It has mostly been hosted in the states, and I attended the summer 2024 event in Manchester, New Hampshire and enjoyed making musical instruments with colleagues using servo motors, programming the BBC micro:bit with MicroBlocks.
We were told it might be the last in the series but were surprised to learn that Gary & Sylvia had planned to run an event at the Reggio Emilia Foundation in Reggio Emilia, Italy in April 2025 – so when it was confirmed, I jumped at the chance to go!
Unlike my summer experience, this event focussed on both the Reggio Emilia approach to early childhood education and the place of computation in progressive pedagogy and education, and asked the question “what role for computation?”.
And it was enlightening, uplifting and rewarding.
The Reggio Emilia approach
Although I knew of the Reggio Emilia approach, I hadn’t understood its history, its local context nor the detail of its focus on aesthetics (as opposed to anaesthetics!) in education.
The history since the close of the second world war demonstrates what can happen when a town sees children as an asset and takes care to respect their rights.
It was a delight to work in the associated Remida centre, next door to the foundation. Remida undertakes creative recycling, recovering from a network of 100 local companies about 15 tons per year of material destined for disposal, which is put back into circulation through projects and a distribution service to about 300 institutions which are associated with the Reggio Emilia approach. We were treated to talks about the approach used in schools and in particular the ‘atelier’ – a room in each school run by an additional education professional, the ‘atelierista’ often an artist or designer by training. The focus was on experiencing ‘materiality’ and the recycling centre was perfect as a venue to see first hand the way surplus materials were organised and re-distibuted to enhance children’s ‘research’ in building their knowledge.
Inside the Remida centre, with its racks of recyclable surplus materials to the left and in the background
I thoroughly enjoyed returning to childhood to explore these ideas in three workshops.
Firstly we all worked together to make pasta, and eat it…
Our Tortelli pasta in the making, stuffed with spinach and Ricotta and local Parmigiano Reggiano cheeses…
…and cooked with Tagliatelle strips made with the leftover pasta.
…secondly in a group of five, we explored ‘fast’ and ‘slow’ in light…
A time-lapse photo of a pattern created with torches and colour filters as part of an atelier to explore light.
…and thirdly, also in a group of five we created a book, bound in brass and leather from five sheets of material chosen one each by the participants, but no words…
Front cover – ‘Secret’ through a keyhole
page 2 – a gilded cage
page 3 – fishnet
page 4 – a petticoat with a heart-shaped hole and a pocket
page 4 – the pocket reveals a red heart
page 5 – a lovely flower
The place of computation
The combination of values regarding early childhood education, re-cycling and re-use, and civic backing for the local education system was intoxicating, but behind all the excitement there was a burning question about the place of computing and computational thinking.
Gary gave us his take on the relationship, with a solid constructionist analysis based on his lifelong love affair with Seymour Papert and his work – just lovely.
Gary Stager’s slide posing the question “how does computation fit in to progressive approaches in education?”
Gary also invited us to invent a simple Easter egg dispensing device using Micro:bit and the Hummingbird equipment – the Easter Bunny is sick, help!.
Against challenging time pressure, the group of three I was in enjoyed making this, both an ambulance for the sick bunny and a cart with eggs that would drop if it encountered an obstacle:
Conclusion
My personal takeaway was in relation to the 100 languages concept of the Reggio Emilia approach as eloquently introduced in this poem by founder Loris Malaguzzi:
No way. The hundred is there.
The child is made of one hundred. The child has a hundred languages a hundred hands a hundred thoughts a hundred ways of thinking of playing, of speaking. A hundred always a hundred ways of listening of marvelling of loving a hundred joys for singing and understanding a hundred worlds to discover a hundred worlds to invent a hundred worlds to dream. The child has a hundred languages (and a hundred hundred hundred more) but they steal ninety-nine. The school and the culture separate the head from the body. They tell the child: to think without hands to do without head to listen and not to speak to understand without joy to love and to marvel only at Easter and Christmas. They tell the child: to discover the world already there and of the hundred they steal ninety-nine. They tell the child: that work and play reality and fantasy science and imagination sky and earth reason and dream are things that do not belong together. And thus they tell the child that the hundred is not there. The child says: No way. The hundred is there.
Loris Malaguzzi, 1996, translated by Lella Gandini
I have emboldened the lines in the middle that sing to me and that echo so much of my own work in the design of education throughout my working life.
But I couldn’t help feeling that in the computational media, genre and tools, there were so many additional ‘languages’ .
I would include programming, spreadsheets, databases, word processors, drawing packages, presentation tools, digital audio & video, hypertexts, and so much more. In each case they are tools for expressing ideas, but have the additional value of bringing support for evaluation of those ideas as the child sees what does and doesn’t work on the computer.
