences of history. But what experience and
history teach is that peoples and governments have never yet
learned from history, let alone acted according to its
lessons” (Hegel, 1953/1837, p. 8).
Given concerns about contemporary international education
reform efforts historiographic inquiry in education seems
particularly relevant, for could it be possible that these
current policies have come to be in isolation of those that
preceded them? Of course not and therein lies the potential for
historical study to contribute to understandings of our own
time.
While none of the contributors directly addresses
questions about the connections between past and present,
Explorations in Curriculum History, a primarily U.S.
focused collection of historical cases, is a worthy effort that
can help us to see historical echoes in present day curricular
and policy debates. While at first glance the twenty-three cases
may seem obscure or narrow, for example William Bagley’s
influence on normal school education in Montana or curricular
debates over geometry’s place in American high school math
curricula, one of the book’s strengths lies in the range of
subjects covered by its twenty-one contributors, and so it merits
examination not only by those interested in educational history
but also by those interested in the intersections of curricula
with nationalism, sexism, racism, civil rights or language
policy.
Lynn Burlbaw and Sherry Field have organized the chapters into
four themes: (1) curriculum as a field of work, (2) as a
life’s work, (3) as a shaper of institutions, and (4) as a
response to crises. I appreciate their efforts for this
collection is, as O.L. Davis writes in the Foreword, “a
typical random harvest of curriculum theory inquiries…that
illustrates both the vigor and the unevenness of an emerging and
developing field” (p. x). This is a very accurate
assessment of the volume, one that suggests some of the
challenges involved in distinguishing curriculum studies from
other facets of educational research, since many of these
chapters do not focus on “actual” curricula, but
rather on the socio-historical contexts and enactment of
curricula and schooling.

Lynn M. Burlbaw
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Davis’ comments also speak to the
potential fertility of historiography and educational research,
which this collection illustrates through a range of
historiographic methods from archival, to oral history, to
textual analysis and by focusing on historical subjects as varied
as key actors, professional organizations, schools in community
contexts, and schooling within the macro contexts of national or
global forces.
O.L. Davis’s statement about the “unevenness of an
emerging and developing field” also targets a key issue
with Explorations in Curriculum History. The parts may be
of greater use than the whole. This critique is an important
one, as this volume has two explicit objectives, (1) to highlight
recent historical scholarship and (2) to bring historical
perspective to educational research and practice. Burlbaw and
Field are to be congratulated for providing a forum for these
scholars’ works and individual chapters will no doubt be of
help to feminist scholars (with eight chapters focusing on gender
issues), Chicana/o scholars (an oral history of Blandina Cardenas
and a study of Metz School in Austin, TX), those interested in
specific regional histories (Ireland, Montana, New Mexico, Spain,
Texas, or Virginia), or those who seek to place education and
schooling within the broader flow of historical events (Settler
Colonialism of the U.S., World War I, the rise of European
Fascism, World War II, desegregation, or the “Cold
War”). It does less well with the second purpose,
certainly the larger of the two.
The editors, and many of the contributors, express a belief
that historical perspective is an important component of
professional judgment for direct practitioners, educational
researchers, and policy makers. And yet many also point out that
lessons are rarely drawn from history. Burlbaw writes,
“As surely as seasons come and go, educational reforms
spring up, blossom, and wither away. Although they may not occur
annually, reforms seem to take a cycle that ignores, or blinks
at, previous experiences” (p. 53). Why is this so?
Frustratingly, none of the contributors take the risk of
forwarding hypotheses on this question, preferring instead to
rely on the rational assumption that insight will lead to
different actions. However, if the aim is to inform the present
through the study of history, I believe that it is necessary to
draw connections between past and contemporary events, such as
current shifts in curriculum, professional standards, or
governance symbolized by the passage of the No Child Left Behind
Act in the U.S. and by national policies in other countries
(Anderson-Levitt, 2003; Bloch, Holmlund, Moquvist, &
Popkewitz, 2003). An opportunity was missed to contextualize
these studies of the past with the present.
An example of this can be seen in the first chapter, William
Wraga’s “The Inglis Surveys: Social Efficiency Thesis
Anomalies,” which opens the section entitled
“Curriculum: A Field of Work,” a grouping that
examines the development of the field by exploring the activities
and contributions of a selection of key actors in the early to
middle 20th Century. Wraga effectively utilizes the
seemingly narrow case of Alexander Inglis’ work on state
education surveys between 1912 and 1922 to critique the thesis
that these educational surveys were a reflection of the social
efficiency movement’s influence on American public
education (cf. Callahan, 1962). His argument is that close
historical examination raises questions about simplistic social
efficiency interpretations, where in essence systematization at
lowest cost trumps “finest product” (p. 23). He
shows that both consistencies and inconsistencies with the social
efficiency thesis can be found and maintains that the
inconsistencies are not minor.
