Practicing democracy in the playground: turning political conflict into educational friction

Abstract

Research shows that teachers and educators struggle to act when conflict appears in the classroom. This article argues that (political) conflict should not be avoided or eradicated. Teachers should enable conflict and attend to their pupils in the process, in order to enable further understanding of each other and their differences, as part of living together in a plural and diverse society. Scholars and educators often take a deliberative approach to citizen education by focusing on problem solving and consensus seeking. This article explores how conflict can be educational if we accept that antagonisms are inherent parts of human relations. The aim of this paper is not to propose moral boundaries to conflicts. Instead, it wants to contribute to a shift from teaching citizenship as conflict-free space towards learning democracy, in which educational conflict, or friction, is seen as an important part of the political education of pupils. This paper uses democratic theory, narrative theory, and the cultural-historical theory of play as described by Dutch historian Johan Huizinga, to construct analytical tools to further understand conflict in the classroom.

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Journal of Curriculum Studies
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Practicing democracy in the playground: turning
political conflict into educational friction
Saro Lozano Parra , Cok Bakker & Lucien van Liere
To cite this article: Saro Lozano Parra , Cok Bakker & Lucien van Liere (2021) Practicing
democracy in the playground: turning political conflict into educational friction, Journal of Curriculum
Studies, 53:1, 32-46, DOI: 10.1080/00220272.2020.1838615
To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/00220272.2020.1838615
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Practicing democracy in the playground: turning political conict
into educational friction
Saro Lozano Parra , Cok Bakker and Lucien van Liere
Utrecht University, Utrecht, The Netherlands
ABSTRACT
Research shows that teachers and educators struggle to act when conict
appears in the classroom. This article argues that (political) conict should
not be avoided or eradicated. Teachers should enable conict and attend
to their pupils in the process, in order to enable further understanding of
each other and their dierences, as part of living together in a plural and
diverse society. Scholars and educators often take a deliberative approach
to citizen education by focusing on problem solving and consensus seek-
ing. This article explores how conict can be educational if we accept that
antagonisms are inherent parts of human relations. The aim of this paper
is not to propose moral boundaries to conicts. Instead, it wants to
contribute to a shift from teaching citizenship as conict-free space
towards learning democracy, in which educational conict, or friction, is
seen as an important part of the political education of pupils. This paper
uses democratic theory, narrative theory, and the cultural-historical theory
of play as described by Dutch historian Johan Huizinga, to construct
analytical tools to further understand conict in the classroom.
KEYWORDS
Conflict; playground; friction;
democracy; subjectification
Introduction
In 2016, the Ministers of Education of all EU countries signed a declaration in which they stated that
pluralism and non-discrimination should be part of all European education (European Commission,
2016). This declaration responded to worries after the November 2015 Paris attacks on the Charlie
Hebdo editorial oce when teachers and parents had diculty reacting to pupils who showed
intolerance, express radical opinions, or even began to cheer (Awan et al., 2019; Bertram-Troost &
Miedema, 2017; Clycq et al., 2019; James & Janmaat, 2019; Sikkens et al., 2016). In answer to such
serious concerns about social cohesion, integration, and the political participation of young people,
a body of research arose around the explication of and need for citizenship education.
These educational researchers emphasize the socialization of pupils and integrating them as
future citizens into existing systems, values and norms (see, e.g., Callan, 1997; Hess, 2009; Kahane
et al., 2010; Kahne & Westheimer, 2004; McLaughlin, 1992; Osler & Starkey, 2006; Ruitenberg, 2009;
Shaer et al., 2017; De Winter, 2004). The recent revisioning of the Dutch curriculum to strengthen
future education has also been informed by these aims (Curriculum.nu, 2019a; Lozano Parra et al.,
2020). However, little attention has been devoted to the place of conict in citizenship education. If
conict is mentioned, it is often presented as something that has to be solved or even avoided.
The Belgian political theorist Chantal Moue theorizes conict as antagonism that is inherent to
human relations (Moue, 2005a). If we accept that a school should be a place to practice democracy,
aimed at educating pupils to be part of a society that is increasingly diverse and plural, it is of great
CONTACT Saro Lozano Parra s.lozanoparra@uu.nl Department of Philosophy and Religious Studies, Utrecht University,
Utrecht 3512 BL
JOURNAL OF CURRICULUM STUDIES
2021, VOL. 53, NO. 1, 32–46
https://doi.org/10.1080/00220272.2020.1838615
© 2020 The Author(s). Published by Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group.
This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives License (http://
creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/), which permits non-commercial re-use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the
original work is properly cited, and is not altered, transformed, or built upon in any way.

