Let's hear it from the males: Issues facing male primary school teachers

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Teaching and Teacher Education 21 (2005) 227–240 www.elsevier.com/locate/tate

Let’s hear it from the males: Issues facing male primary school teachers P. Cushman Christchurch College of Education, Dovedale Avenue, P.O. Box 31-065, Christchurch, New Zealand

Abstract As the number of male teachers in primary schools continues to decrease, the resultant gender imbalance has become the focus of increased discussion and debate. While the reasons for the decline in the number of males enrolling in teacher education are complex and multi-faceted, four factors which have been identified as contributing to the decline are experiences and attitudes related to status, salary, working in a predominantly female environment, and physical contact with children. In an attempt to explore the extent to which they were concerned and challenged by these factors, focus group interviews were conducted with practising male primary school teachers. The study confirms that each of the four issues has the potential to influence the decision to take up a career in teaching and to impact on job satisfaction and performance. r 2005 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. Keywords: Male role models; Male teachers in the primary school; Gender balance in primary schools

1. Introduction The debate surrounding the lack of male teachers in primary schools continues to simmer, boiling over on to the media hotplate whenever one of the assumed contributing factors causes sufficient concern in educational or political arenas. Despite the extended debate, little has been resolved, possibly in part because the debate has, until recently, tended to focus more on Tel.: +54 3 348 4311; fax: +64 345 8131.

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theoretical conjecture by academics rather than on the real experiences of the practitioners themselves. Furthermore, the failure of recruitment strategies designed to attract more males to teaching (Balchin, 2002; Thornton & Bricheno, 2000) suggests that the issue is far more complex than it might initially appear. It was this consideration that led me to carry out, over recent years, comprehensive surveys of, firstly, just over 1000 male Year 13 students (Cushman, 2000a), and, secondly, 253 practising male primary school teachers (Cushman, 1999). My aim was to determine whether the attitudes

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and experiences of potential male applicants and practising male teachers regarding primary school teaching as a career matched those commonly espoused through academic discourse and reported in the media. The survey of Year 13 male students found that young males have major concerns regarding primary school teaching as a career because of the status of teaching, the level of salary and the issue of physical contact with children. With its 93% response rate, the survey of practising male teachers signalled an area of high interest. Participants were asked to rate their concerns regarding salary, status and physical contact with children either as no concern, slight concern, moderate concern or extreme concern. Room was provided for the teachers to add comments, which many chose to do. The practising male teachers confirmed the students’ misgivings, reporting that the same three issues plus that of working in a predominantly female environment caused ongoing barriers to job satisfaction and performance for males, and ultimately detracted from the appeal of teaching as a career. As a result of the interest demonstrated in the two surveys by both the participants and the teaching community, I considered that focus group discussions involving practising male teachers would provide an opportunity for further exploration of the issues. The surfacing of forgotten experiences, exemplified through statements such as ‘‘that reminds mey’’ and the participants’ mutual agreement about and understanding of these experiences, demonstrated the value of this more interactive forum in eliciting substantive material. This article reports not only on the commentary on these issues by those participating in the focus groups but also considers how these issues might be resolved.

2. Method Seventeen practising primary school male teachers volunteered to participate in the focus group discussions. The focus group facilitator knew all these males from professional interactions with the males’ schools. Each was personally approached,

provided with a brief overview of the study, and asked to confirm their willingness to participate. Between them, the men represented a wide range of ages, years of teaching experience, management responsibilities within the school, age groups of children taught and a mix of rural and urban schools and decile levels. The participants varied in age from 26 to 53 years of age, with an average age of 38.8 years. Teaching experience ranged from 1 year to 31 years, with an average of 12 years. While three of the participants were school principals, each was a ‘‘teaching principal’’ with responsibility for his own class as well as for school-wide administration. While there was representation from all decile levels, the study was over-represented with higher decile schools. However, as no patterns emerged linking particular responses with particular decile levels, it appears that the decile levels had little bearing on the nature of the participants’ responses. Although it could be argued that a sample of 17 is too small to comprise a representative sample, the responses between the focus groups were so consistent in content and so supportive of my earlier research (Cushman, 2000a), that I decided not to increase the sample size. Furthermore, I suspect that many of the experiences exemplified by the responses are common in the classrooms, staffrooms, playgrounds and school communities of many New Zealand primary schools. The focus groups, conducted in an informal atmosphere, involved five one-and-a-half hour semi-structured discussions between three or four of the participating teachers and the facilitator (who was the same person across all groups). Thus, each participant took part in one focus group. The facilitator guided each discussion according to a standardised open-ended question format. This approach let all participants respond to the same questions while still allowing them to modify responses and to discuss between themselves areas of particular interest. The discussions were audio- and video-taped and subsequently transcribed. In addition to asking the questions, the facilitator prompted participants for further clarification of particular responses, but did not otherwise participate in the discussions.

