SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR

AN ETHNOGRAPHIC EVALUATION OF AN AUSTRALIAN TRANSNATIONAL

EDUCATION PROGRAM

Lynnel Hoare

Submitted in total fulfillment of the requirements of the degree of Doctor of

Philosophy

March 2006

Faculty of Education
The University of Melbourne
Abstract

The multicultural classroom is a phenomenon now found in most countries. As a result of

globalisation and the burgeoning transnational education market, university classrooms
that span national borders are now commonplace. Within these classrooms the cultures
of both the delivering and receiving countries converge, resulting in the creation of a new
and complex cultural territory that is often unfamiliar to educators and students alike.
Australia has been a key provider of transnational education in the South East Asian
region, however little research has investigated the interplay of culture and pedagogy
within Australian transnational programs, despite the cultural distance which exists
between Australia and its Asian neighbours. This is surprising given the importance of
transnational provision to both the Australian economy and the internationalisation
agenda of Australian universities. The unfamiliar cultural territory found within these
transnational programs places high demands on educators and students, yet the impact
of exposure to cultural difference and culture learning seems rarely considered in the
development and delivery of such programs. This thesis examines one transnational
program that was delivered in Singapore by an Australian university. An ethnographic
methodology is employed, applying a ‘cultural lens’ to an analysis of the program. The
author provides background information on the Australian and Singaporean education
systems and reviews a range of previous research which focuses on culture and
pedagogy in the region. Interviews and classroom observations reveal educator and
student experiences of the program. The author concludes that cultural phenomena have
a profound impact on participants’ experiences of transnational education programs and
that this is substantially unrecognised by key actors in the process. Recommendations
are made for changes in practice that could be incorporated in transnational programs in
order to ameliorate negative impacts of cultural difference.

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Declaration

This is to certify that

(i) the thesis comprises only my original work towards the PhD

(ii) due acknowledgement has been made in the text to all other material
used
(iii) the thesis is less than 100,000 words in length, exclusive of tables,
maps, bibliographies and appendices.

Lynnel Hoare

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 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
‘Significantly, if we travel far enough West, we find ourselves in the East’ (Bond, 1994)

The author would like to express her indebtedness to a large cohort of research subjects,
university staff, friends, and family. The Singaporean respondents became my ‘kaki’s’
(friends, confidants) and gave with extraordinary generosity of their limited time for
‘makan’ and ‘kong sar kong si’ (eating and chatting). The university lecturers were
similarly generous and also brave: brave enough to allow a hitherto unknown person to
come into their classrooms and observe, with the potential to make judgement on their
pedagogy, at a time when they were under significant pressure. This they did willingly,
openly and within a genuine community of practice.

The remaining friends I have in Melbourne have been accepting of the numerous times I
have had to decline their invitations because I was ‘working on the thesis’. I thank them
for their forbearance and support.

Special mention must be made of Professor Low Guat Tin of the National Institute of
Education, Singapore. Professor Low’s formal role was that of ‘field supervisor’ during my
student exchange. However, informally, she was more than that: friend, mentor, real
estate agent, and nurse. She went so much further than her job ever required and without
her this work would certainly not have been completed.

My primary supervisor, Dr Irene Donohoue-Clyne, has been my academic supervisor has

been insightful, supportive, realistic, and caring. I am indebted to her in so many ways.
Well past her own retirement, when she should have been tinkering with genealogical
research rather than reading my chapters, Irene persevered. Again, without her, these
pages would not be written and I can not thank her enough.

Finally my partner Jon; who has renovated an entire house in the time it has taken me to
write this thesis – with little or no help from me. He has been patient, supportive, and
encouraging, rarely complaining about the thesis despite the fact that I was physically
absent for six months and mentally absent much of the time. I don’t know what I ever did
to deserve Jon, but I am grateful for whatever it was.

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 TABLE OF CONTENTS
ABSTRACT ...........................................................................................................I
DECLARATION....................................................................................................II
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS....................................................................................III
ABBREVIATIONS ............................................................................................. VII
GLOSSARY....................................................................................................... VII
CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTION ......................................................................1
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE RESEARCH CONTEXT .....................................................1
RESEARCH AIMS AND QUESTIONS ..........................................................................2
SIGNIFICANCE OF THE STUDY ................................................................................2
INTRODUCTION TO THE RESEARCH SITES ................................................................4
THE RESEARCHER’S PERSPECTIVE ........................................................................5
OVERVIEW OF THE THESIS ....................................................................................6
CHAPTER TWO: AUSTRALIAN TRANSNATIONAL EDUCATION ON THE
GLOBAL STAGE .................................................................................................7
INTRODUCTION ....................................................................................................7
GLOBALISATION, INTERNATIONALISATION AND EDUCATION .......................................7
THE EVOLUTION OF TRANSNATIONAL EDUCATION PROVISION IN AUSTRALIA .............12
THE HIGHER EDUCATION SYSTEM IN AUSTRALIA ....................................................16
AUSTRALIA’S PROVISION OF TRANSNATIONAL EDUCATION ......................................17
QUALITY ASSURANCE .........................................................................................22
CHAPTER CONCLUSION.......................................................................................27
CHAPTER THREE: THE SINGAPOREAN CONTEXT.......................................27
INTRODUCTION ..................................................................................................27
INFLUENCES ON SINGAPORE’S CULTURE ..............................................................28
PEOPLES’ ACTION PARTY (PAP) GOVERNMENT ...................................................29
EXTERNAL DEPENDENCY ....................................................................................36
ENVIRONMENTAL CROSS FERTILISATION ...............................................................36
GLOBAL COMPETITION ........................................................................................37
MIGRANT STOCK ................................................................................................39
THE SINGAPOREAN EDUCATION SYSTEM ..............................................................48
SINGAPORE AS A PURCHASER AND PROVIDER OF TRANSNATIONAL EDUCATION ........59
CHAPTER CONCLUSION.......................................................................................62
CHAPTER FOUR: METHODOLOGY .................................................................64
INTRODUCTION ..................................................................................................64
RATIONALE FOR SELECTION OF INTERPRETIVE METHODOLOGY ...............................64
ELEMENTS OF ETHNOGRAPHY .............................................................................65
ETHNOGRAPHIC EVALUATION – A CONTRADICTION IN TERMS? ................................69
CROSSING CULTURES AND DEFINING A WORLD VIEW: THE RESEARCHER’S
INTELLECTUAL AUTOBIOGRAPHY ..........................................................................70
OUTSIDERS VERSUS INSIDERS: FINDING COMMON GROUND AND NEGOTIATING ACCESS
........................................................................................................................72
SAMPLING .........................................................................................................74