importance that they experience and understand conict and dierence before trying to nd consensus
—if the conict is even solvable. The focus of citizenship education on problem-solving and the
avoidance of conict is problematic since it does not enable pupils how to cope with plurality, diversity,
and non-discrimination (the EU aims mentioned earlier). We argue that political communication with-
out conict is impossible. Engaging in conict teaches pupils how to disagree, and challenges them to
truly see the other and experience dierences that are necessary, in order to learn how to live side by
side within a diverse and plural society. In order for conict to emerge in the classroom and become
educational, teachers need to understand it in an educational way and learn how to supervise it.
Following Moue, we see conict as an inseparable part of democracy, in which conict takes
place within the dimension of what Moue calls the political. By framing conict as political, we align
with a growing tendency in the eld of political and educational philosophy to anchor the political
more rmly into education (G. Biesta, 2019; G. J. J. Biesta, 2011; Ruitenberg, 2009; Straume, 2015;
Szkudlarek, 2013). Therefore, the ability to learn to cope with conict should be an important aim of
pupils’ education. When we present our key concepts, we will further clarify our use of the terms
democracy, conict, and friction.
The question we seek to answer in this article is: how can conict be educational? This paper has
an explorative character. Our aim is twofold: theoretically, we want to contribute to what Dutch
Professor of Pedagogy Gert Biesta calls a shift ‘from teaching citizenship towards learning democ-
racy’ (G. J. J. Biesta, 2011). We will further explain this shift and Biesta’s distinction between civic
learning as socialization and civic learning from a subjectication perspective. As for educational
practices, our purpose is not to present a blueprint of how a school as an institution should be
structured. Instead we aim to build an analytic tool that will enable teachers to reect upon and gain
insight into conict and the educational limitations of their classroom when friction emerges. The
role of the teacher in educational conict is of pivotal importance. The analytical tool we will present
is our eort to help teachers to turn political conict into educational friction. We will not present the
right solution to solve conict in the classroom. Alternatively, we will unravel the complexity and the
dierent (educational) layers of possible events that cause conict in the classroom, and argue to
make conict part of learning democracy.
To articulate our framework, we use insights from democratic theory, narrative theory, and
cultural theory. We use the work of Chris Mitchell, scholar of Conict Studies, to explore what
constitutes conict. Mitchell articulates conict as a concept that consists of three aspects, which
we visualize as a triangle. To show how conict is embedded in the verbalized stories of people, we
use Lucien van Liere’s work on conict and religion and the embeddedness of conict in narratives.
We will choose a circle to visualize the embeddedness of conict within narrativity. To further explore
the limitations of conict we use the theory of play from the famous Dutch historian Johan Huizinga.
This component visualizes the boundaries of educational conict in the classroom as the playground
in which conict appears, and is therefore visualized as a square. We will present these three
components separately. They jointly constitute a tool to understand conict as educational and
are therefore integrated in one model.
We will rst describe the context of this research and current developments in citizenship
education in The Netherlands, and explain how conict is presented as something to overcome.
Then, we will justify our focus on conict by explaining the dierence between socialization and
subjectication in civic learning, theorized by Biesta, followed by a clarication of our key concepts—
democracy, conict, and friction—along the lines of Moue. We will also explain why we choose to
conceptualize the school not as a place, but as a playground to practice democracy and justify our
selection of Huizinga’s theory of play. Then, we will present the three components: conict, narrative,
and play. After each paragraph, we will show how this theoretical framework can be applied by using
a signicant case of conict in the classroom, in order not to lose sight of the educational practice.
JOURNAL OF CURRICULUM STUDIES 33

Civic learning in The Netherlands
Since 9/11, but more specically since the 2004 Madrid terrorist attack, concerns about Islam,
integration, and social tensions have increased in many parts of Europe. Since then, terrorist attacks
caused ‘shockwaves and triggered anxiety for immediate security risk’ (James & Janmaat, 2019, p. 2).
In a report written for the Scientic Council for Governmental Policy, the Dutch Professor of
Pedagogy Micha De Winter argued for the socialization of pupils and their introduction and
integration into the existing political and social order (De Winter, 2004). Since 2006, the Dutch
government has obliged schools to promote ‘active citizenship’. Schools were given the freedom to
formulate their own denition of this concept and further shape their education to achieve it. After
2011, Dutch, but also British, Belgian and French youth joined the ght of dierent militant groups in
Iraq and Syria, such as Al-Qaida and Islamic State, causing further shockwaves in society. In 2016, The
Dutch Ministry of Education, Culture, and Science established a task force consisting of scholars,
policy-makers, school leaders, and teachers. Its aim was to give citizenship education a central role in
a revision of the national curriculum. In its rst report in the spring of 2019, the task force stated that
‘in a democratic, pluralist society, freedom, equality and solidarity are central”, and described schools
as ‘a place to practice democracy and handle diversity’ (Curriculum.nu, 2019a, p. 5; Lozano Parra
et al., 2020). The task force also stated that its vision on citizenship education had been inspired by
a deliberative approach to democracy, ‘emphasizing democracy as a process to seek consensus’
(Curriculum.nu, 2019a).
Dierent scholars and experts were asked to give feedback on the proposal. One expert argued
that ‘conict did not appear, while it is one of the fundamental parts of the democratic rule of law’
(Curriculum.nu, 2019b, p. 12). The same expert stated that the deliberative model of democracy
chosen by the task force ‘is at dierent levels very problematic (. . .) because it underestimates the
inequality of opportunity and does not acknowledge the impact of power relations and emotions’
(Curriculum.nu, 2019b, p. 11). Our analysis of the nal proposal of the task force shows that the word
‘conict’ does appear twenty-one times. For more than two-third of these, conict is seen as some-
thing that should be ‘resolved’ and needs to be ‘mediate[d] in order to resolve peacefully’
(Curriculum.nu, 2019a). Generally, the report urges that solutions be found to conicts. Thus, conict
is mentioned in the context of problem solving, solution seeking and consensus.
However, in our view conict should be part of every classroom to increase the understanding of
cultural, social, and religious dierences. Too much emphasis on problem solving simply overlooks
the fundamental social, cultural, and religious dierences that are part of modern, plural societies. If
we want to achieve active citizenship, the exploration of conict should be our starting point,
because democracy is about togetherness without losing diversity and plurality. Instead of exploring
conict from a solution nding perspective, we wish to emphasize sensibility towards dierences
that are dicult to harmonize, but are nevertheless considered part and parcel of a Western
democratic society. Furthermore, schools provide a space for civic learning in the context of play,
since it is a place for pupils to learn, which implicates room for searching, fumbling, and making
mistakes. We will further explain the relevance of our focus on conict and play by connecting it to
Biesta’s distinction between civic learning from a socializational perspective, and civic learning as
subjectication.
The school as a playground to practice democracy
Why focus on conict?
To reconceptualize conict, we will rst present civic learning as explained by Biesta, and then
elaborate on conict theorized by Moue, followed by explicating our key concepts and showing
how her concept of conict can be used in an educational context.
As democratic citizenship is seen as something that does not come naturally, scholars emphasize
the role education should play in its development (Dewey, 1916; Gutmann, 2004; Nussbaum, 2010;
34 S. LOZANO PARRA ET AL.