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The interview questions included, but were not always limited to, the following: 1. Which aspects of the profession initially attracted you to primary school teaching as a career? 2. What sort of reaction did you get when you told family and friends that you had decided to become a primary school teacher? 3. Did you come straight from school or try other career options first? 4. Do you think the status of teaching is an issue for male teachers? 5. Do you think salary is a concern? 6. If you are on a school staff where males are a minority, does that present you with any particular challenges? 7. To what extent does the issue of physical contact with children concern you? The questions were designed to determine if the experiences of the participating males supported the findings of my previous work. Initial analysis determined the extent to which this was so. Responses were grouped according to their similarities so that common themes could be identified. Where participants made specific references during the interview to particular factors contributing to a theme, these were noted so as to establish the extent to which the participants had collectively raised these factors. The following presentation of findings and discussion of them is limited to the issues-based questions 4–7. It is important to note that this article is part of a larger study, and that other papers (Cushman, in preparation) address questions 1–3. The findings below are organised under headings that closely reflect questions 1–4: experiences and attitudes related to status; salary; working in a predominantly female environment; and physical contact with children. Verbatim comments from participants are included throughout for illustrative purposes. While the use of focus group interviews allowed participants to talk about their experiences, elaborate on areas of importance and provide more insightful responses than other research methods, it has not been possible to estimate the extent

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to which questioning techniques and group dynamics may have added bias to those comments or to what extent the analysis of questionnaire data was misinterpreted. These factors are acknowledged as limitations of the research methodology.

3. Findings and discussion 3.1. Status The status of primary school teachers appears to be closely aligned to the perceived intellectual requirements necessary for a particular teacher’s role, the perceived job requirements, the years of acquired teaching experience and the particular group making the judgement. Historical evidence shows that these factors, together with the gender and social class of the individual teacher, have influenced the status of teaching since early last century (Skelton, 2001). For example, an English government report from 1925 on the training of primary school teachers described teaching as a ‘‘field of effort for the girl of average intellectual capacity and normal maternal instincts’’ but cautioned that ‘‘for a man to spend his life teaching children of school age is to waste it in doing easy and not very valuable work he would not do if he was fit to do anything else’’ (cited in Skelton, 2001, p. 122). The low status of primary school teachers in comparison to other occupations in western countries has been repeatedly alluded to in the literature (e.g., Ashley, 2001; King, 1998; Thornton & Bricheno, 2000; Waller, 1932). It also appears that the higher up the school one teaches, the greater the status (see, for example, Carrington, 2002). As several participants commented, The caretaker came in and he said, ‘‘Gee, you’ve done welly.’’ I said, ‘‘What do you mean?’’ He said, ‘‘Well you’ve gone from teaching the juniors and now you’re going to be sole charge teaching some of the Form 1 and 2 kids,’’ and he thought that was such a huge status jump. I think that men in the junior school have less status than men in the senior

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school, and I think that’s why you get more men going into intermediates. I don’t actually think any primary teacher, male or female, has the status they deserve and the respect from the community. I go along with what [another participant] says about promotion up the school. If you teach in Years 3 and 4 and the following year in Years 5 and 6, then you’ve gone up in the world. The parents think the higher up the school you teach, the better you are as a teacher, which I think is totally wrong. All participants over 39 years of age agreed that the past 20 years had seen a decline in the status of teachers. Their comments indicated that while they considered children and parents had held teachers in high esteem at the time they (the participants) had attended primary school as students, they now felt parents saw teachers as ‘‘equal’’ and that this had contributed to a corresponding lack of respect from their children. Some considered that, in New Zealand, the governance of schools by Boards of Trustees, which include elected parent representatives, had been particularly significant in eroding the respect parents once gave teachers. When I was a student, I think teaching was a profession that was looked up to. Maybe the parents respected the teachers back then and the kids pretty much did the same. Well, hell, it’s changed now! You are equal with the parents, if you’re lucky. I feel the government has allowed so much interference from parents that teachers have lost their status. You’ve got the Board of Trustees now, and they’re parents, and they have more status than the teachers. To me it doesn’t seem right. The same participants also thought parents had transferred to these boards the mana (Maori word commonly used in New Zealand to denote prestige) previously held by teachers. During the discussions, all participants observed that parents’ perceptions of teaching, based on memories of days where teachers taught solely from the front of the classroom and silent, receptive children sat in rows respectfully absorbing their teacher’s wis-