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 DATA COLLECTION METHODS ..............................................................................83
ANALYSIS AND REPORTING ..................................................................................88
ETHICS, QUANDARIES, AND LIMITATIONS ...............................................................90
CHAPTER CONCLUSION.......................................................................................93
CHAPTER FIVE: CULTURE AND PEDAGOGY ................................................94
INTRODUCTION ..................................................................................................94
THE EAST-WEST DICHOTOMY .............................................................................95
CONCEPTUALISING CULTURE, RACE AND ETHNICITY ..............................................97
THE FOUNDATIONAL ROLE OF INTERCULTURAL THEORY .........................................98
CULTURE GENERAL (ECOLOGICAL) CLASSIFICATIONS .............................................98
CULTURE-SPECIFIC CLASSIFICATIONS ................................................................113
‘ASIAN’ PEDAGOGIES: ‘WESTERN’ RESPONSES....................................................123
CHAPTER CONCLUSION.....................................................................................134
CHAPTER SIX: DATA FROM LECTURER INTERVIEWS...............................136
INTRODUCTION ................................................................................................136
NORMATIVE EXPERIENCES AND EXPECTATIONS ...................................................137
EPISTEMIC BELIEFS ..........................................................................................149
PEDAGOGY......................................................................................................155
LEARNING A NEW GAME: LECTURERS AS SOJOURNERS LEARNING CULTURE ...........167
CHAPTER CONCLUSION.....................................................................................172
CHAPTER SEVEN: DATA FROM STUDENT INTERVIEWS...........................174
INTRODUCTION ................................................................................................174
NORMATIVE EXPERIENCES AND EXPECTATIONS ...................................................174
EPISTEMIC BELIEFS ..........................................................................................186
PEDAGOGY......................................................................................................190
NEGOTIATING NEW TERRAIN: STUDENT SUGGESTIONS FOR LECTURERS ................206
CHAPTER CONCLUSION.....................................................................................210
CHAPTER EIGHT: OBSERVATIONS; A THIRD PERSPECTIVE ...................211
INTRODUCTION ................................................................................................211
ELEMENTS OF LESSON STRUCTURE ...................................................................211
DISCUSSION: LESSON STRUCTURE .....................................................................217
GROUP DYNAMICS ............................................................................................217
DISCUSSION: GROUP DYNAMICS ........................................................................231
LANGUAGE AND TERMINOLOGY ..........................................................................232
APPLICATION OF LEARNING ...............................................................................234
PROGRAM COHESIVENESS ................................................................................234
ASSESSMENT ..................................................................................................235
CULTURAL SENSITIVITY AND ADJUSTMENT ..........................................................236
CHAPTER CONCLUSION.....................................................................................239
CHAPTER NINE: FINDINGS, RECOMMENDATIONS AND CONCLUSION...240
INTRODUCTION ................................................................................................240
AUSTRALIAN TRANSNATIONAL EDUCATION: A PIONEER CONDEMNED?....................240
STAFF DEVELOPMENT FOR TRANSNATIONAL TEACHING ........................................247
SIGNIFICANCE AND LIMITATIONS ........................................................................262
RECOMMENDATIONS FOR FURTHER RESEARCH ...................................................263
CONCLUSION ...................................................................................................264

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LIST OF REFERENCES.......................................................................................1
APPENDICES...................................................................................................289
ATTACHMENT A: PLAIN LANGUAGE STATEMENT - LECTURERS .............................289
ATTACHMENT B: PLAIN LANGUAGE STATEMENT- STUDENTS ................................290
ATTACHMENT C: INVITATION LETTER .................................................................291
ATTACHMENT D: STUDENT QUESTIONNAIRE .......................................................292
ATTACHMENT E: STUDENT FOLLOW-UP LETTER .................................................293
ATTACHMENT F: STUDENT INTERVIEW SCHEDULE ..............................................294
ATTACHMENT G: LECTURER INTERVIEW SCHEDULE ............................................296
ATTACHMENT H: SUBJECTS IN THE BACHELOR OF EDUCATION (HUMAN RESOURCE
DEVELOPMENT) PROGRAM ................................................................................297

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ABBREVIATIONS
AEI Australian Education International

ASEAN Association of South East Asian Nations

AUQA Australian Universities Quality Agency

AVCC Australian Vice Chancellors’ Committee

BET Bachelor of Education and Training

HRD Human Resource Development

IDP IDP is an Australian company that is a broker of Australian

transnational education and is owned by Australian universities. The
three-letter-acronym ‘IDP’ was originally a shortened form of
‘International Development Program’.