Parker, 2004; De Winter, 2004). In Learning democracy in school and society, Biesta uses the theoretical
concepts of socialization and subjectication to clarify two dierent ways of civic learning.
A socialization conception of civic learning ‘would see the aims of civic learning rst and foremost
in terms of the reproduction of an existing socio-political order and thus of the adaption of
individuals to this order’ (G. J. J. Biesta, 2011, p. 86). From this perspective, dierent scholars have
argued for a ‘right’ conception of citizenship that needs to be taught (see e.g., Blaauwendraad, 2016;
Cabrera, 2010; Ruitenberg, 2009; Veugelers, 2007). Less attention has been given to the subjectica-
tion conception of civic learning that focusses on ‘the emergence of political agency, and thus sees
the aims of civic learning rst and foremost in terms of the promotion of political subjectivity and
agency’ (G. J. J. Biesta, 2011, p. 87).
In contrast to De Winter’s report, Biesta wants to look beyond the socialization character of civic
learning. According to Biesta, it is not only important to have more realistic expectations of the
contribution of education to citizenship or society as a whole, but also to see citizenship not as ‘a
matter of individuals and their knowledge, skills, and dispositions (. . .) but as the need to focus on
individuals-in-interaction and individuals-in-context’ (Biesta, 2011, p. 2 emphasis as in original). Thus,
he aims to move beyond ‘the trend to see the domain of citizenship in social terms’, that is, in terms
of ‘good, socially adaptive and integrative behaviour’ (Biesta, 2013 p. 2 emphasis as in original). To
understand civic learning in terms of socialization conceptualizes democracy as a ‘particular, well-
dened singular order (. . .) and thus civic learning can be fully understood in terms of the acquisition
of this identity by individuals’ (G. J. J. Biesta, 2011, p. 87). He goes even further by stating that
understanding civic learning as socialization would mean that this conception would be the only way
to understand it (G. J. J. Biesta, 2011, emphasis as in original). Alternatively, he argues that ‘questions
about how to engage with conict are likely to permeate democratic processes and practices’
(G. J. J. Biesta, 2011, p. 93). It is exactly conict that makes democracy possible. Democracy is the
ongoing (re)negotiation of conict. Understanding civic learning solely in socializational terms would
be undemocratic exactly because of its aim to integrate newcomers into an already existing system.
The concept of conict at the core of democracy is what Biesta tries to capture in his concept of
subjectication in relation to civic learning. By analysing the nature of democratic communities, their
borders, the processes that occur within these communities, and the status of those who engage in
such processes, Biesta builds a theoretical argument for schools as places in society that need civic
learning from a perspective of subjectication. The emphasis on civic learning as subjectication
moves beyond any essentialist concept of a pupil learning to be a specic kind of citizen that ts
within an existing order. Instead it embraces political subjects to enter in conict and collide,
because it is exactly within this conict between political agents that democracy appears. It does
not focus on xing the dierence between these agents, but advocates the exploration and
experience of the conict that appears when political subjectivity arises. By focusing on conict,
we want to contribute to this shift towards learning democracy. Before we use Biesta’s device of
socialization and subjectication to explain the dierence between practice and play and justify our
use of the concept of a playground, we will rst clarify our key concepts.
Democracy, conict, and friction
Moue writes about democracy from a political-philosophical perspective. Nevertheless, her ideas
about conict are useful to our formulation and understanding of how political conict can be
understood as educational. In response to the deliberative model of democracy, Moue formulates
an alternative ‘agonistic model’. The term agonism stems from the Greek agon, meaning contest or
strife. In The Democratic Paradox (Moue, 2005a), she describes the paradoxical relation between
‘liberal’ and ‘democracy’ within liberal democracy. For Moue, the paradox between these two
concepts is shaped by the ‘liberal grammar’ of equality and universalism of liberalism, that contrasts
with the struggle for hegemony that is democracy (Moue, 2005a). According to Moue, democracy
is about the fundamental identication of the rulers and those who are ruled. This leads
JOURNAL OF CURRICULUM STUDIES 35

automatically to the existence of power relations between the people that are part of the demos.
Moue states that these power relations play a signicant role in structuring human relations.
Democracy is linked to the fundamental principle of the unity and identication of the demos. If
people are to rule, it is necessary to determine who belongs to the people, and who does not. Or to
put it dierently: who is to rule, and who is not? Who is represented, and who is not? Democracy for
Moue is always about the constitution of ‘us and ‘them’. However, as opposed to deliberative
models which see conict as something that should be solved or avoided, Moue sees this dierence
between liberal and democratic grammar as ‘a tension that installs a very important dynamic’ that
enables the ongoing and necessary (re)negotiation of power relations (Moue, 2005a). Additionally,
Moue’s aim is not to dismiss liberal democracy as a whole, but rather to re-evaluate the relation
between liberalism and democracy, emphasizing the importance of democracy and the constant
conicting (re)negotiation it entails. The very existence of liberal democracy depends on the
constant process of (re)negotiating this constitutive paradox. If we take Moue’s idea of democracy
and apply it to education, learning democracy entails the appearance of conict as the process of (re)
negotiation in which the status quo can be questioned in the classroom. In order for pupils to learn
how to engage in such a conict, to take part in liberal democracy, the classroom should be the place
in which they are challenged to engage in this process.
Moue theorizes conict as the antagonism that is an inherent part of human relations (Moue,
2005a). To explain this further, she makes a distinction between politics and the political (Moue,
1999, 2005a, 2005b). The latter refers to ‘the dimension of antagonism that is inherent in all human
society, which can take many dierent forms and can emerge in diverse social relations’ (Moue,
1999, p. 754). The former refers to ‘the ensemble of practices, discourses and institutions that seek to
establish a certain order and to organize human coexistence in conditions that are always potentially
conictual because they are aected by the dimension of “the political”’ (Moue, 1999, p. 754).
Subsequently, she wants to redraw the political frontier by changing ‘political enemies’, who do not
share commonalities, into ‘friendly adversaries’, who share common ground and mutually acknowl-
edge each other’s legitimacy even though they remain conicting parties (Moue, 205b). For Moue,
conict is not a weakness that should be eliminated, but rather the foundation democracy is built
upon. Therefore, the challenge is to change antagonism into agonism, and enemies into adversaries
(Moue, 2005a).
Following Moue’s theory of the political, we also understand conict as political conict. This
does not mean that conict exclusively revolves around political disagreement. In fact, Moue states
that conict within the dimension of the political can take many forms and emerge in dierent ways.
Political conict should be seen as the act of politicizing in which dierences are made clear. In this
sense, political conict comes in dierent gradations, ranging from disagreement, discomfort,
resistance, and confusion to surprise. Educational conict should be understood as a way to teach
pupils how to experience and engage with these dierent gradations of conict as part of the
antagonism in human relations. The democratic part of liberal democracy enables people to engage
in conict, in a non-escalating and non-violent way. That is why the political should take place at
school and in the classroom, where it can be practiced under the supervision of teachers and be
experienced as an inherent part of living together, which means that the role of the teacher in
educational conict of great importance. The classroom is a literal space where conict can be
practiced and played out, with room for movement, rethinking, mistakes, and the exploration of new
possibilities. This extends the idea of simply ‘agreeing to disagree’, which would be acceptable
within the deliberative conception of democracy through its focus on resolution. Or to formulate it
along the lines of Biesta: agreeing to disagree individualizes democratic learning and allows us to be
uninvolved with others. Alternatively, conict as a felt experience or as collision with others exists
between individuals-in-interaction and through individuals-in-context, and thus is important as part
of learning democracy within a plural and diverse society in which people live together in dierence.
Just as Moue changes antagonism into agonism from a political point of view, we argue from an
educational perspective to change conict into friction. We have two reasons for this perspective.
36 S. LOZANO PARRA ET AL.