dom, still, to some extent, prevails, and that there is an ignorance of current pedagogical practices and the teaching role—a role that has changed dramatically since the 1970s. Comments from 14 participants supported Alton-Lee and Praat’s (2001) positioning of education in New Zealand as a low-status occupation, and the suggestion by King (1998) and Cameron, Moss and Owen (1999) that the association of caring with primary teaching is significant in defining teaching at this level as a low-status, women’s occupation. While other studies (Gamble & Wilkins, 1997; Johnston, McKeown, & McEwen, 1999; Lahelma, 2000) demonstrate this to be an international phenomenon, five of the men in this study, including those who had taught or travelled overseas, contended that, in many countries, teachers are afforded a higher status than they are in New Zealand and that people in those countries have a better appreciation of the demands inherent in primary teaching. While, in general, the participants agreed that the status of primary school teaching in New Zealand is low, and lower than it once was, the males in the older age bracket (50 plus) argued that status is an individual consignment dependent on both the person making the judgement and the credentials of the teacher being judged. In this regard, they noted that women tend to rate the status of teachers more highly than men, especially in regard to men the participants termed ‘‘macho’’. This is perhaps attributable to women having a better understanding of the skills necessary to meet the needs of, and manage, 30 children for 6 h per day. One point that most of the participants did agree on was that, as with many careers, status is something individuals must earn over a period of time: It’s something that comes with the length of service you’ve done. As a young person coming out, there’s not much status for you; you almost have to earn your stripes. Thus, while status once ‘‘came’’ with appointment to a teaching position, the participants generally agreed that this natural consignment no longer exists and that teachers must work to earn

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mana. Of interest is the fact that the older teachers in the study had not experienced perceptions of low status from their communities, a finding that may support the belief that the status of teaching has declined in the last decades as parental involvement and responsibilities in schools have increased. Fifty-six percent of the Year 13 secondary school male students in my earlier study (Cushman, 2000b) who planned to apply for teacher training viewed the status of teachers as a moderate to extreme concern. This perception is partly attributable to the media, which, through an increasing focus on the plight of male teachers in primary schools, have accelerated the view of teaching as a ‘‘no-man’s’’ world and a low-status, women’s occupation (see, for example, Cropp, 2001; Ross, 2003a, b). 3.2. Salary Pay parity between primary and secondary teachers in New Zealand in the late 1990s appears to have done much to ease disenchantment with teachers’ salaries. However, for the study participants, their salaries still did not seem fair or reasonable when compared with the salaries of peers in other occupations and of teachers in other countries. All participants told stories of acquaintances who appeared to have higher incomes and more free time while working in less demanding careers than theirs. Even more difficult to accept were instances of former teaching colleagues who had left the profession and were now using their skills in higher paid 9 to 5 jobs: I know two or three who have finished teaching because of the money. And they look at me now and say, ‘‘Why are you still teaching?’’ The lure of overseas teaching jobs with fewer children per class, shorter working hours and visibly higher salaries had not escaped the notice and temptation of the participants. Four had succumbed to the temptation and spent time experiencing what one termed the ‘‘good life’’ by teaching in other countries before returning to ‘‘settle down’’ closer to family and in a country that, despite lower salaries, had much to offer in terms of quality of life. But, overall, in New

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Zealand teachers’ dissatisfaction with salaries is high, with the majority of teachers believing that salaries should be higher to reflect the work and responsibilities integral to teaching (Cushman, 2000a; Cropp, 2001). It’s the saying ‘‘You don’t go into teaching for the money.’’ I wouldn’t be doing it if I were doing it for the money. The story is that traditionally more women were employed as primary school teachers, and perhaps it was for many a second income. If there were more males, traditionally they would have been seen as the breadwinners, so maybe the money would have been better. Work by Lindgard and Douglas (1999) and Skelton (2001) confirms a correlation between levels of teachers’ salaries and the gendered location of teachers within schools; that is, males are more likely to be located in management positions, where salaries are higher, and females are more likely to be clustered at junior levels, where salaries are lower. Whether the attraction of the higher salary is a major factor in men acquiring a highly disproportionate number of senior positions or whether this is the result of the higher status and closer fit to dominant notions of masculinity at senior levels was not discussed. What is clear is that these factors are all inextricably interwoven (Carrington, 2002; Thornton & Bricheno, 2000). Not one of the participants in the current study mentioned they were in teaching for the money, and of those who had entered teaching from another occupation, one reported the following reaction when he received his first pay as a teacher: I got a hell of a shock when I got my first pay packet. When I graduated from College, I had been working part-time at a couple of jobs, and I took a pay cut when I got my salary. I couldn’t believe it. However, most of the men who made comments of this nature said that job satisfaction and ‘‘holidays’’ offered some compensation, sentiments that accord with De Corse and Vogtle’s (1997) and Gerson’s (1993) findings that more mature men entering teaching as a second career value the

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intrinsic reward of personal satisfaction more highly than financial gain. But, for many men, salary alone may act as a sufficient deterrent to entering the profession. This was highlighted in my study of Year 13 male students (Cushman, 2000b). In New Zealand, despite primary school teachers’ recent pay parity with their secondary colleagues, 59% of the students in my study who were planning to apply for teacher training and 61% of those who had decided against teaching rated salary as a moderate or extreme concern. 3.3. Working in a predominantly female environment For the study participants, the reality of being a gender minority group did not take long to register when they embarked on their teaching careers. The all too common references from colleagues to their minority status were definitely unsettling and disparaging. That their appointment may have been assisted by their gender (Allan, 1993) was a consideration few had anticipated and that two angrily refuted. However, that achieving a gender ‘‘balance’’ may be a consideration for principals when choosing staff was an aspect they did acknowledge. Do principals choose their staff to get a balance? I know when I got my job I got it quite fast, and I heard people say, ‘‘It’s only because you’re a guy.’’ I hated that feeling. ‘‘Hating that feeling’’ probably related to the discouragement that four participants reported, on becoming aware that, even though they had worked hard to qualify as a teacher, they perhaps had been awarded their teaching positions for a reason they considered had little to do with their teaching ability. While there may be a perception in the profession that men are given a hiring preference because of the public demand for more male role models, the study participants seemed to be at a loss to identify exactly what such a role involves. The expectation that the male teacher will provide an effective role model and the confusion regarding the explicit characteristics they are expected to model has long been an issue for men as they