NIE National Institute of Education, Singapore.

NTU Nanyang Technological University, Singapore

NUS National University of Singapore|

OECD Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development

OHT Overhead Transparency

SIM Singapore Institute of Management

UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization

GLOSSARY
‘The Centre’ ‘The Centre’ is the de-identified title given to the centre within
the study site university in order to preserve anonymity.

‘The University’ ‘The University’ is the de-identified title given to the Australian
university which is the main site of this research.

All proper names used in this thesis are pseudonyms.

The masculine pronoun is used throughout this thesis in an attempt to preserve

anonymity within a relatively small respondent field.

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Chapter One: Introduction
An introduction to the research context
Education is a means to an end. The question is not should education be
instrumental. It is instrumental, and always has been…because it inevitably
reflects the consensus view about society…It is principally an agent of
conservation. It strengthens the civilization it serves, and nurtures the
dominant culture of which it is part. (Hulmes, 1989:18)

The context for Hulmes’ citation (above) was education in multicultural Britain. His
observations about the role of education in sustaining culture, and his proposal that
education has an instrumental purpose, are particularly relevant to this thesis, which
considers these issues within the global multicultural classroom.

The multicultural classroom about which Hulmes writes is now a phenomenon that could
be found in almost every country in the world. However another type of multicultural
classroom has since emerged: that in which the learners are located in a country that is
different from the one in which the teachers and awarding institution are based (see
McBurnie and Zigarus, 2001:86). These classrooms, by their very nature, do not ‘belong’
to any one nation; they are a cultural amalgam. Australia is currently a major provider of
this type of transnational education in the Asian region. If we take Hulmes’ conclusions
(above) at face value and apply them to transnational education, our consideration will
beg questions such as: which civilisation does an educational program serve; which
culture is dominant; what are the impacts of the answers to those questions; and what do
people from different cultural backgrounds actually seek when they enrol in an education
program provided by another country? All too often it seems that the answers to these
questions are assumed or not even considered at all.

Perhaps these questions have been considered and there are veiled agendas in
transnational provision, or perhaps the main agenda is less covert; merely overtly
economic. Certainly transnational education is not new; however the situation wherein the
selling of education across borders becomes a major source of a country’s income and a
significant factor in the viability of public universities is relatively recent. Whilst there is a
growing evidence of critique and analysis of the motivations behind the provision of this
‘service’, research that considers the outcomes remains relatively scant; in particular
research pertaining to the impact of culture on transnational provision. This study aims to
partially redress this oversight: to consider one transnational program from a cross-
cultural perspective. It aims, to paraphrase Merriam and Mohamad (2000), to apply a

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‘cultural lens’ to evaluation of a transnational education program, in the hope that the
nature of adult learning in a cross-cultural environment might be described in greater
depth, as well as to shed light on the crucial issue of effective and culturally sensitive
delivery of transnational programs.

Research aims and questions

This study was commenced assuming that the cultural values of both the country
providing a transnational program and those of the receiving country would affect the
program’s delivery and outcomes. If this were true, it seemed likely that the outcome of
such cross cultural amalgamations would constitute a greatly different cultural space from
that of the receiving or provider countries. This new ‘common ground’ could be expected
to be culturally unfamiliar to those charged with the design and delivery of the education
program, as well as to its recipients. Thus it seemed to the author to be important to ask
to what extent was culture considered in the establishment, delivery, and evaluation of
transnational programs?

It was assumed that cultural phenomena would have a profound impact on participants’
experiences of transnational education programs and that this factor would be
substantially unrecognised by key actors in the process. This thesis therefore sets out to
confirm or disabuse the author of that belief and, presuming that the hypothesis were
proven to be even partially correct, to consider the following core questions:

• How might cross-cultural dynamics affect teaching and learning in an

international/offshore program?

• What features should be incorporated within an international program in order to

ameliorate any negative impacts of cultural difference?

Significance of the study

Transnational education programs can be controversial. The Vice-Chancellor of Britain’s
Open University declared ‘…where a university teaches and franchises…in other
countries…this is inherently a problematic and disreputable activity that regularly
tarnishes and brings into disrepute every other form of international university activity’
(Daniel, 1999b: n.p.). Moreover, some would suggest that culture defines the nature of
learning (e.g. Hofstede, 1986; Merriam and Mohamad, 2000) and also that ‘a university's
greatest asset is its reputation’ (Clark and Clark, 2000:3). In light of these considerations
it seems clear that Australia, and the study sites for this research (see page 4 in this

2
chapter for more detail), are reliant upon quality delivery of transnational education and
that it would be negligent to ignore the cultural dimension when considering the design
and delivery of transnational programs.

A relatively small number of published research articles and reports related to Australian
transnational provision do identify cross-cultural sensitivity as a potential area for
improvement, usually under the heading ‘quality control’ (Hampson, 1996; Mangan,
1997; Clark and Clark, 2000). However other research papers refer to the need for
quality control within transnational programs but do not mention cross-cultural difference
as a potential area for improvement, or they misconstrue or ‘gloss over’ cultural impacts,
frequently conceptualising English language difficulties as the only culture-based issues
that are deserving of attention (Clark and Clark, 2000).