Wraga’s analysis complicates the view that social
efficiency was a monolithic ideology. Instead Inglis’ work
might be better seen as reflecting a hybrid of liberal democratic
ideals and scientism; however, Wraga does not provide a
convincing case to negate the interpretation that the ideas and
methods of Frederick Taylor were very influential in early
20th Century education reform in the U.S. illustrated
through the work of educators like J. Franklin Bobbit (Calahan,
1962). While his point is well made that inconsistencies should
not be ignored, and he reopens debate about whether this should
be seen as the dominant theme of the time, no acknowledgement is
made of scientific management’s enduring influence on
curriculum, instruction, and school governance which may be heard
in the standards and accountability movement, the narrowing of
definitions of science, and the incorporation of business
discourse in schools (Apple, 2001; Education Sciences Reform Act,
2002; Eisner, 1998; Smith, Miller-Kahn, Heinecke, and Jarvis,
2004).
In attempting to explain why Inglis’s work deviated from
those more clearly affiliated with scientific management Wraga
invokes the "great man" thesis as one possibility (the other
being the fallacy of overly broad interpretation). In general
this is the view that certain individuals possess exceptional
qualities to exert force over or resist the movements of a time.
This is a perspective that is also taken by other authors in this
section and in the following one, although to different effect,
entitled: “A Life’s Work.”
Here the focus is on the role of “forgotten”
individuals, and shows how historiography can shed light on the
forgotten, the subjugated (Foucault, 1980), or the erased
(Derrida, 1976; Kaomea, 2003). While it can be argued that this
section falls into the trap of morphing the great man thesis into
the great woman, eight of the nine contributions address
individual women’s contributions to curriculum development
and the broader field, this section is perhaps the most effective
as a collection. Implicitly they raise the question, were women
leaders forgotten because they shone less brightly, or is there a
more likely explanation?
Linda Levstik takes up this question, as well as challenging a
“great person” view of history, in “Woman as
Force in Social Education: The Gendering of Social Studies in the
20th Century,” arguing that the social pressures
on a male dominated, but nascent, historical profession actively
silenced women’s contributions to social studies
education. Hers is a critical examination of the National
Council of Social Studies (NCSS), an offshoot of the then newly
formed American Historical Association (AHA), and the subsequent
erasure of women such as Mary Kelty (the subject of two other
chapters by Keith Barton and Margaret Smith Crocco) from the
field’s memory. The NCSS’s role was to standardize
secondary and eventually primary social studies curricula, but
its work was peripheral to the larger goal of establishing
credibility for the discipline.
As academic historians struggled to make their field the
counterpart of more prestigious sciences, they publicly separated
themselves from anything deemed feminine. Not only did they
attempt to exclude women at each stage of the historical
processes they were establishing, they resorted to gendered
discourse to make the separation clear. “Objective,”
“scientific,” and “virile” history
generated in “seminars” replaced
“amateur,” “superficial,” and
“literary” history associated with women writers (p.
195).
This case illustrates the important historical task of not
only asking questions about what male leaders were saying but
also looking at what various groups and subgroups were doing.
However, Levstik adds that existing histories may be unreliable
places to find sources because women are rarely referenced. Her
approach differs from others in this volume in that it details
the operations of social structure, revealing that women’s
silence has not been by choice or chance (p. 199).
The following section “Shaping Institutions,” is
less cohesive than the others. The editors’ intent was
that each chapter suggests a common idea of curricula as social
activity, that curricula are produced by and reproduce social
contexts – institutions, communities, and societies. It is
interesting that this is the briefest portion of the book, as
this is a broad idea that warrants additional exploration.
Mary Black’s “Mexican American Education: An
Elementary Case Study” suggests both the nearly unlimited
possibilities of, and some of the challenges involved in (such as
limited sources), conducting community studies. This
microhistorical case tells a story of the 20th Century U.S.
through the history of a single school, Metz Elementary School in
Austin, TX, which has continuously served children of Mexican
heritage since 1916. By chronicling an unknown (outside of the
community) school, Black shows how broader social forces affected
the school and how the community responded to these through its
school.
It is a largely celebratory story of a school and community
negotiating the arc of the 20th Century: demographic
shifts, perhaps due to urbanization or to ripple effects from the
Mexican Revolution; depression era school segregation efforts;
post WWII “white flight” (Wilson, 1978); the arrival
of the Metz’s first Mexican American principal who brought
bilingual/bicultural education in 1973, and 1981 bussing which
again shifted the school’s ethnic demographics (98% Latino
to 58% “overnight”); community mobilization around
decaying school facilities and the politics of facilities
funding; and the fear of state takeover induced by reported poor
scores on the Texas Assessment of Academic Skills in 1993. This
is a helpful reminder that hidden beneath debates over macro
forces and sweeping policy mandates lie people’s lived
realities, perhaps small but not meaningless.