embark on their teaching career (Allan, 1993). This fundamental question has, to date, received little attention in the literature. Is a male teacher a role model because he shows men to be caring, nurturing and have a ‘‘feminine’’ side, as Ashley (2001) suggests or is he a role model because he can demonstrate the hegemonic masculine traits common to a specific culture (Balchin, 2002; Burn, 2002)? Then, again, is he a role model, as suggested by Skelton (2002), because he has a role to play in fostering positive attitudes to study among boys? Moreover, the premise so often reported in the media that the male teacher can compensate in some way for the absence of a male in the home also deserves further examination. It implies on the one hand that a child without a male caregiver in the home is necessarily disadvantaged and, on the other, that children from homes with abusive or neglectful fathers are better off than those with none. That one is expected to model particular, but unspecified, male characteristics and behaviours is in itself daunting. To know you are expected to be a ‘‘father substitute’’ could be almost inconceivable, especially for young, single males. In my first year I had a boy who had no father, and his mother was so happy because I was his first male teacher. ‘‘All he talks about is you; you’re his father figure.’’ I was thinking, ‘‘I’m this father figure and I’m not a father. This feels weird. What is expected of me?’’ I felt like I was used as a father figure in a lot of cases too. ‘‘Can you keep an eye on such ‘n such.’’ I think that’s an issue. I’m not even sure what is implied. The older teachers among the participants, with children of their own, appeared more comfortable with the role, perhaps seeing themselves as father figure of an extended family. One teacher, in a school with a large number of solo mother families, saw himself and the caretaker to be very often regarded as father figures. Comfortable with this expectation, he also worked to ensure that the needs of both boys and girls were being met at all levels of the school.

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I’ve been getting at our new entrant teacher. I said, ‘‘Your dress-up box—what have you got in there for boys?’’ And she actually went through it and didn’t find much. She went out and got a lot of stuff that boys would traditionally like to be playing with, which was an interesting thing to do. For the majority of males in this study, the knowledge that they were regarded as male role models had motivated them to reflect carefully on what attitudes and behaviours they wanted young people to associate with the male gender. In line with current thought (King, 1998; Skelton, 2002) that masculine and feminine traits are not the sole prerogative of the respective gender, one participant spoke of his aspiration to provide a ‘‘holistic approach’’ and ensure that inter- and intrapersonal skills, compassion and sensitivity were strong features in his teaching style. The other members of his discussion group responded with interest to this statement, commenting that their modelling role often lent itself to a more ‘‘physical’’ teaching style, with plenty of movement, physical exercise and education outside the classroom. This reaction could be seen to support recent research (Skelton, 2001; Martino & Berrill, 2003) where males were reported as feeling a need to identify themselves as ‘‘properly masculine’’. There was, however, disagreement over the expected and demonstrated role model behaviour, with one participant, for example, stating that a special part of his role as a male teacher was his ability to incorporate both ‘‘masculine’’ and ‘‘feminine’’ traits. I think there is a real place for going outside and being physical with the children, and there is a lot more learning that can take place out there besides physical education. And that is where I really love to be. But there is also a place for sitting down inside the classroom in a circle, talking quietly and modelling how to resolve conflict and all the sorts of things about relating to other people. And that’s the piece that I think is missing from all this. This comment also brought to the fore recognition by the participants in this discussion group

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that the desire to be more sensitive and compassionate was often inhibited by the restrictions placed on males’ interactions with children and the mistrust these engendered. All but two of the participants identified the staffroom as one location where gender differences were highlighted. Several thought that staff and syndicate meetings ran quite differently according to the number of males in attendance. For example, they perceived meetings where males were in the majority to be more efficient, shorter and less likely to become sidetracked or emotional. In casual staffroom interactions, Cameron et al. (1999) found that male teachers were seen as ‘‘naturally’’ more interested in sport, ball games and vehicles than female staff. The males in the present study disputed this, considering their own topics of conversation to be far-reaching and female conversations as more often marked along gender lines, with children, relationships and clothes to the fore. They also noted that when, on rare occasions, they chose to sit together in staffrooms to share common interests, they could expect to get ‘‘a hard time’’ from the females, and that the expectation that their interests lay with sport, ball games and vehicles arose in conversational expectations from female colleagues and the roles they assigned the men. In some New Zealand primary schools, particularly small ones, it is not uncommon for there to be only one male on the staff, and as the comments of one such teacher attested, their ‘‘plight’’ may be even more apparent. A lot of time you walk into the staffroom, and you’re the only guy there, and they stop their conservation. Or they ask you some question like ‘‘Who won the rugby?’’ I get embarrassed easily anyway, and I feel like they are trying to talk to me just because I might feel a bit out of it. A lot of time I do end up sitting on my own in the staffroom, and then someone comes over and tries to make conversation. I’d rather they didn’t. The issue of female staff, especially older ones, attempting to ‘‘mother’’ young male teachers was not uncommon.