Whilst the multi-disciplinary literature framing the central questions of this thesis is vast,
research pertaining specifically to the interplay of culture and pedagogy in transnational
education, is quite scarce. There are countless analyses of ‘Western’ educators teaching
in ‘Western’ classrooms, and an increasing number that report the actions and responses
to ‘Asian’ educators teaching in ‘Asian’ classrooms (e.g. Biggs and Watkins, 2001a;
Biggs and Watkins, 2001b). Yet there are few reports or analyses of the practices of
‘Western’ educators teaching in transnational programs in ‘Asian’ classrooms, and very
few which involve adult students. In addition, the author has not identified any studies of a
transnational program that involved the presence of an ‘outside’ observer who employed
ethnographic methodologies with the intent of providing insight and recommendations for
program development.

This study’s significance, therefore, resides in its ability to provide a unique part of the
mosaic that describes and analyses contemporary transnational education, in which
students and teachers are exposed to what are potentially conflicting cultural influences.
In doing so it aims to contribute to the fields of transnational education policy;
transnational and multicultural pedagogy; and intercultural relations. Specifically the study
has the capacity to provide grounded recommendations for the adaptation of policy,
curriculum, and pedagogy in the Australian/Singaporean transnational classroom and
possibly in similar transnational programs. It may also have some methodological
significance for those seeking to undertake ethnographic research in Singapore; in
relation to possible recommendations on culturally sensitive practice.

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Introduction to the research sites
An ethnographic study that employed elements of evaluation was undertaken in
Melbourne and Singapore (the rationale behind selection of ethnographic evaluation and
the research sites is discussed in greater detail in the methodology chapter). The
Melbourne research site was a faculty of a respected, older, research-based ‘sandstone’
university (which throughout this research will be referred to as ‘The University’), which
was commencing its first forays into transnational education. One department (entitled
‘The Centre’ throughout this study) within the Education Faculty of ‘The University’ was
the main focus for the Melbourne-based components of this research. Lecturers in the
program who were respondents to this study were current employees of The University.
Details pertaining to the history and culture of ‘The Centre’ are found in chapters two, four
and six.

The University had entered into a twinning arrangement (explained further in chapter
three) with the Singapore Institute of Management (SIM), Singapore; also a highly
respected organisation but – at that stage – not a university in its own right. The contract
between The University and SIM provided for the provision of an undergraduate degree
program, which was accredited as the Bachelor of Education and Training (BET). The
BET was marketed as offering ‘advanced Human Resource Development (HRD)
knowledge for those interested in greater supervisory and management responsibilities’
(S.I.M. website, March 2002), and the development of ‘advanced skills and knowledge in
training/learning, supervision and management of HRD’ (‘The University’s’ orientation
overhead transparencies, 2001). The program was offered to students on a part-time
basis over a two and a half year period and comprised sixteen subjects (for a full list of
subjects please see attachment H) that were to be provided in face-to-face intensive
workshops at SIM. Melbourne staff delivered most subjects of the program although
Singaporean lecturers taught two subjects. The delivery by Melbourne-based lecturers
was perceived as a key market advantage in comparison with the only similar program
offered in Singapore, which was accredited by an Australian university but taught online
using Singaporean and a small number of Australian lecturers. Student entry
requirements were a Singaporean Tertiary Diploma plus at least one year of HRD work
experience. All student research participants were mature-age Singaporeans who were
current or aspirational HRD practitioners working in a broad range of organisations.
Information pertaining to education in Singapore is found in chapter three and student
data from those interviews is provided in chapters seven and eight. The researcher’s
observations of classroom interactions are also reported in chapter eight.

4
The researcher’s perspective
Lazar (1998:19) attributes to Weber the contention that all ‘research is driven by passion’.
Stanley and Wise (1993) further propose that a researcher should not mistrust
experience. This study actualises a combination of those contentions: it reflects the
authors’ interest in culture-based dynamics and her twenty-year career experience in
Human Resource Development. The author’s Masters Thesis combined these areas of
interest by investigating the reactions of Confucian-heritage participants to ‘Western’-
designed experiential pedagogies (Hoare, 1999, 2004). In brief, that research found that
there were substantial differences in perceptions of Confucian-heritage learning between
educators and workplace training participants.

This study therefore builds on the findings of the author’s earlier research through the
investigation of cross-cultural paradigms within a significantly more complex education
and learning environment. The methodology chapter provides further detail about the
author’s perspective, however, perhaps it is important to stress from the outset that the
author is not an ‘insider’ in academia – or at least she was not at the time this research
was carried out. She was not an academic at the time of the research. Therefore she
came to this study without the preconceived notions that someone who works in a
university might have. Coming as she did from a lengthy career in the pseudo-collectivist
bureaucracy of Government, she sometimes found the individualist culture of the
university lecturer to be more foreign than the culture of the students in Singapore. In fact,
the choice of an undergraduate degree as a research site was something of a ‘fallback’
position: the author’s first choice was pure HRD; an Australian management development
program being provided in Hong Kong. However that was not to be as the program failed
financially before research could even commence. Shortly thereafter, the opportunity to
investigate a university-based transnational program presented itself, and the author
accepted. The rationale for this decision is also discussed further in the methodology
chapter. Unexpectedly, the author accepted a position as an academic in a university,
delivering transnational education, during the very late stages of the writing-up of this
research. This experience has allowed her the opportunity to reflect on the research and
findings of this thesis from a different perspective; and to attempt to ensure that her
pedagogical practices are culturally appropriate and in line with this study’s
recommendations…but that is another story and is not included in this study in any way.

5
Overview of the thesis
The thesis consists of eight chapters, not counting this brief introduction, which can be
grouped into five components. The first component, found in the following two chapters,
provides background information about the study. These chapters describe the Australian
educational context (chapter two) and relevant aspects of the Singaporean education
system and culture (chapter three).