But for me, even more potently now making the case for computation, is that we can use computation to develop our own tools – a meta-level of expression and evaluation that may make a million languages in my humble view!
Many thanks to Gary and Sylvia and the Reggio Emilia ateliers for their wonderful programme of activities and inputs, but most importantly to all the experienced, thoughtful and open educators who participated with me and made the time so fruitful with their enthusiastic efforts and deep dialogue.
Your reality and my reality naturally differ through our lived experience and cultural heritage. This doesn’t mean we don’t share realities – the sun also rises. The imperative is get to know others’ perspectives and to build shared realities, specifically where they practically matter to improve our lives.
I said that.
“I’ll let you be in my dreams, if I can be in yours”
So this became the theme for my birthday party, held on 17 December 2023, in the Essex Arms pub in Brentwood, in part inspired by events in the Middle East and in part by the rejuvenating conversations at Congregation and my blog entry which is the admission criteria.
I wanted to celebrate the positive idea of ‘one world – multiple realities’ against a backdrop of war and killing, trying to deal with the misery, by tackling it straight on with appeals for understanding, recognition and peace. And a little love.
My friend Derek Kortlandt devised a fiendish quiz to help break the ice, which was ‘open book’ in the sense of encouraging internet search and collaboration. I will update this post to give the answers on New Years Day 2024.
My 40 or so guests were mostly living in Brentwood, Essex, with a few online from France, Ireland and Basildon(!), but the big surprise was the range of 26 cultural heritages represented amongst those invited: Australia, Canada, China, Czechia, Denmark, El Salvador, France, Germany, Hungary, India, Ireland, Italy, Japan, The Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Paraguy, Portugal, Russia, Scotland, The Solomon Islands, Thailand, USA, Venezuala, Wales, Zimbabwe.
I asked my guests to read a poem, sing a song or tell a story on that theme. Here is a selection of them, not necessarily in the order they were performed!
Heidi, assisted by Sue and Keiko, invited us, in groups, to sing a simple canon in German often sung at birthdays. Here are the English words.
It takes little to be happy
It takes little to be happy, and he who is happy is a king!
Eric, as well as entertaining us on the saxophone, read the following poem, saying afterwards:
“Delivering the poem made me feel good in the sense that I was doing something (a very small something) in the way of putting a wrong to right.”
White comedy
I waz whitemailed By a white witch, Wid white magic An white lies, Branded by a white sheep I slaved as a whitesmith Near a white spot Where I suffered whitewater fever. Whitelisted as a whiteleg I waz in de white book As a master of white art, It waz like white death.
People called me white jack Some hailed me as a white wog, So I joined de white watch Trained as a white guard Lived off the white economy. Caught and beaten by de whiteshirts I waz condemned to a white mass, Don’t worry, I shall be writing to de Black House.
Razia read this, written by a famous Bengali polymath and Nobel prize winner.
Where The Mind Is Without Fear
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high Where knowledge is free Where the world has not been broken up into fragments By narrow domestic walls Where words come out from the depth of truth Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit Where the mind is led forward by thee Into ever-widening thought and action Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
I read a pair of poems, one by a Palestinian poet who was killed only recently in the Gaza strip and another by an Israeli poet which satisfied me as a Mathematician, despite its topic.
If I must die
If I must die, you must live to tell my story to sell my things to buy a piece of cloth and some strings, (make it white with a long tail) so that a child, somewhere in Gaza while looking heaven in the eye awaiting his dad who left in a blaze– and bid no one farewell not even to his flesh not even to himself– sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above and thinks for a moment an angel is there bringing back love
The diameter of the bomb was thirty centimetres and the diameter of its effective range about seven metres, with four dead and eleven wounded. And around these in a larger circle of pain and time, two hospitals are scattered and one graveyard. But the young woman who was buried in the city she came from at a distance of more than a hundred kilometres, enlarges the circle considerably and the solitary man mourning her death at the distant shores of a country far across the sea includes the entire world in the circle. And I won’t even mention the crying of orphans that reaches up to the throne of God and beyond, making a circle with no end and no God.
Katherine sang us the Venezuelan national anthem, after thanking the UK for accepting her and her family here.
Gloria al Bravo Pueblo
Chorus: Glory to the brave people who shook off the yoke, The law respecting, virtue and honour.
I “Down with chains!” Shouted the Lord; And the poor man in his hovel For Freedom implored. Upon this holy name Trembled in great dread The vile selfishness That had once prevailed. Upon this holy name Trembled in great dread The vile selfishness That had once prevailed.