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When I was a beginning teacher, they were like that. If you were young and you would walk in to the staffroom they acted as motherly figures and treated you like a child. I know they’d hassle me and say, ‘‘Oh your shirt’s ironed nicely. Did your Mum do that?’’ And there’s no way I would say that to them. On the whole, though, the participants tended to see such interactions with female teachers as more amusing than anything else. Most acknowledged that these interactions generally occurred as part of good-natured and caring relationships and were integral to the maintenance of supportive and positive team environments. It is important, however, to recognise that if we are to successfully address the issues confronting males in schools, we need also to investigate the extent to which female teachers perpetuate male and female stereotypes. All school staff must be seen as stakeholders in the issues confronting male teachers. All of the participants recounted instances of male role stereotyping, particularly by their female colleagues, and resultant expectations of them. For example, most of the men acknowledged an assumption in their schools that they would favour roles attached to sport or technological equipment, a view that accords with Sargent’s (2000) recording of the stereotypical view that men are more assertive, task-oriented, utilitarian and authoritarian than women. As Ludowyke (2001) has asserted, male gender stereotyping increasingly is at variance with current social and economic realities. As such, modelling gender-stereotyped behaviours not only reinforces these stereotypes but also discourages shifts in thinking about them. In the present study, the men acknowledged familiarity with these role expectations, but at the same time expressed difficulty in accepting the expectation that they should accommodate them. Like today I came into the staffroom very briefly, and some lady came up to me and said, ‘‘I need a big strong man to carry in a TV from the car. I looked around and it was, like, ‘‘It’s you, man.’’ The staffroom was full of ladies and cups of tea. You’re always getting stuff like that.

I get all the physical jobs. Lifting. Like we were running a conference, and we had to lift computers in and out of a truck, and there were only three males doing it, and there were 28 on the staff. It didn’t add up. And there was no choice. I thought, ‘‘Hey, there are a lot of women around here who are stronger than me.’’ For the study participants, another aspect of gendered role assignment concerned situations where children were required to dress and undress as part of school activities, such as for sports, swimming and camp. Here, the insistence that a female parent accompany a male teacher to swimming classes while female teachers could go alone highlights the different degrees of trust accorded to male and female teachers. That such scenarios go unnoticed by children is unlikely. Another role all men recognised as being assigned largely to them was that of management and discipline. Most agreed that whenever major management issues arose with particular children, those children would probably be referred to them or other male teachers or placed in their classes. All had experienced being singled out to cater for the needs of difficult children. I’m thinking about my current school and where a child would be sent if there were major behavioural issues, and they’re all men. There is, I believe, the perception that the men will generally deal with the discipline. Which is not to say the women are undermined, but it is noticeable when a child is becoming a problem at school that the men somehow get the intervention role. That male teachers are accorded this role is supported in the literature. Ludowyke’s (2001) overview of gender issues in Victorian (Australia) primary schools found principals and male teachers were over-represented in roles and positions emphasising discipline and authority rather than nurturing and support. When male teachers are allocated the children with behavioural problems, it seems fair to suggest that these teachers will devote more of their classroom time to management issues. This could then influence the classroom climate to the point where male teachers are

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seen as disciplinarians, a classic case, as Sargent (2000) has observed, of the ‘‘self-fulfilling prophecy’’ and what Burn (2002) has called the ‘‘discipline man’’. Perhaps one might even be tempted to suggest that boys’ over-representation in misbehaviour and under-achievement stakes could partly reflect the more rigid teaching strategies at times employed by male teachers who find their classes weighted by more challenging students (Burn, 2002; King, 1998; Skelton, 2001). All of the participants questioned the logic of the decision that males should be the dispensers of discipline in schools, stating they were not necessarily tougher or better at management than the women. Could this be a legacy of days in which some degree of physical strength was required in the dispensing of physical punishment with the cane or strap? Whatever the reason, the participants also acknowledged that, unlike the teachers in King’s (1998) study, they rarely sought to challenge the expectation that they should assume this role in the school environment. From the lonely ‘‘Romeo’’ to the resident ‘‘Hitler’’, male teachers seem to be assigned (by colleagues, parents and the wider community) and then to assume (as a self-fulfilling prophecy) certain roles that have their genesis in stereotypical notions of masculinity. For a good number of male teachers, the all too frequent scenario of being the only male teacher in a school is an isolating experience. Such a teacher may be reticent to share concerns with female colleagues, and he may be diffident about seeking support from the caretaker and principal, who generally tend to be male but have different roles and expectations held of them within the school. In addition, for male teachers, any admission of confusion regarding the male teacher’s role within the school, or discomfort with aspects of that role, may reinforce notions that men who choose to teach in primary schools lack particular hegemonic masculinity traits (Burn, 2002; King, 1998). Such patterns inadvertently reinforce traditional gender roles. On top of the struggle all teachers face in keeping pace with the daily demands of teaching, the extra pressures related to one’s maleness may, not surprisingly, deter men from teacher training