First, we argue that friction covers the several gradations mentioned above such as disagreement
and resistance, in order to point out that conict is not something that is dissatisfying or something
pupils can fail at when it remains unsolved. Moreover, educational conict is about accepting that
friction is part of human relations, that it might be there and need not be avoided per se and that
friction can even remain unsolved in the classroom. This friction embodies what it means to be part
of a society that is plural and diverse in several ways. Second, in our view, the concept of friction
denotes the limits to practicing democracy, but nevertheless still keeps open possibilities to
challenge or question these limitations. With Moue, we argue that the political community cannot
function without a certain stability.
In sum, we understand school not as a place, but rather as a playground to practice democracy. In
our view, to practice means to learn what is already there. Or to put it dierently, to practice means to
relate to existing orders; it is, therefore, a socializational act. Alternatively, play has a dierent
connotation. Play always entails certain rules but it also always contains agon. Because of this aspect
of agon, we use play and the playground as suitable concepts for our theoretical framework. It is
important to mention that we do not mean to take conict less seriously by emphasizing play in this
way. Play can be very serious indeed, as we will elaborate on when presenting the component of the
square. Additionally, play should not replace practice: both should be part of learning democracy.
Before presenting the components of our framework of friction, we will end this section by justifying
our use of Huizinga’s (1938/1998) theory of play.
Game theory, and the theory of play
Our research is focused on conict that is part of the political, as explained above. In our search for
a theory of play that could help shape the framework of the playground, we wondered whether
game theory could help us understand conict as an educational concept. Game theory has become
a powerful analytic tool mainly in mathematics, economics, and behavioural sciences, and has
steadily made its entrance into the political arena (McCarty, 2012; Owen, 2013). Scholars have also
used game theory to analyse decision-making in educational policy (see, e.g. Kwok, 2017). In game
theory, a game is played by two or more players in which every player knows and follows the rules of
the game. At the end of each game there is a certain payo, which could be money, prestige, and/or
satisfaction (Owen, 2013). Game theory analyses possible behaviour of people engaged in certain
games to rationally determine strategies (McCarty, 2012). In order to gain the payo at the end of
a game, a player will rationally consider, choose, and use strategies, leading to the ‘best’ outcome of
the game for the player.
In the end, we had three reasons to turn our scope from game theory to a theory of play from
a cultural-historical perspective. First, game theory assumes that agents play, act and choose
rationally. With Moue, we argue that political conict is often not rational and is very much
characterized by emotions. If we want to understand political conict as educational friction, we
have to include the possibility of irrational behaviour in the playground. The assumption of rational
behaviour is at least partly caused by the idea that games include payos and that players use
dierent strategies to achieve them. This brings us to the second reason: learning democracy in
a playground is not aimed at an end point or payo as understood by game theorists. As Biesta
states, ‘learning democracy is an ongoing experience’ (G.J.J. Biesta, 2011, p. 6), that extends educa-
tion. Therefore, learning democracy should be explicitly open ended. You could say that its payo is
learning how to live together in a diverse and plural society. However, we feel that this type of ‘pay-
o’ does not t the grammar of ‘gaining’ or applying ‘the right strategy’ to get to the ‘payo’. This
brings us to the third and nal reason for choosing Huizinga’s cultural-historical concept of play: to
further explore the playground in which political conict can be understood as educational friction,
we searched for a conception of play that educational psychologist Karen Vanderven (2004) calls
‘play as meaning’. In this sense, play is understood not as a rational game with a theoretical aim to
grasp possible strategies, but as enabling humans ‘to make sense of their world’ (Vanderven, 2004).
JOURNAL OF CURRICULUM STUDIES 37

