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Framing Peace

Thinking about and Enacting Curriculum as «Radical Hope»


Edited By Hans Smits and Rahat Naqvi

The language of frames suggests the need to rethink self and other in fostering ethical relationships as a foundation for peaceful existence. Educational writers and practitioners from many parts of the world, including New York, Denver, Minneapolis, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Israel, and Canada offer their perspectives on peace as an aim of curriculum.
Possibilities for learning about peace conceived in terms of Jonathan Lear’s (2006) notion of «radical hope» are illustrated in the contexts of diverse settings and challenges: the aftermath of apartheid in South Africa, re-imagining post-colonial history curricula in Zimbabwe, exploring the meanings of truth and reconciliation and restorative justice in Canada, examining the quality of pedagogic relationships in elementary school classrooms, attending to experiences of gay and lesbian students in schools, experiences of marginalized students, children’s experiences of civic engagement, Islamophobia in high schools and teacher education classes, fraught relationships between Palestinian and Jewish students in a teachers’ college in Israel, and the inclusion of First Nations culture and knowledge in Canadian teacher education classes. As whole and in each of its parts, Framing Peace encourages us to think about peace as an urgent and fundamental responsibility of curriculum at all levels of education.


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Case Study: Aesthetic Responses to Cultural Displacement: Using Autobiography, Poetry, and Digital Storytellingwith Refugee Boys


Case Study Aesthetic Responses to Cultural Displacement: Using Autobiography, Poetry, and Digital Storytelling with Refugee Boys toby emert The aim is to establish what we might legitimately hope at the time when the sense of purpose and meaning that has been bequeathed to us by our culture has collapsed. (lear, 2006, p. 104) What other adjectives come to mind when you think of this tree from your country?” the teacher asks, as he kneels to help Micah, a 13-year-old Eritrean refugee, revise a line in the autobiographical poem he is drafting. Micah is describing a scene he remembers from his early childhood when he played beneath a fruit tree on the mountain near his home. The word he has chosen to describe the tree is “old.” “Can you think of English words that make us see the word old?” the teacher coaxes. Micah is quiet for a minute, literally furrowing his brow. “Shrivel?” he says. “Is that a good word?” “That’s an excellent word,” the teacher tells him. “What does it mean?” “Wrinkles.” “Yes, to be shriveled is to be wrinkled. I think that word could show us that the tree is old, don’t you?” “How about yellow?” “Tell me why you picked that word,” the teacher says, not sure that Micah understands the connotation of the word in the context of his sentence. “Like when a leaf is dying, it’s yellow.” “You’re right. It is. Can you picture the image of the tree you’re describing in your mind?” Micah...

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