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or encourage premature departure from the profession. 3.4. Physical contact Despite the reality that actual accusation and conviction rates are very low (Skelton, 2001), the assumptions often made of male teachers in relation to child abuse, sexual harassment and other negative aspects of being in a profession dealing with young children were evident in all the focus groups. All participants agreed that being in close contact with children was an issue that constantly permeated their thoughts and actions. The New Zealand Educational Institute’s Code of Practice (NZEI, 2001, p. 2) states that any physical contact with children presents a risk to the teacher. It directs all teachers to ‘‘avoid inappropriate physical contact’’ and lists ‘‘appropriate contact situations’’ as those involved in physical education, first aid and physical restraint. Where children express themselves by seeking close physical contact, NZEI insists that teachers must remove themselves from the situation but first explain to the children (presumably as best they can) why they will not respond in kind. While the NZEI guidelines are necessarily directed at all teachers, it is generally the males who heed the advice and their female colleagues who ignore it. One might ask if the guidelines were, in fact, written with all teachers in mind. Teacher training colleges have, in recent years, performed a dubious role in convincing men ‘‘not to touch’’. By the time the study participants were in classrooms of their own, such messages were deeply ingrained and a reality in their everyday interactions with children. Three of the men labelled it a ‘‘paranoia’’ they could not shake off. Part of this paranoia could also be attributed to their first days of teaching when, as new teachers, they had perceived themselves to be in the limelight not only because of their newness to teaching, but also (and more so) because of their gender. For four participants, even after years of teaching, and with the trust and respect of children, colleagues and parents, placing a reassuring or affirming hand on a child’s shoulder was seen as far ‘‘too risky’’.

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When I started, I was really paranoid, and I still am in a way. I won’t put my hand on a kid’s shoulder or anything like that. I’ve got a daughter at school, too, and she comes up and cuddles me, and all the kids see that. There was a situation when she hurt herself, and I gave her a cuddle, and then another little kid hurt herself and was crying her eyes out. And this little girl had just seen me cuddle my daughter and that was what she was expecting, but I couldn’t. I just had to stand back. While such actions protect the child and the male teacher, they do not contribute to comfortable working conditions, relationships with colleagues or feelings of high self-worth. The participants acknowledged that many young children in their schools were not having their emotional needs met at home and looked to teachers for support and reassurance. For the majority of the men, their inability to respond with ease to the children’s needs compounded their anxiety and confusion over the physical contact issue. There are really a lot of needy children out there who don’t get enough emotional support and hugging, and you can feel them crying out in a sense. I had one little girl, and she wanted to come and hug me all the time in front of the class, and I just had to have a word with her and say, ‘‘Look, this is just not what we do.’’ The participants also observed that when young children arrive from a classroom where their previous teacher, a female, commonly engaged in physical interactions, it makes it more apparent to children that the ‘‘no touch’’ stance is something related to the male gender rather than a schoolwide phenomenon. And when female colleagues exhibit caring behaviours as a habitual and normal part of their interactions with children, it becomes even more difficult for them to feel comfortable with their ‘‘stand off’’ position. Like you see in the playground female teachers holding children’s hands, and I think, ‘‘I can’t do that, why can they?’’ If I did do it, there would be uproar. If I were walking round with

three kids hanging off my arms, someone would complain. The participants also discussed the question of how a teacher explains to children that, because he is a male, he cannot give them the reassurance, affirmation or physical security they may sometimes need. What message, they conjectured, does a male teacher give when he insists on no physical contact? Most of the males who were not prepared to physically respond to these children were prepared to inform the children they were unable to, but not one could go to the next stage— explaining why. The kids ask why, and it’s hard to explain why. I just say, ‘‘I can’t.’’ I know a guy who told them (Year 1 children) that he was made of glass and if they touched him he’d break. That’s the only way they could understand. As I’ve said, I don’t act naturally when someone’s crying or they want to sit next to me on the couch. I just say, ‘‘Well you can’t.’’ According to Sargent (2000), men have three options regarding the physical contact issue. The first is to reject the commonly held expectation that teaching involves a nurturing and pastoral element and to focus on the subject matter. This reinforces the notion that men and women have different teaching styles, where nurturing is permissible for one gender, but not the other. The second is to follow their intuition and become close to the children, integrating the behaviours typically associated with female teachers into their teaching style. The third option is to acknowledge the inability to risk replicating behaviours associated with female colleagues but publicly perform compensatory behaviours. All three of these choices were exemplified by the study participants. Some, for example, exercised different degrees of physical contact, depending on their own comfort level, the needs of the particular child at a particular time, and the location. When I first started out, I was paranoid. I’d never touch a child. Never! I’d just leave them. The kid could be bawling their head off, but I wouldn’t touch them. It was so clinical. I’ve changed a bit now. But I would never touch a