Play as meaning ‘enables both the expression of feelings and emotions as well as acquiring better
understanding of own’s feelings and those of others’ (Vanderven, 2004, p. 179). In his foreword to
Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play-Element in Culture, Huizinga claries that he studied play as ‘a
cultural phenomenon’ with signicant social functions for humans living together (Huizinga, 1938/
1998, p. 4). Because of Huizinga’s focus on play as a cultural phenomenon, and the impact of play for
the sensemaking of agents that continues after and outside play, we use his theory to build our
framework.
We will now present the three individual components of our framework, starting with the triangle
of conict which explains what conict actually entails. To clarify the signicance of our theoretical
framework, we will use the following event that occurred in a Dutch secondary classroom. At age
fourteen, Mehmet and Peter
1
became friends as they went through primary school together. They
played football together and lived in the same town. They applied for the same secondary school
and ended up in the same class together under the supervision of teacher Ms. Baker. In the rst week,
Ms. Baker asked every pupil to prepare a personal pitch for their classmates. Mehmet used it to tell
the class about his two older brothers, his parents, and his love of football. He then told his
classmates about his religion, and stated: ‘me and my family are Muslims, and everyone who is
not a Muslim is empty’. Peter was surprised and confused by his friend’s statement. Peter is not
religious and thought: ‘does this mean that I am an empty person?’ Ms. Baker felt the tension in the
classroom caused by this statement and saw the somewhat confused expression on Peter’s face. She
decided to interrupt. Before revealing what subsequently happened, we will use this event to explain
Figure 1. Theoretical framework to understand political conflict as educational friction in the classroom.
38 S. LOZANO PARRA ET AL.

the approach through our framework of friction, starting with the rst component, the triangle. (see
gure 1)
The triangle of friction
In 1981, Chris Mitchell presented a triangle model for conict which has become a standard in the
eld of conict studies (Demmers, 2017). For Mitchell, conict is ‘any situation in which two or more
“parties” (however dened or structured) perceive that they possess mutually incompatible goals’
(Mitchell as quoted by Demmers, 2017, p. 17). The rst part of a conict consists of a perception of
incompatibility, i.e. actors or groups perceive or feel that their objective or objectives are blocked by
another group that attempts to reach its own goal. Demmers explains that goals are ‘dened as
consciously desired future outcomes, conditions or end states, which often have intrinsic but
dierent values for member of particular parties’ (Demmers, 2017, p. 6). The second part of
a conict is conict behaviour: the actions that are undertaken by an individual or group in any
situation aimed at the opponent with the intention to let the opponent abandon or modify its goals
(Mitchell, 1981, p. 29). The third part of a conict encompasses conict attitudes: psychological states,
emotions and attitudes as well as patterns of conception and misconception that arise from
entanglement in a situation of conict (Mitchell, 1981 p. 27). Additionally, Mitchell acknowledges
a dierence between attitudes with emotional orientations, such as anger, envy or fear, and attitudes
caused by cognitive processes, such as stereotyping or tunnel vision.
The starting point of this triangle of friction is Mitchell’s notion of the perceived incompatibility
of certain goals. This incompatibility is neither something that should be solved, nor a collision
that needs to be avoided. Incompatibility for educational friction enables us to understand the
behaviour and attitudes pupils express and question why their goals are perceived as incompa-
tible. It is the task of the teacher to pinpoint and address the frictional behaviours and attitudes
that are on display and teach pupils to recognize them. So, if a pupil shows anger or uses
stereotyping, this frictional behaviour should be made part of the frictional conversation, or at
least not dismissed as emotions that are ‘not constructive’ in search for a solution. The focus on
understanding through the incorporation of frictional attitudes and behaviour is consistent with
what Moue calls ‘passions’, which she conceptualizes as collectively felt emotions concerning
political wants and needs. Acknowledging these passions in the classroom entails an acceptance of
the fact that possible irrational attitudes or behaviour are not easy, but nevertheless constitute
a legitimate part of classroom friction. In contrast to the rational character of the deliberative
model, Moue emphasizes the importance of passions. She argues that these passions have been
pushed back with ‘the advance of individualism and the progress of rationality’ (Moue, 2005b).
Instead, passions as collective and shared emotions that at least partly shape the antagonism that
is inherent in human relations should be incorporated ‘towards the democratic design’ (Moue,
2005a, p. 103).
If we return to what happened in Ms. Baker’s classroom, there is a perceived incompatibility
between Mehmet’s point about the emptiness of non-Muslims and the question that is triggered in
Peter’s head: could his friend’s statement mean that he in fact is an empty person? Ms. Baker and her
pupils could engage in this event by starting a frictional conversation to unravel the behaviour and
attitudes that are shown. For example, Ms. Baker could ask Mehmet to explain what he means. She
could also ask Peter how he feels about Mehmet’s statement, and ask Mehmet what he thinks when
confronted with his friend confusion and emotions. Ms. Baker could also choose to ask if the other
Muslim pupils in the classroom feel the same as Mehmet does. In sum, the component of the triangle
in the playground urges individuals to engage in the friction caused, using the three parts of the
triangle to shape further educational actions, possibly leading to clarifying questions or giving pupils
a certain task. For Mitchell, conict revolves around the perception of the incompatibility of certain
goals. This is a very rational explanation of the reason for a conict. The perception of incompatibility
is caused by colliding interpretations and constructed narratives that people have of reality, that are
JOURNAL OF CURRICULUM STUDIES 39

