Gabbard, David A. & Ross, E. Wayne (Eds.) (2009). Education Under the Security State. Reviewed by Sam Rocha, Ohio State University

Gabbard, David A. & Ross, E. Wayne (Eds.) (2009). Education Under the Security State. New York and London: Teachers College Press Pp. xi + 264         ISBN 978-0-8077-4900-5 Reviewed by Sam Rocha Ohio State University July 29, 2009 Education Under the Security State (2009) is a book in the Teachers College Press series, “Defending Public Schools,” edited by David Gabbard and Wayne Ross. It is comprised of fifteen chapters that are contained in three parts (“The Security State and the Traditional Role of Schools,” “Security Threats,” and “Security Measures: Defending Public Schools from the Public”). The purpose of the book is very straightforward: It is an all-out offensive on neoliberalism, capitalism, and alike (e.g. the market and the security state) that threaten the honor of public education. The beginning of the book relies heavily on allusions to The Matrix and Noam Chomsky. While the choice of this movie seems a bit dated, it is justified by the fact the book was originally published (in hardcover) in 2004. But, nonetheless, The Matrix guides the front-end of the book. In fact, Chapter 1 entitled, “‘Welcome to the Desert of the Real’: A Brief History of What Makes Schooling Compulsory,” begins with a portion of movie dialogue between Morpheus and Neo. That dialogue is followed up with the following assessment: “Though we suspect that our laws, ideologies, and institutions do not serve us, we shy away from confronting the possibility that they never did, that their architects did not design them to serve us” (p. 5). The question looming over this book is: To what extent do Matrix-like narratives that smack of metaphysics (in their search for “the real”) differ from neoliberalism and its predecessors? After all, it was not Marx or Foucault (and much less Morpheus) who brought to mind the idea that reality is an illusion—or a cave—we must escape from in order to become enlightened and free. When addressing neoliberalism, Foucault, unlike Marx, dedicates a great deal of time to the genealogies of discipline, power/knowledge, and surveillance (aspects featured in this book), yet that genealogical analysis is not to be understood as a simple matter of opposing the state or neoliberalism, pure and simple; it is a matter of understanding how subjects are constituted by power. This is a major difference, of course, between Marxist and Foucauldian critiques of neoliberalism. Sadly, this book pays almost no attention to this important difference. While Marx only appears outright in one section of Chapter 13 and Foucault makes only a few appearances, the book has a decidedly Marxist, militant tone begun by an enumerated agenda entitled, “Defending Public Schools, Defending Democracy,” by the general editor, E. Wayne Ross, in his introduction. In this revolutionary tone, the book spends a great deal of time noting the dangerous aspects of the modern, capitalist, neoliberal state but, once again, it neglects to say how this form of emancipation from neoliberalism is different from other ones that go back at least to Plato’s Republic—including the liberal tradition that spawned neoliberalism. Add to that, it severely misinterprets Foucault’s concern over power that was not Marxist, but, instead, Nietzschian, and, all in all, these chapters do pose questions that are interesting and have unexpected parallels (as we will see with libertarian and anarchist views of education), but they lack a certain theoretical rigor. Especially missing is an address of the paradoxes and contradictions embedded in the book’s own metaphors and allegories (especially The Matrix) and the theoretical ideas that supply meaning to those metaphors. Even taking The Matrix’s protagonist’s name, Neo, alludes to some new form of emancipation, and yet, there is little other than broad invocations of democracy to suggest what makes this resistance new or different. But, it seems that even considering the merits of democracy is problematic since, after all, it was Derrida’s well-known recommendation that we never seek democracy outright, and should instead opt for “democracy-to-come.” Yet, Derridian deconstruction is only explicitly invoked one time in this book. In the end, the dualistic choice between a red or blue pill—another allusion to The Matrix—is simply too simplistic and, perhaps, neoliberal. There is, however, an interesting and consistent use of Chomsky’s notion of “manufacturing consent” (i.e., faux democracy created by corporate media in order to ensure a servile and thoroughly indoctrinated public in order to preserve the oligarchy intended by the American elite) applied to the compulsory school. This critique is an ironic and brutally honest way to sustain the intended vision of the series, “Defending Public Schools.” Gabbard offers a confessional view into the sentiment behind this paradoxical defense when he writes: “Honesty forces me to question whether public schools have ever served either the public or the value of education… the public has been the target, not the beneficiary, of state-sponsored, compulsory schooling.” (p. xxxiii, italics in original) Here we find an extremely provocative approach: the book tackles the very idea of having a schooling system that depends on compulsion en route to a defense of public schooling. And, while the argument relies heavily on Chomsky’s political thought, there is also a strong, haunting presence of Ivan Illich. In the final chapter of the book, Julie Webber acknowledges this influence by citing the work of the contemporary de-schooler, John Taylor Gatto. What is fascinating about this is that although there are fundamental, and even radical, differences between the politics of Gatto and Chomsky—and this series clearly favors the latter—the question of authority is strikingly the same. That is to say that while the kinds of states (or complete lack thereof) each side might favor are quite different, —they vary across degrees of libertarianism, democratic socialism, and anarchy—the concern over what public schools are for and what they do to the persons who comprise the public is the clave; and the timbre of that question is not altogether unfamiliar across the political spectrum. Growing out of the basic history of the common school and its roots in the modern, industrial state, this book reaffirms the conclusion come to by many from right to left, namely, that the schools we have today function as replication machines of the state and the market that drives it. While it certainly is provocative to consider the genealogy of the school, the arguments that this book provides are more than purely historical considerations of what schools are today or were in the