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child in the classroom. If I’m in the playground and someone really hurts himself or herself, I’ll put a hand on their shoulder, but there are always people there. I won’t be by myself in a classroom with a child, and if suddenly I’m aware I am, I just leave. For four others, physical contact was seen to be such an integral and natural aspect of the relationship with young children that conflict between attitudes and actions rarely occurred. I try not to have issues with the touching thing. At lunchtime today I had a kid from my last year’s class come up to me and just throw his arms around me and give me a hug. And I just gave him a pat on the back and said, ‘‘Oh, you still like your old teacher.’’ And then I gave him a hug and he went off quite happily. It’s not an issue. It comes naturally for me to do that. Nonetheless, the frustration and difficulty associated with having to behave in a way that felt remote and unnatural was all too evident in the comments of most of the participants, and the knowledge that they needed to protect themselves remained paramount. If a child wanted to hold the teacher’s hand or to be comforted after a fall, most of the participants acknowledged they would only offer a touch of a reassuring nature in a public arena, like the playground, when other adults were around. While there is a widespread assumption that teaching young people involves a nurturing relationship and that a caring touch is part of that package, not all research supports this. In his study of primary school boys’ social behaviour and academic performance, Ashley (2002) found the most important factor in academic development is the security of attachments in the home and that securely attached boys needed little ‘‘overt caring’’ at school. However, while most discourse appears to support the need for nurturing relationships, very few schools have written policies regarding physical contact with children or even set boundaries to guide new teachers. It is therefore of interest that one enlightened school represented in the study had made the decision to bring the topic to a public forum. In this school,

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parents were surveyed as to their attitudes towards physical contact between children and all teachers. A positive response from parents and caregivers legitimised teachers’ rights to nurture the children. In another school, discussing a young child’s need for physical reassurance with the child’s parent was a means of ensuring the teacher was able to meet the child’s needs and at the same time protect himself. And one principal even informed parents of his stance in the school newsletter and asked parents to contact him if they were not happy with it. These activities exemplify the need to be transparent regarding the physical contact issue, and so emphasise its significance for teachers. Most teachers take their lead from the established ethos in the school in which they gain employment. If all teachers, male and female, are seen to hold children’s hands, and physically comfort them when hurt, insecure or in need of affirmation, the new teacher is likely to adopt similar patterns of interaction. It is probably in schools where strictly ‘‘no touching’’ policies, written or inherently understood, are adhered to that conflict arises in males for whom touching feels normal and natural. It is almost inevitable that, at times, even males who are generally at ease with their no touching position, will question both the NZEI Code of Conduct and their own chosen or imposed behaviour. The result of men’s avoidance of physical contact is that children are receiving very strong messages about touch, to the extent that close physical contact could even be perceived as abuse. They are also receiving strong messages about the very different behaviours and interactions one can expect from males and females. Men are portrayed as untrustworthy. If it’s not safe for me to touch kids but it’s okay for my female colleagues, what is that saying about men? I’m quite open with my class but I am aware of what perceptions could be there. So I hesitate and I don’t know what effect that hesitating has on the kids. If they see you hesitating, do they think, ‘‘Doesn’t he really like me that much?’’ I don’t know. I know I hesitate, and that hesitation worries me.

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The extensive media exposure given to the small number of cases where teachers have abused children has created a heightened awareness not just amongst male teachers but also amongst parents and children. One participant had a colleague who installed a camera in his room for the sole purpose of self-protection. Teachers are aware that even a false allegation can spell the end of their career. Moreover, streetwise young people can amplify this sense of vulnerability. I think you know that you’re always open to it. In one of my first years of teaching, I was at an intermediate school, and I just said, ‘‘Go and stand over there’’ to a boy, and he said, ‘‘You hit me.’’ He was dead serious, and he knew all the things he could do, so from then on it was obvious to me that you are vulnerable to whatever a kid decides to do, and to me that’s pretty scary. When teachers are forced to hesitate and consider ramifications based on each individual case, the potential damage inherent in that hesitation, as well as in the possible subsequent action, should not be underestimated. For male teachers, deliberating over whether they can, in fact, afford to touch a child causes undue pressure and stress that is rarely experienced by the majority of teachers, that is, female teachers, in primary schools. Suggesting that this is a contributing factor in the failure of male teacher recruitment and retention strategies is unlikely to be an overstatement. Although Ashley (2002) disputes the necessity for male teachers to engage in physical interactions with children, most of the literature appears to support the view that while it need not be an essential part of a male’s teaching style, it should be an option. And, contrary to Ashley’s (2002) view, some school authorities even go so far as to say that schools are failing in their role if male teachers avoid contact with children, especially when the children need help (Keen, 2003). While acknowledging that all teachers need to use commonsense, Keen’s article, based on the beliefs of a retiring school principal, argues that schools must create an environment that allows male teachers to feel comfortable about physical con-

tact. Until NZEI gives both male and female teachers clear and equitable guidance on their roles, responsibilities and boundaries in interactions with children, the mist that shrouds males’ day-to-day encounters and causes confusion, pressure, discomfort and inequities for all teachers will continue to envelop them.