The second component describes the selection and implementation of a methodology

(chapter four) and includes reflections on dilemmas considered and addressed during the
research. The methodology chapter may be notable for its obviously ‘first person’
grammatical form. This writing style seemed to be desirable as much of this chapter
relates the experiences of the author in the field. It is hoped that this first person
recounting of methodological experiences has added to the reader’s ability to build a
picture of the study through ‘hearing the author’s voice’.

The third component reviews the literature pertaining to culture and pedagogy,
particularly in an ‘Asian’ context (chapter five). Chapter five (culture and pedagogy)
provides a review of relevant literature. Therein, key theories, constructs and knowledge
underpinning analysis of the data are addressed, and support the later development of
theoretically grounded recommendations. The information in chapter five builds on the
background information from chapters two and three, providing the context necessary for
an understanding of the normative experiences of the actor/respondents – including the
unseen and silent participants who have an impact on the study; such as governments,
policy makers, and the community at large.

The fourth component of the thesis is related to data collection and includes chapters six,
seven and eight. Chapters six and seven discuss the data collected from lecturers and
students involved in the program. Data from observations of classes in-situ along with
consideration of preliminary findings based on the juxtaposition of the data from
observations and interviews are provided in chapter eight. The final component of the
thesis reflects on the findings of the data collection component in light of the background
information. Findings that support the hypothesis, answer the research questions, and
provide recommendations for future study are presented in chapter nine.

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Chapter Two: Australian transnational education
on the global stage
Introduction
This chapter will begin an analysis of the situation of transnational education from the
Australian perspective and review the relevant literature. The first part of the chapter
considers the impacts of globalisation and internationalisation on transnational education.
An account of the evolution of transnational education within the Australian higher
education system is then provided, followed by identification of emerging issues facing
the sector.

Globalisation, internationalisation and education

As Jones (1998:6) found; ‘those interested in studying education in an international
perspective will find a more complex world order than ever before’. The content and
context of this research are influenced by that complexity. Contemporary literature
pertaining to Australian transnational education shows that education, as an
internationally traded service, is at the nexus of the discourse on globalisation and
internationalisation. Education is simultaneously one of the principal driving forces in
globalisation (Marginson, 1998; Pratt and Poole, 1999a) and one of the most
fundamental responses thereto (United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural
Organisation (UNESCO), 1996). Accordingly, Australian higher education policy
continues to identify globalisation as a fundamentally important driver of reform (Pratt and
Poole, 1999b:539). Therefore, discussion of the interaction between the core
considerations of this research (intercultural relations and education), and the concepts of
globalisation and internationalisation, is required in order to provide a foundation for
further analysis.

An exploration of contemporary discourse

The term ‘globalisation’ was rarely used until the late twentieth century. Recently it has
‘come from nowhere to be almost everywhere’ (Giddens, 1999:7), yet it is imprecisely
defined. Indeed the sensitive nature of the type of issues at the heart of what is said to
define ‘globalisation’ (e.g. communication, international trade, migration and diplomacy)
lead to the meaning and impact of the term being zealously debated (Stewart, 1996:327).
Whilst theories underpinning the notion of globalisation draw on the fields of economics,
politics, and sociology, the actual term ‘globalisation’ is widely agreed to have come from

7
the business world (Little, 1996; Comeliau, 1997; Jones, 1998). In business and
economics, use of the term implies economic integration through the free movement of
labour, stateless financial markets, minimal regulation, and the flexible responsiveness of
organisations to global markets. However:

[whilst] it is clear that globalisation is mainly driven by economic aims,…its

impact extends well beyond the economy…it transforms people, States,
societies, cultures and civilizations. (Comeliau, 1997:30)

Like Comeliau, Little’s conceptualisation of patterns of globalisation identifies effects on

three core domains, of which economy is one; politics and culture being the others (Little,
:428, adapted from Waters 1995). Little (1996:428) proposes that the cultural outcomes of
globalisation are; ‘a religious and cosmopolitan mosaic’ (elsewhere the term ‘hybridity’ is
frequently used), with ‘widespread consumption of simulations coupled with global
distribution of images and information’. At the political level, it is claimed that the pattern
implies a weakening of nation states and a multiplicity of power bases. This global shift is
said to be facilitated by the revolution in world communication, and the corresponding
increased mobility of persons, services and goods (Stewart, 1996:328; Jones, 1998:2;
Giddens, 1999). In fact, Petras (1999) highlights that this international flow of goods and
services is not a new concept, having been in and out of favour on the world stage for
centuries. However, he agrees with the majority of authors who consider that
globalisation is henceforth irreversible (although possibly cyclical) (Petras, 1999:12).

One people, one culture, one global world?

Any contemplation of the voluminous and diverse body of literature related to

globalisation reveals conflicted opinions on the capacity of globalisation to ultimately
transform the world into a culturally uniform landmass. As an outcome of the ‘neo-liberal’
doctrine of globalisation, some forecast that a single culture will eventually transcend
national boundaries (Little, 1996). The erosion of governments, nation states, and
economic sovereignty, being brought about by external systems, is said to exacerbate the
likelihood of this outcome (Marginson, 1998). This view point is confirmed when people
discover that similar problems, and attempts to solve them, are found in geographically
and/or culturally different societies (Sweeting, 1996). Advocates of this viewpoint cite the
essential worldwide commonalities such as comparable business objectives; education
endeavours; individualist motivations and even ‘modern’ city architectural landscapes.
Such similarities are put forward in support of the ‘one world’ denial of cultural difference,
particularly as foretold for the globalised future.