verbalized and constitute the actual conict between them (Van Liere, 2014). Mitchell does not
incorporate this narrative aspect. However, from an educational perspective it could be argued that,
as constructions of reality, narratives determine human interaction that results from, could lead to, or
is part of conict. As such, narratives should be an intrinsic part of the theoretical framework
proposed in this article.
The circle of narrativity
Research on narrativity has become well established among psychologists, anthropologists, and
feminist scholars (De Groot, 2013). Both in conict studies and in education, narrativity is widely
acknowledged as important (for conict studies, see e.g., Little, 2007; Rahal, 2012; for education, see
e.g.: De Groot, 2013; Goodson et al., 2013). Communication scholar Fisher (1984, p. 79) coined the
term homo narrans in 1984 to describe the need of people to understand their complex surround-
ings by constructing, telling, and listening to stories. Vanderven states that ‘meaning is commu-
nicated through narratives that serve to organize experience’ (Vanderven, 2004, p. 179). Or as Denzin
and Lincoln put it, the world is known ‘through the stories that are told about it’ (Denzin & Lincoln,
2005, p. 641). According to Lucien van Liere, who studies religion in contexts of violent conict, the
attention to narrativity as a useful tool in learning processes is based on the idea that narratives are
understood as a source of information about the subject studied and as a possible instrument to
integrate the object into a cognitive learning process. As such, Van Liere (2014) understands
narrativity as a sense-making mechanism that has the ability to broaden one’s position, but also
helps teachers and students to understand how this narrative position is part of historical, cultural,
and religious presumptions which can be refocused, redirected, and reinterpreted (see also: Clark,
2010, p. 5; Goodson & Gill, 2011, p. 120). This ability of increasing understanding through the
frictional exchange of micro-narratives is the reason why narrative learning is the second component
of the playground.
Narrativity connects to Moue’s idea about democracy and conict in at least two ways. First, as
Van Liere argues, narratives do not take place on the cognitive level alone. Mitchell rationalizes
conict by stating that it is caused by perceiving incompatibility of certain goals. This might be the
case, but this incompatibility is something that is felt and verbalized by the agents. Narratives are
rooted in dierent dimensions of emotion, sometimes touching upon intense feelings (Van Liere,
2014). Or to speak with Moue, passions are part of narratives that make them come alive through
the dierent levels of friction in which these passions are articulated. This is also mentioned when
Van Liere explains how narratives are not isolated activities: people live in a ‘story-shaped world’ in
which narratives are all around:
‘in gossip and riddles, soaps and news reports, on YouTube and blogs, small talks and pep-talks. (. . .) Grief, anger,
disappointment, happiness, commitment and compassion are all specic elements that need to be told (. . .). By
telling stories (. . .) we relate to what is important for us to be. It is by “feeling” for example, grief within a narrative
and linking with one’s own that makes a story becomes alive’ (Van Liere, 2014, p. 159).
Moue states that the challenge for democracy lies not in excluding passions, but rather in nding
ways to channel them into the democratic realm. The circle of narrativity enables pupils to channel
passions. Furthermore, this part of the playground enables practice with the articulation of pupils’
passions in a classroom in which dierent narratives could possibly cause friction. Hence, by
articulating their own stories and listening to those of others, pupils learn that they are part of
a society with dierent stories and dierent forms of frictions.
Narrativity not only connects to passions but also to power relations. For Van Liere (2014, p. 159,
160), sharing narratives is not a purely autonomous activity as it is embedded in social, cultural, and
often moral modes of storytelling. This is related to the narrating subject as an agent. As such,
a narrative always contains an ‘agenda’ which ‘arms, conrms, rearms and denies certain aspects
as belonging to my “identity” or my “core-narrative”’ (Van Liere, 2014, p. 160). So, by constructing
40 S. LOZANO PARRA ET AL.

a narrative, individuals are making sense of themselves and the world around them (Clark, 2010). At
the same time, narratives will always be congured to social, cultural or religious normativities that
are historically situated. Or as Van Liere (2014, p. 162) puts it: ‘What stories are told and how stories
are told is determined by structures of power that demand stories to be told in such a way that they
become understandable and bearable as part of a (. . .) historical continuum’.
If we accept that relations of power are constitutive of the social, the main question is not how to
eliminate power. Instead, the focus should be on how to constitute forms of power that make
negotiation and recreation possible. For Moue, consensus in a liberal-democratic society ‘is—and
always will be—the expression of a hegemony and a crystallization of power relations’ (Moue,
2005a, p. 49). By making narrativity part of the playground, pupils are encouraged to explore how
their stories and those of others are embedded in dierent contexts, and how power relations cause
one story to be favoured or outstripped by another, eecting the friction they experience in hearing
the stories of others. Moreover, to really listen where stories come from and understand which
assumptions, experiences, or values the stories are embedded in. Hence, we would emphasize the
importance of the circle as the component in which friction is enclosed.
This may sound as a complex and challenging task to execute in practice. Of course, to contribute
to the process of learning democracy of pupils and manage friction in an educational way is not easy.
Nevertheless, a small interruption, question, or task can be sucient to facilitate the sharing of
narratives to understand the friction in the playground. For Ms. Baker, the challenge lies in using
Mehmet’s pitch and statement in such a way that her pupils exchange their stories. She could ask
Mehmet to tell his classmates how his religion is part of his daily life. She could also ask Mehmet to sit
down and ask all students to write about the place of religion in their lives and what they like or
dislike about it. Non-religious pupils such as Peter she could ask to write about what religion is in
their view, and how they handle these topics as non-believers. Another strategy would be for Ms.
Baker to show how Mehmet’s religion is a signicant part of dierent news items, and how it is
presented within these stories by showing some examples from news channels, YouTube, or social
media, and compare these dierent ways of presenting stories. A more complex strategy could be to
stoke up the friction further by stating that some non-believers think religious people are ‘empty’,
and therefore choose to believe in something that cannot be proven. If this approach makes Ms.
Baker uncomfortable, she can, for example, show a clip of a provocative atheist to re up the
conversation. In this way she would bring the outside world into the classroom, which could lead
to a more intense level of friction. However, this begs a question about the game rules of such
friction. For example, you could question to what extent Ms. Baker should enlarge the friction, or
whether a pupil such as Mehmet should be allowed to make such a statement. And if so, how should
the teacher respond? Should Mehmet be cast out of the classroom and be reprimanded in private, or
should he be made an example of in front of the classroom? Should his statement be ignored by
quickly changing the subject, or should Ms. Baker end the revolving discussion by stating that some
things cannot be said in the classroom? To explore the limitations of this playground, we will now
use Huizinga’s reections and turn to the square of play.
The square of play
According to Huizinga, the rst and foremost important aspect of play is that it is a free act. It
contains a ‘quality of freedom’, ‘[play] is in fact freedom’ (Huizinga, 1938/1998, p. 8). Huizinga sets
play apart from ‘real life’. To play means to step out of real life ‘into a temporary sphere of activity
with a disposition all of its own’ (Huizinga, 1938/1998, p. 8). Play interpolates itself as an activity in
itself. Therefore, it should be seen as an intermezzo or interlude within daily life. However, it is also
a regularly recurring activity and as such an integral part of our daily lives. Play has a cultural and
social function for both the individual and society (Huizinga, 1938/1998).
The third element of play is closely connected with the idea of play as an interlude, namely its
limitedness and thus its ability to create a certain order. Play appears within a certain time and space:
JOURNAL OF CURRICULUM STUDIES 41