4. Conclusions The comments of the 17 male teachers in this study confirm that the issues of salary, status, working in a predominantly female environment, and physical contact with children influence men’s decisions to take up teaching and to stay in the career once there. These issues, especially physical contact, can result in stress for male teachers throughout their career. The public image of teaching as low status is the source of many reactionary statements on the part of family, friends and others when a man decides to become a teacher. However, once in teaching, male teachers often reconcile themselves to lowstatus perceptions as they come to recognise the value of what they do and to gain self-worth from it. Pay parity has partly addressed salary concerns, although no participant felt the salary adequately recompensed the demands and challenges inherent in teaching. Also, the inequity in teaching status and salary between New Zealand and other countries was cited as a source of concern and seen to be a contributing factor to the large number of teachers who choose to teach overseas. Of greater concern were the issues confronted in being part of a highly gendered workforce. Schools are gendered demographically and in terms of division of labour. The participants felt they were frequently and illogically assigned roles involving manual labour and behaviour management. To assume that males are the best disciplinarians or the strongest members in a workplace creates difficulties not only for the targeted males. Children who are constantly assimilating information relevant to gender roles and trying to make sense of them in a world where non-sexism and inclusion are increasingly highly valued must find such role differentiation confusing.

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As all teachers have a responsibility to make schools supportive learning environments for all students, male teachers need to be supported and encouraged in exercising the full range of opportunities and practices available to them as primary school teachers. Effectively addressing the current situation will necessitate collaboration between school, society and the media. In addition, teacher training colleges need to recognise their role in the process and to move their focus from simply attempting to redress the gender balance. The simple request for more male teachers needs to be challenged, as increasing the proportion of males in schools is, by itself, not enough. Precisely why more male teachers are needed and what exactly the role of the ‘‘male role model’’ in the school setting is are questions currently informing international research and debate (see, for example, Burn, 2002; Skelton, 2003). The expectation that a male teacher can compensate for absent fathers deserves further exploration in terms of rationale and expectations. Whether this same expectation is extended to the teachers of fatherless females also needs to be determined. Male teachers and male principals remain overrepresented in positions emphasising discipline and authority rather than nurturing and support. Such patterns inadvertently reinforce some very traditional and unhelpful gender divides. While more male teachers are needed, more female principals and senior managers are needed as well. Providing more opportunities for both men and women to take up counter-traditional roles in the primary school may appear on the surface to be one effective strategy in helping address such concerns. However, as with the issues embedded within male role modelling, the factors influencing traditional gender differences in the school environment are multi-faceted and complex (Thornton & Bricheno, 2000) and need to be considered in any strategies designed to redress gender imbalance. Education regarding the complexities of how boys and girls, and male and female teachers, construct their gender identities in the classroom and wider school community needs to become an essential component of teacher training and professional development.

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The issue of different ‘‘rules’’ for male and female teachers in their interactions with children also requires further research and public debate. The current situation breeds confusion, stress and a pressure to conform to a hegemonic masculinity contrary to the natural and nurturing tendencies of many male primary school teachers. Within schools, the qualities of a good primary teacher are largely androgynous. The need is for teachers of either gender who will manage schools so that supportive peer relationships flourish. The need is also for teachers who can address the affective needs of both boys and girls and, through their own modelling of inclusive practices, encourage children to move beyond stereotypical role expectations. Thus, the issue of male teachers requires further discourse and debate in all educational arenas. While outside the scope of, and perhaps a limitation of this paper, this necessarily implicates an examination of the social construction of gender and a consciousness of hegemonic masculinities such as those considered in work by Clatterbaugh (1990), Skelton (2001, 2002, 2003) and Martino and Berrill (2003). As noted earlier, this article documents research that is part of a larger study wherein the social construction of gender and consciousness of hegemonic masculinities are explored in more depth. Currently, many men do not appear to ‘‘fit’’ comfortably into the culture of the primary school. They are often physically isolated in the staffroom and in the allocation of roles. Emotionally, they are isolated in their inability to care and nurture in ways that are inherent in the practices of most female teachers. They often feel ‘‘under the microscope’’—in a role won for reasons other than their own merits. It is little wonder that men choose not to teach. And it is not surprising there is a high attrition rate of males from teacher training colleges (Cushman, 1998) and schools (Cushman, 2000a, b). For the men who do teach, their love of children, their commitment to the profession and their positivism in the face of endless scrutiny and challenges can only categorise them as a unique and remarkable group. But until the barriers and attitudes that underlie these challenges are addressed and alleviated, it is

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unlikely that the proportion of males to females in the staffroom photograph will change.

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