8
This research will later consider the work of authors specialising in cross-cultural theories
(chapter five) and more will be heard of the seminal research by Milton Bennett. However
in relation to the ‘one-globalised-world-culture’ view, in particular, it seems likely that such
denial of cultural difference would be categorised by Bennett as an immature,
‘minimisation’ strategy in intercultural development. According to Bennett’s developmental
model, minimisation is ‘a last attempt to preserve the centrality of one’s own
worldview…bury[ing] difference under the weight of cultural similarity’ (Bennett, 1993b:44-
45). Bennett shows that, whilst some of the assertions of such universalism may be
accurate, in relation to intercultural communication they are trivial, leading the holders of
such opinions to assume that their worldview is the same as everyone else’s. Marginson
and Mollis (1999:55) report a similar mindset in relation to ‘comparative/hegemonic
education’: ‘the underlying assumption is that all education systems are the same and if
they are not, they should be’. Such views are frequently derived from ‘aggressive
conversion activities’ according to Bennett, and it seems evident that this description
could be applied to the neo-liberal view of globalisation. However Bennett concludes that
these attitudes constitute a potentially naïve and ethnocentric worldview, which like
aspects of globalisation, is considered offensive by many; particularly those minority
groups and poorer nations who find themselves at the ‘receiving end’ of uninvited
changes to their political, economic, and cultural systems.

Idealistic adherents to globalisation rhetoric argue for the interdependence of nations and
the shared benefits of their exchanges; however this appears to be far from reality in the
opinions of many. A rapidly emerging ‘global-gap’ is seen as cause for concern, as
powerful nations and multinational organisations exploit the less rich and powerful
(Ganderton, 1996; Petras, 1999). Moreover, globalisation’s erstwhile benign ‘one-
world/melting-pot’ rhetoric is seen by some as a re-emergence of imperialism or another
form of colonialism in which ‘American consumer values reign supreme’ (Rizvi and
Lingard, 2000). Hence, it seems possible that; ‘colonialism is not “over” in the sense of an
epochal shift, but…its modalities and effects are being transformed as a consequence of
globalisation’ (Tikly, 1999). It is clear, however, that in education specifically, an attitude
of cultural imperialism is recognised as a sure way to fail in the international arena
(Cummins and Smith, 1999).

In opposition to the ‘one world’ view, others advocate that ‘new forms of parochialism and
ethnic and religious divisions counter globalist tendencies and may eventually defeat
them’ (Stewart, 1996). Supporters of this hypothesis reject the homogenising ‘one-world’
prophesy and reason that there are still crucial issues of a basically cultural nature which

9
structure and shape most international relations. Indeed it is observed that ‘even
economic matters are subject to cultural contingencies and coding’ (Jones, 1998:2).
Further, difference is not seen to be impenetrable, nor does reshaping due to global
forces necessarily destroy what is specific and particular to any given culture. According
to this hypothesis, to prophesise a global ‘homogenised’ culture is misleading (Jones,
1998:4, citing the work of Hall 1991). Moreover, any emergent ‘global culture’ is seen as
likely to be 'extremely abstract, expressing tolerance for diversity and individual choice
but tending towards high levels of differentiation and chaos’ (Little, 1996:427, citing
Waters, 1995:3; Jones, 1998:2).

Globalised/internationalised education

In education specifically, some observers perceive that elements of colonial attitudes

reappear when foreign and unadapted educational models are used in other countries
(Ganderton, 1996; Marginson, 1999). When this occurs, as it often does, academics are
cast as either innocent bystanders caught in the web of escalating university
entrepreneurialism, or conversely, as those with ‘control over the manufacture and
profligation of concepts justifying and prescribing globalist program strategies and tactics’
(Petras, 1999). Whether or not academics consciously harbour intellectual imperialist
attitudes, their role is implicitly affected by the fact that global education systems are
predominantly grounded in ‘Western’ and English-language social models (Marginson
and Mollis, 1999).

Given the debate surrounding globalisation, it is interesting that ‘internationalisation’ is the

word of choice when higher education institutions in Australia want to describe their
transnational activities. Whilst the terms ‘internationalisation’ and ‘globalisation’ are
sometimes used interchangeably, in the literature they are ascribed distinctly different
meanings. Internationalisation is seen as ‘the idealist, pro-democratic, promotion of global
peace and well being through the development and application of international structures’
(Jones, 1998:1-2, 143). Like imperialism, the concept of internationalisation is notionally
in sharp contrast to the rhetoric of globalisation: it emphasises the maintenance of the
nation state and focuses on democracy as universally desirable. This may or may not be
as benign as its advocates may want us to believe, being as the voices discussing
internationalisation are largely Western, and we are exhorted to consider the possibility
and extent to which the international framework is an expression of ‘intellectual-financial’
hegemony exercised on behalf of Western capitalism (Jones, 1998; Tikly, 1999, citing
Samoff, 1992; Altbach, 2000). Jones (1998:4) recommends that we analyse the

10
discourse and ‘consider which elements are aligned with internationalist ideals…and
which can only be seen as vanguards of globalisation’.