Chorus
II Let’s scream out aloud: “Death to oppression!” Oh, loyal countrymen: Strength is unity; And from the Empyrean The Supreme Author A sublime spirit To the people blew; And from the Empyrean The Supreme Author A sublime spirit To the people blew.
Chorus
III United by bonds That Heaven has formed, The entire America Exists as a Nation; And if ever despotism Raises again its voice, Then follow the example That Caracas gave; And if ever despotism Raises again its voice, Then follow the example That Caracas gave.
Fran explained to me that she would usually read poetry to herself, all alone, but out-loud, and that it was cathartic for her.
Amazing Peace
Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses. Flood waters await us in our avenues.
Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche Over unprotected villages. The sky slips low and grey and threatening.
We question ourselves. What have we done to so affront nature? We worry God. Are you there? Are you there really? Does the covenant you made with us still hold?
Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters, Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air. The world is encouraged to come away from rancor, Come the way of friendship.
It is the Glad Season. Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner. Flood waters recede into memory. Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us As we make our way to higher ground.
Hope is born again in the faces of children It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets. Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things, Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.
In our joy, we think we hear a whisper. At first it is too soft. Then only half heard. We listen carefully as it gathers strength. We hear a sweetness. The word is Peace. It is loud now. It is louder. Louder than the explosion of bombs.
We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence. It is what we have hungered for. Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace. A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies. Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.
We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas. We beckon this good season to wait a while with us. We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come. Peace. Come and fill us and our world with your majesty. We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian, Implore you, to stay a while with us. So we may learn by your shimmering light How to look beyond complexion and see community.
It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.
On this platform of peace, we can create a language To translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.
At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ Into the great religions of the world. We jubilate the precious advent of trust. We shout with glorious tongues at the coming of hope. All the earth’s tribes loosen their voices To celebrate the promise of Peace.
We, Angels and Mortal’s, Believers and Non-Believers, Look heavenward and speak the word aloud. Peace. We look at our world and speak the word aloud. Peace. We look at each other, then into ourselves And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation.
Peace, My Brother. Peace, My Sister. Peace, My Soul.
May the merit you donate be returned a hundred thousand fold.
Tom read this well known prose-poem, well worth listening to again.
Desiderata – Words for Life
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
Mary from County Cork, Ireland, but soon to be in New York for Christmas, told me in discussion later: “one needs to abandon anchors altogether and embrace the drift of the world because anchors are only an illusion. I know it seems like terror and loss, but in my reading of [the poem] (maybe wrongly!) the terror and loss are also part of the illusion and a normal part of life, since we can’t help but get attached to things in this constantly-drifting sea of life.”
The World
I thought you were an anchor in the drift of the world; but no: there isn’t an anchor anywhere. There isn’t an anchor in the drift of the world. Oh no. I thought you were. Oh no. The drift of the world.
I brought our readings to a close with this slightly more hopeful, albeit fanciful, poem by my favourite author (well, one of them…).
Torn Map
Once, by mistake, she tore a map in half. She taped it back, but crookedly. Now all the roads ended in water. There were mountains right next to her hometown. Wouldn’t it be nice if that were true? I’d tear a map and be right next to you.
Wishing all my readers a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
PS
At the party I mentioned my admiration for Hannah Arendt’s simple prophylactic advice to reverse the tide of totalitarianism, as told by Lyndsey Stonebridge:
“participatory democracy as small as it gets”.
In 2024, I hope to persuade my friends (local and online) to watch together the ‘Hannah Arendt‘ film biography by von Trotta and to then read & discuss the new book ‘We Are Free to Change the World‘ by Lyndsey Stonebridge in our local Labour Party Socialist Book club – perhaps back in the Essex Arms?
One of the students on the Masters in Technology and Learning that I direct at Trinity College Dublin works as an assistant to a senator in Ireland’s parliament. She found out that I chaired the Brentwood and Ongar Constituency Labour Party and mentioned it to colleagues in Leinster House. This led to an invitation to speak there on my view of the Corbyn phenomenon.
I explained that I wasn’t a Corbyn insider, but that nevertheless, I would love to tell them what I did know from the perspective of Brentwood and Ongar constituency.
Although their curiosity was driven by the huge rise in membership around Corbyn’s leadership, I was more interested in explaining that there was value in our effort in Brentwood, even when you have little chance of winning, characterised by these seven aims:
Fulfil a need for like-minded people to discuss politics
Provide political education
Develop campaigning skills, and apply in marginals
Maintain local and parish council representation
Encourage and support young people
Apply professional and personal experience to the development of local and national policy