‘it contains its own course and meaning (. . .) begins, and then at a certain moment its “over”’
(Huizinga, 1938/1998, p. 9). Play is always ‘performed within a playground that is literally “staked-
out” (. . .) a temporarily real world of its own’ (Huizinga, 1938/1998, p. 14). Additionally, Huizinga
mentions the ability of play to be repeated at any time. With the end of the play its eect is not lost,
rather it continues to ‘shed its radiance on the ordinary world outside, a wholesome inuence
working security, order and prosperity for the whole community’ (Huizinga, 1938/1998, p. 77).
Moreover, Huizinga, 1938/1998, p. 10) nds the limitation of space even more striking and mentions
the idea of the playground: ‘[all play] moves and has its being within a playground marked o
beforehand either materially or ideally, deliberately or as a matter of course.’
The last important elements are tensions and uncertainty. In play, there is always something at
stake, or at-play. ‘Play is tense, as we say’ (Huizinga, 1938/1998, p. 11). As is the case in Moue’s
democratic theory, Huizinga mentions the concept of agon, which he classies as an essential part of
the play concept. In his view, agon as tension, strife, or contest, is an inherent part of play, precisely
because something is at play. There is something to be won. This does not extend to what game
theorists call the payo. To put it more strongly, in his reections on the rst decades of the
twentieth century, Huizinga observed a growing emphasis on winning, causing play to become
more and more serious. He states that rules have become strict and elaborate, while records and
rankings gained more and more importance, causing a shift towards ‘seriousness and over-
seriousness’, in which ‘something of the pure play-quality is inevitably lost’ (Huizinga, 1938/1998,
p. 197). For Huizinga, play revolves less around the nalization of a victory, and more about the play
being played: ‘like all other forms of play, the contest is largely devoid of purpose. That is to say, the
action begins and ends in itself. The popular Dutch saying to the eect that “it is not the marbles that
matter, but the game”, expresses this clearly enough’ (Huizinga, 1938/1998, p. 49).
As already mentioned, all play has its rules according to Huizinga. However, some people try to
change or undermine the rules. Huizinga makes a distinction between the ‘spoilsport’ and ‘the
cheat’. The latter still “pretends to play the game, and on the face of it, still acknowledges the play
(Huizinga, 1938/1998, p. 11). Additionally, Huizinga mentions how in dierent myths and fables
through history, moral judgement is often in favour of the cheat who wins by using his wit and tricks.
The spoil-sport shatters the play-world:
‘by withdrawing from the game, he reveals the relativity and fragility of the play-world in which he had
temporarily shut himself with others. He robs play of its illusion, a pregnant word which means literally “in-
play” (. . .). Therefore, he must be cast out, for he threatens the existence of the play-community’. (Huizinga, 1938/
1998, p. 11)
Huizinga mentions that consequently the spoilsports often make their own communities with rules
of their own, thereby becoming ‘outlaws’ or ‘revolutionaries’ (Huizinga, 1938/1998, p. 12).
When applied to the school as a playground to practice democracy, learning democracy can be
understood as a voluntary act, or as freedom. Furthermore, learning democracy in a playground can
be seen as an interlude because it is an ongoing experiment that extends education. Huizinga’s
characterization of play as interlude connects to the aspect of civic learning as subjectication,
exactly because a school is a place which focuses on a process of learning, which implicates room for
orientation, adjustment, and error. The concept of play as interlude also applies to interventions in
the lesson aimed at making pupils focus on a certain topic that came up during class, as is the case in
our example. Huizinga refers to this element of play as ‘a world on its own’ and as a phenomenon
that is literally ‘staked-out’, because it can begin and end at any time. More importantly, Huizinga
mentions that the end of play does not mean its eect gets lost. On the contrary, it continues to ‘shed
its radiance on the world outside’, in this case not only extending from the classroom to the school as
a playground, but also beyond the playground and in the world outside. So, in light of Huizinga’s idea
of play, how the event in the classroom of Ms. Baker was played-out will aect the pupils in their lives
‘after school’.
42 S. LOZANO PARRA ET AL.