The story of Metz Elementary shows that communities and
institutions are after all made up of people. Individual actors
change but there are also continuities, albeit not necessarily
linear ones. For Black, studies such as hers can assist in,
“understanding the details of particular educational
environments [which] is important in order to analyze the
influence of policy decisions, cultural tendencies, and other
factors that impinge on academic achievement and economic
success” (p. 263). I would add that this can especially be
the case when complimented by fine grained ethnographic studies
that offer details obtainable only by participant observation
(for example see Valdés, 1996, 2001) but which are often
critiqued for lacking a diachronic element.
Explorations in Curriculum History ends somewhat
abruptly with “A Response to Crisis,” where four of
five chapters discuss curricular issues and schooling during
World War I, World War II, and the Cold War. This section is
interesting because these chapters link the
“separate” worlds of schools to the broader,
consuming social events of war and societies’ concerns with
forming a “new world order.” This section also has
one of the two studies focused on non-U.S. topics, Ron
Wilhelm’s “España Nuestra: the Molding of
Primary School Children for a Fascist Spain (the other being Ann
Pliska’s chapter examining monasticism’s influence on
early Irish education).
Wilhelm’s contribution is also noteworthy for being
openly theoretical and for embracing both interpretation and
social scientific methods (content analysis), rather than relying
solely upon more traditional historical narrative. Unlike the
other authors, Wilhelm treats schools as ideological state
apparatus (see also Althusser, 1971) and España
Nuestra, a textbook published in 1943, as a cultural
artifact containing a condensed Nationalist ideology developed
through the contests over modern Spain, which culminated in the
Spanish Civil War. Published after the consolidation of control
by the nationalist coalition, made up of rightist groups led by
General Francisco Franco, España Nuestra
reflects the qualities of Spanish fascism: patriotism,
Catholicism, civic-mindedness, and militarism to defend against
the enemies of Spain, “often defined as a
‘Communist-Jewish-Masonic Conspiracy’” (p.
345). While it may not be surprising to learn of schools in
fascist Spain being used to interpolate children to nationalist
ideology, this approach might also be fruitful when applied to
today’s curricula within the current discourse of nebulous
enemies and war (Altheide, 2006).
However, once again these applications and possible critiques
of the present are left implicit. The overall project of
historicizing the field of education is undermined when attempts
are not made to reconcile the optimistic hope of learning from
the past with history’s recursiveness. This is a central
problematic of the discipline, one which I think needs to be
openly addressed and discussed across disciplines, because it is
an issue that other social researchers have addressed (see for
example Leach, 1959; Pareto, 1963), in order to explore ways of
remembering and making use the past. This broader theoretical
issue leads me to be concerned that this collection, and similar
work runs the danger of not being read, for if history repeats
itself than what use is its study? Similarly this practical
question is not addressed despite repeated assertions by various
contributors, both explicit and implicit, that historical
understanding can and should inform contemporary
decision-making. While I understand the contributors’
reluctance to make simplistic, linear connections between past
and current events, I do find it disappointing that there is at
best an occasional, oblique reference to contemporary issues.
While it is unfair to expect clear linkages in all instances, I
believe that maintaining historical distance contributes to
disciplinary provincialism, relegating the study of the past to
historians and very few others. Although flawed,
Explorations in Curriculum History provides readings that
could be put to good use in undergraduate and graduate
foundations courses as well as in administration, leadership,
policy studies, or research methods seminars, where in my
experience historiography is given lighter treatment than other
disciplinary approaches.
References
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essays. London: New Left Books.
Altheide, D. L. (2006). Terrorism and the politics of
fear. Lanham, MD: Altamira Press.
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schooling: Anthropology and world
culture theory. New York: Palgrave
Macmillan.
Apple, M. W. (2001). Educating the “right” way:
Markets, standards, God, and inequality. New
York and London: Routledge Falmer.
Bloch, M. N., Holmlund, K., Moquvist, I. & Popkewitz, T. S.
(Eds.) (2003). Governing children,
families & education: Restructuring the welfare
state. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
Callahan, R. (1962). Education and the cult of
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and other writings 1972-1977
(C. Gordon, Editor and Translator). New York: Pantheon Books.
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strange: Defamiliarizing methods
for research in formerly colonized and historically oppressed
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Leach, E. R. (1959). Political systems of highland Burma: A
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general sociology. (A. Bongiorno, Transl. & A.
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Smith, Mary Lee, Miller-Kahn, Linda, Heinecke, Walt, &
Jarvis, Patricia F. (2004). Political spectacle and the fate
of American schools. New York: RoutledgeFalmer
Valdés, G. (2001). Learning and not learning English:
Latino students in American schools,
New York: Teachers College Press.
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Press.
About the Reviewer
Mark Nagasawa is a doctoral student in early childhood
education at Arizona State University. His research interests
include the politics of education and comparative educational
practices.
Copyright is retained by the first or sole author,
who grants right of first publication to the Education Review.