past. That is to say that Education Under the Security State makes its concern uniquely present in the basic problem of structural compulsion and corporatization as it relates to the basic question: What are schools for? Asking this question under the shadow of a security state is not comfortable but it seems like honesty demands that it be asked, regardless of political ideals. Take, for example, the questions raised by the Left in the U.S. after 9-11. Intellectuals and activists, including Chomsky, challenged us to ask the all-too-ignored question of, “What reasons do people have to want to kill Americans?” The looming response pointed out a deep flaw in the psychology of the Bush doctrine of preventative war (among other things) in the Middle East, particularly in Iraq. But it was not only the Left that championed this analysis. Republican candidate, Ron Paul, raised this very question several times in the 2008 presidential primary debates and found a strong resonance in libertarian-minded conservatives and independents. While we certainly cannot equate the polemic ideas of Right and Left as entirely equal (but, as Chomsky points out frequently, I think we might be surprised at how similar they are in this country), the relevance of location—the symbolic content of New York and Washington D.C. during 9-11—almost forces the honest mind to consider the stark reality that sites of terror are not neutral, to the contrary, they may be pregnant with terror long before the killing begins. This is a valid question that Education Under the Security State raises about the site we call the school. In what way might schools be fecund places for unexpected things—including terrorism—to happen? Whether one is compelled by the arguments against neoliberalism or not, it seems undeniable that the symptoms of the “security state” outlined in this book are revealing and provide multiple answers to the aforementioned question. Although the book begins with the problems of compulsion, as the argument develops and advances ‘compulsion’ becomes more rich and complex. It is not simply the notion of being detained against one’s will. Embedded in that notion is the litany of security state “reforms” that have driven the educational climate since at least the controversial Nation at Risk Report of 1983 to the problematic policies outlined in No Child Left Behind. From the “hegemony of accountability” (addressed in Chapter 7) in public schools to “privatization and enforcement” (addressed in Chapter 14) in higher education, this book offers a plethora of reasons why compulsory schools in a security state might harbor dysfunction as a systemic quality of their structural constitution. This idea is augmented by the cover art of the book that displays a stark photo of a prison-appropriate padlock. The point here being that, under a security state, the school is tantamount to its modern contemporary: the prison. Together they share the role of instilling a thoroughly regulated and predictable public. What this book also troubles is the mysterious place of “education” in compulsory schooling. Namely, that the monolithic assumption that the compulsory schools we have had up to this point are, as a matter of fact, first and foremost dedicated to education—which is why we are so surprised to think of them as cousins (if not siblings) of the prison system—is a myth. Debunking this myth, regardless of political agenda, would, among other things, remind us that there is nothing strange about schooling as surveillance when the school is fashioned in the image of the security state and the market that drives it. In fact, the very constitution of schools as institutional sites of discipline, surveillance, and the long lists of issues treated in detail by this book, tells us that we shouldn’t expect “education” to happen as often as we expect it to in schools that function in this manner. Yet, unlike the school abolitionists—after all, this is a book in the “Defending Public Schools” series—these chapters argue for an enlightened public to take back the school via democracy. In the end, I am brought again to the questions of neoliberalism and The Matrix. For all the provoking thoughts this deeply critical indictment of Education Under the Security State brings to mind there is something too religious, too devout, about the dualistic approach evident in the blue or red pill (why not both or neither?) that lead to democratic revolution. This is not to say that democracy or revolution ought to be put out of the question, but, I wonder: What does this book means by “democracy?” Something “better” or “enlightened”? The implication is that democracy would replace a neoliberal security state on its own seems altogether familiar. It gives off the scent of the long list of emancipatory narratives—including liberalism itself—that span from Plato’s cave to the different odors of the enlightenment. More confounding is that the actual literature that addresses the subject of neoliberalism has many deep-seated differences that go unnoticed by this collection; most notably the important distinctions between Marxist and Foucauldian critiques of neoliberalism. Putting those theoretical points aside, the greatest limit of this book’s fervent devotion is that the book itself seems highly unlikely to provoke democratic dialogue. That is not to say that the ideas in the book lack breadth, indeed the range from Chomsky to Gatto is impressive indeed, however, the decidedly polemic tone of the book—on grand display in the foreword by Peter McLaren—almost precludes the limits of this book’s reception. On this matter, I expect that those who already celebrate the tenets of the book, and the ideas of their authors, will find it interesting and stimulating; and those are equally predisposed to disagree with it will mostly ignore it or detest it. This predictable response is highly unfortunate since I see it having a great deal to offer a broad readership, across a range of political inclinations. Evoking this strange devotion is highly problematic for a book that proposes democratic sentiment as an alternative to dogmatic neoliberal politics. Problems aside, anyone willing to give the book a careful read will no doubt find its content engaging and revealing. Whether the readers agree or disagree with the assessments it contains, the book is a worthy and important text that invites hermeneutics and discourse to whomever is willing to see past its self-assured tone. I highly recommend it. About the Reviewer Sam Rocha is a doctoral candidate and Gates Millennium Scholar studying Philosophy of Education at Ohio State University. His research interests include pragmatism, phenomenology, and poststructuralism as they pertain to education and schooling. He can be reached at: rocha.8@osu.edu