This is also the case because tension and uncertainty are part of the playground, because there is
something at stake, or at-play. Just like Moue classies agon as an inherent part of democracy,
Huizinga states that agon is an inherent part of play. So, we would rst like to acknowledge the fact
that tension and uncertainty are an inherent part of the playground, and thus of education. Teachers
who are confronted with friction, when pupils make highly sensitive and possible hurtful or
discriminating statements for instance, may nd themselves in such a highly tense and uncertain
moment. Second, by reecting upon those who undermine the rules of play, Huizinga provides us
with a theory to explore the limitations of the playground to answer Ms. Baker’s questions after she
heard Mehmet’s statement. Huizinga makes a distinction between cheats that still acknowledge the
playground, and spoilsports who break the rules and threatens the play-community, sometimes
leaving the playground to make their own community. From the perspective of Huizinga, the cheat
remains part of the playground, even when his practice appears on its borders and challenges its
limitations by balancing or even overstepping the borders. Nevertheless, as a player in the play-
ground the cheat can be called upon or reprimanded as part of the play. In other words, the teacher
still puts down the boundaries, and acts as an agent that is actively part of the play that is unfolding
within those boundaries. In our view, the cheat can also be a critical voice that challenges the status-
quo by bending the rules or showing aws in the limitations by using wits and tricks. According to
Huizinga, the spoilsport, by breaking out of the square of play, should be sent away and excluded
from the playground. However, from an educational perspective that aims to turn political conict
into educational friction, this should not happen to the spoilsport. In our view, exactly because of
Huizinga’s claim that spoilsports that leave the playground often make their own communities, it is
educationally important to keep them in. By dismissing a pupil because of his harsh statement while
practicing democracy is to say that this is not the playground in which he or she belongs, and thus
that his or her opinion has no place in a democracy in which opinions are respected and played-out,
at the risk of making the pupil an outcast. From an educational perspective, learning democracy
encompasses friction that comes with plurality and diversity. Hence, with regard to the spoilsport
breaking or overstepping the limitations of the playground, we still need to be to understanding and
involve the pupil. If the aim is to understand the school as a playground to practice democracy, as
advocated by the new curriculum, researchers, and experts, the one rule would be for teachers to
allow what Huizinga calls the ‘elasticity of human relationships’ within the classroom (Huizinga,
1938/1998, p. 207).
From the perspective of friction, Ms. Baker should not ignore, blur, or gloss over Mehmet’s
statement. Moreover, she should not dismiss him out of class because of his statement. The question
would be if Mehmet is a spoilsport or a cheat within her limitations. She could answer this question
by turning back to the triangle and circle of the playground, creating an interlude in which she
enables the pupils to practice with the friction that is felt. This way, she can clarify the perceived
incompatibility, attitudes and behaviour, and telling each other their stories to understand in what
narratives this friction is rooted. Either way, if the aim for pupils is to learn democracy, she should not
ignore or overstep this friction. Ignoring such a frictional statement, or settling the matter by
‘agreeing to disagree’ is a missed opportunity to learn democracy. Not dismissing the spoilsport in
a moment of educational friction and turning this moment into a democratic interlude in which all
pupils can be engaged, is an example of what learning democracy through friction can be.
Conclusion
This is what actually did happen in Ms. Baker’s classroom. After Mehmet’s statement, she asked
him: ‘Now Mehmet, you do not mean that non-Muslims are empty people, but that they have no
religion, right?’ Mehmet, still in front of the class, looked at his teacher and said: ‘No, I mean that
they are empty.’ Ms. Baker, now also confused and caught by surprise, asked his classmates to
applaud him and Mehmet to return to his seat. Enthusiastically, she announced the next pupil and
asked her to come forward. Mehmet and Peter never spoke again about this event. Neither in class,
JOURNAL OF CURRICULUM STUDIES 43

nor in the days after. Mehmet did not know that his friend was aected by his statement. Peter
told his parents he was angry and felt misunderstood and he did not know how or when to talk to
his friend about this. After months, slowly but surely, the two friends grew apart. This seems
a slightly dramatic end to a rather small event, a friendship ending as a consequence of a short
sentence. Maybe the reason Mehmet and Peter grew apart had to do with developments every-
body goes through during puberty: shifting interests, meeting new people, changing values,
dierent hobbies after school. Nevertheless, the example does clarify a missed opportunity for
mutual understanding between two friends, but also between citizens within a plural and diverse
society, and the pivotal importance of teachers’ role in turning political conict into educational
friction.
Education should incorporate consensus and integration into existing orders and civic learning
as socialization. Nonetheless, we argue that the current emphasis on citizenship as consensus, and
conict as something that needs to be resolved does not do justice to democratic learning, and
fails to formulate civic learning as subjectication. This paper explored how political conict, as an
important part of democracy, can contribute to subjectication as civic learning, and to under-
stand it as educational friction. By referring to friction, we pinpointed the dierent levels of conict
that can appear within an educational context. By using theories about conict, narrativity, and
culture, we explored how conict can be educational and constructed a theoretical framework that
might help teachers identify and supervise friction in their educational practice. The visualization
of friction as a triangle helps to understand the three aspects of friction to identify when friction
appears in the classroom: which goals are perceived as incompatible, what kind of attitudes are
shown, and which behaviour needs to be addressed. Then, the component of the circle, in which
the triangle is embedded, should trigger the teachers to shed light on the pupils’ narratives, in
which the friction is verbalized. The square is the visualization of the limits of the classroom and
the friction that takes place. Handling friction in the classroom is a challenge that requires great
knowledge and teacher professionalism. The aim of this paper was not to determine the bound-
aries, but to help teachers understand their own limitations, and construct a framework that
contributes to further professionalization of teachers regarding conict in the classroom, and
turn it into educational friction.
Furthermore, this paper aimed to theoretically contribute to the shift from teaching citizenship to
learning democracy. By using Huizinga’s work, we explored the value of the concept of play for civic
learning as subjectication. In our view, play as a cultural phenomenon that always contains a certain
agon further claries what subjectication as civic learning encompasses. As Huizinga states, it is
a voluntary act, or freedom, which happens as an interlude and can be frustrated by individuals who
do not play by the rules. From an educational point of view, learning democracy as subjectication
means allowing pupils to talk freely when friction appears, by taking the time and creating an
interlude. Biesta justly states that the school is only one place to learn democracy. Nevertheless, it is in
the classroom and the playground where democracy is learned under the supervision of teachers.
These pupils will grow up one day and become adults. If we do not take political conict into
consideration and treat it as educational friction, we silence pupils, forcing them through the focus
on the dissolvement of dierence to ultimately having the same ideas and opinions, instead of
inviting them to open up and formulate their own views and beliefs. This would result in the
impossibility of the school as a playground to practice democracy. Surely, this will cause tense
conversations and tasks of which the outcomes are uncertain. It would lead to pupils which will
challenge their teachers’ limitations and act as cheats or spoilsports. If the school is a place in which
democracy should be practiced, we as educators should embrace this agon in such a way that pupils
begin to learn how to deal with dierence by understanding it, in the hope that these frictions at
school are the rst of many plays and practices which they will nd themselves confronted with
when they ultimately leave this playground for another one.
44 S. LOZANO PARRA ET AL.

Note
1. The names of the individuals involved are feigned for privacy considerations.
Disclosure statement
No potential conict of interest was reported by the authors.
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