The majority (37 out of 38) of Australian universities include a policy of internationalisation
in their corporate plans (Rizvi and Walsh, 1998). Internationalisation in Australian
education is idealised as the process of integrating an international/intercultural
dimension into the teaching, research and service of institutions as a result of an adopted
policy of opening themselves to the world (Back et al., 1996; Lazenby et al., 1999).
Sometimes it can also mean efforts to study the history and culture of another country or
a region (Rizvi and Walsh, 1998); and for Cope and Kalantzis (1997) the key is the
recognition and valuing of diversity. In short, internationalisation aims to prepare students
to live and work in a globalised world – an outcome which would be difficult to construe
negatively. However part of the problem with the current rhetoric – which this research will
go on to examine - is that exactly how internationalisation is translated into practice is
often unclear (Rizvi and Walsh, 1998).

A proposition on interpretation

Considering the ongoing debate then, are the terms ‘globalisation’ and
‘internationalisation’ even useful for understanding the impact of the current world order
on education and intercultural interactions? As both terms pervade the transnational
education literature, it seems crucial in the first instance to realise that understandings of
these terms reflect philosophical stances that are not always overt – in other words
informed discourse analysis helps to bring to the surface pre-existing theoretical
preferences and assumptions. As Jones asserts, we are in ‘an extremely complex
moment in history’ (Jones, 1998:4). Clearly this domain is sufficiently complex to fuel
spirited debate and generate countless hypotheses outside the scope and intent of this
research. The purpose here is not to provide an exhaustive account of the field but rather
to position the ensuing discussion of Australian transnational education.

Nevertheless, as with the selection of methodology, the standpoint of the researcher on

these issues will of course effect the interpretation of the data, so perhaps it is better
identified at this point. The preceding discussion has lead me to consider that perhaps
two of the opposing viewpoints (global cultural diversity versus emerging cultural
homogeneity) are not necessarily mutually exclusive. It is possible to find common ground
in the notion of an emerging global hybridity – wherein reality insists that the complex
global changes brought about by ‘globalisation’ and ‘internationalisation’ will have an
impact on both the providers and receivers of transnational education. Neither a

11
‘universalist’ approach that imposes a uniform cultural model in every case, nor an ‘ultra-
relativist’ approach that treats each case as completely different, is realistic in the face of
globalised forces (Marginson and Mollis, 1999:54, 56). Despite this realisation, however,
this research will take the stance that hybrids retain a component of their identity (e.g. all
hybrids are not the same) and while some cultural differences tend to vanish, others
become more pronounced (Oyen, 1990). From this perspective, cultural diversity should
continue to be a key consideration in transnational education. Whilst Marginson and
Mollis (1999:57) postulate that; ‘it would not be hard to mount the claim that
homogenising aspects are presently uppermost in education’, they are also encouraging
about the long term potential for plurality. Thus, ultimately, this discussion supports
Milton-Smith’s (2001:5) perspective that:

a balanced philosophy of internationalisation, which encompasses multiple

objectives, especially those relating to overseas experience, cross-cultural
learning, international networks and global citizenship, is the most likely
formula for success.

The evolution of transnational education provision in

Australia
History

Australian Universities have a complex history that commenced in the 1850’s when the
Universities of Melbourne and Sydney, the “sandstones”, were established (Harman and
Selby Smith, 1972). There have been overseas students enrolled in Australian
institutions since 1904 (Williams, 1989), however significant numbers did not become
evident until the advent of the Colombo Plan in 1959, which marked the formal entry of
the Australian Government into direct sponsorship of overseas students for study in
Australian Institutions (Davis et al., 2000a). The Plan was intended to promote
cooperative development; specifically in South and South East Asia (Davis et al., 2000a).
However whilst it overtly promoted intercultural understanding, Australia’s emerging
educational aid program was also expected, somewhat paradoxically, to ‘encourage the
adoption of Western liberal-democratic values’ (Oakman, 2002:89 – 90, citing Richard
Casey, then Australian Minister for External Affairs). Between 1951 and 1964 Australia
hosted nearly 5,500 students of whom at least twenty-five percent were under the
Colombo Plan, whilst a small number were private fee-paying and even they were
subsidised by as much as eighty percent (Oakman, 2002). This era was significant
because Australia's success in developing its transnational markets has been built in part

12
on relationships developed during the Colombo Plan days (Fell, 1999; Davis et al.,
2000a).

The departure point in the move from ‘aid to trade’ can be traced back to 1962;
specifically to a discussion between the then Indonesian Minister for Higher Education
and the Australian Ambassador, which led Australia to volunteer the teaching of
Agricultural Science in Indonesia (Lazenby et al., 1999). In 1969 the Australian Vice
Chancellors’ Committee (AVCC) became involved in this program, an act that culminated
in the establishment of the Australian-Asian Universities' Cooperation Scheme (AAUCS).
This minimally-funded aid program concentrated on postgraduate-staff development and
fostered the independence of the overseas universities, whilst at the same time providing
new learning opportunities for Australian lecturers and specialists. During this period over
two hundred Australian specialists made some five hundred visits to Indonesia, Malaysia
and Singapore. As a direct outcome of this work, the program diversified and paid
consultancies began to be contracted (Lazenby et al., 1999) .

Growing tensions

Meanwhile, by the 1970s tensions were developing in the conceptualisation,

management and funding of Australia’s higher education system. Up until this time,
higher education had been essentially government provided, financed and controlled.
From 1964 to 1974 public outlays on higher education had grown by two hundred and
sixty one percent (Australian Department of Education Training and Youth Affairs, 1993).
However there was a growing reluctance on the part of governments worldwide to fund
the increasing demand for higher education (Olsen, 2001). Increasingly, universities were
required to become significantly self-funded. By the late nineties government-funded
sector revenue had dropped to fifty percent of aggregate university revenue and
plummeted to thirty-two percent (including research but excluding HEC Receipts) by 2001
(Karmel, 2000; Manne, 2002; Australian Vice-Chancellors' Committee, 2003d).

The genesis of these changes had not passed without comment. The developing system
was considered by some to have been subjected to ‘too little intelligent discussion and
debate’ (Harman and Selby Smith, 1972:xi). Commentators at the time were concerned
about the lack of strategic focus; for example Harman and Selby-Smith (1972:xvii)
considered that there was a ‘distressing lack of clarity about the purposes and goals of
higher education in general’. Zelman Cowan (1972:15), then Vice-Chancellor of the
University of Queensland, felt a ‘chill response in his heart’, concerned as he was about
the ‘struggle to manage and keep afloat’.

13
Whilst these tensions were building, the literature of the time also reveals an emerging
ultimatum for universities to develop a business focus and to adopt service-based
principles and rhetoric. The then Federal Minister for Education’s White Paper (Dawkins,
1987, 1988) included provision for institutions to be ‘more entrepreneurial, for example by
charging fees to foreign students and at least partial fees for some postgraduate courses’
(Dawkins, 1988; Australian Department of Education Training and Youth Affairs, 1993).
The Dawkin’s Green Paper and subsequent White Paper reforms opened the debate on
the need for fundamental changes to the higher education system and argued that this
need arose from international trends. As Pratt and Poole (1999a:17) highlighted; ‘the
ensuing system reforms were made with the express aim of accommodating a sector with
the potential to become internationally oriented’. The reforms also reinforced the move
towards business-based rhetoric and practices. If universities did not make these
changes voluntarily, the need to embrace the business ethos was externally imposed. For
example, from that time, universities were required to describe their profiles in order to
provide information to those gauging resource allocation. This required identification of
the role and mission of the institution in broad terms, including fields of study, areas of
research, enrolment mix and the university’s planned strengths for the future (Australian
Department of Education Training and Youth Affairs, 1993). This has become even more
obvious in the increasingly common use of business-oriented terms, such as clients, risk,
demand, and delivery, in many university strategic plans (McBurnie and Pollock, 2000).
Quality control has further been identified as a key issue, particularly in light of the
constantly expanding numbers of potential students (Partridge, 1972).

Education becomes a service export

During the 1980s, competition for university places had intensified, and by 1986 as many
as fourteen thousand eligible Australian applicants for higher education were unable to
gain a place at an Australian university (Australian Department of Education Training and
Youth Affairs, 1993). Furthermore, it was quite evident that Australian education was
becoming an ever more attractive option for paying overseas students. Indeed, by the
early 1980's there were ten thousand private overseas students in higher education in
Australia, and a further three thousand five hundred sponsored students (Partridge, 1972;
I.D.P. Education Australia, 1995:12).

Contemporaneously, it was realised that Australia’s prosperity was overly dependent on

the export of mining and agricultural commodities, the prices of which had declined
significantly (Pratt and Poole, 1999b:2). Options for other export opportunities were being

14
sought, particularly in the service sector. These combined circumstances added impetus
to the call for entrepreneurial solutions to the dual problems facing universities: lack of
funds and insufficient places. Accordingly, in 1985 the Australian government recognised
education as an export industry and the paradigm shift from government-funded to
entrepreneurial universities was nearly complete.

Not surprisingly, this metamorphosis caused some consternation in the higher education
the sector. Lazenby et al. (1999:78) recall that:

It came as a surprise when staff [of Australia’s then overseas education

brokers, IDP Australia], were assured by senior representatives of Austrade,
that there was nothing special about exporting tertiary education; 'it’s just the
same as any other commodity - like cars or breakfast cereal' [they were told].

Resistance also came from the AVCC, however Dawkins informed the Vice Chancellors
that if they did not fall into line then the Government would cut their funding (Lazenby et
al., 1999:78). Inexorably, education as a whole was consumed by economic rationalist
terminology. Soon Government hegemony, unconcerned by the sensitivity of the sector,
categorised education alongside service exports such as tourism and transport (Davis et
al., 2000a). Moreover, education as an export dollar earner did not disappoint; in a little
over ten years it had became Australia’s eighth largest export industry and third largest
service export, earning more than wool and almost as much as wheat (Davis et al.,
2000a).

It is difficult to say exactly how much the education export industry is currently worth, as
various sources interpret the amount differently. For example, in 2003 the AVCC (2003c)
reported that exported education was worth 4.2 billion dollars. That calculation included
money spent by students whilst in Australia. In the same year, IDP Australia (2003)
placed the value at around 1.846 billion based on student fees alone. The Department of
Education, Science and Training (2003b) put the amount at five billion. Seemingly the
only consensus is that the amount is significant. Currently international students make up
approximately twelve percent of the Australian student population. The majority of those
come from China, Hong Kong Singapore and Malaysia (AEI International Education
Network, 2003). The number enrolled offshore was estimated to be a further forty-three
thousand in 2001 (AEI International Education Network, 2003). In line with the continuing
rise in the number of international students, total university income has also risen
(Australian Vice-Chancellors' Committee, 2003c). The AVCC (2003c) no longer appears
to be fighting the change, but instead is a strong advocate for deregulation of the sector.
In an economic analysis then, Australian universities could be judged to have adapted

15
well to the challenge to become more entrepreneurial and responsive to market forces
(Kelly and Ha, 1998).

One aspect of education that has not changed since the 1970s is that commentators
continue to advocate that Australia’s higher education system is in urgent need of reform
(Mann, 2000:3; Manne, 2003; Marginson, 2003b). Much the same as in the 1970s,
respected academics cite a litany of ills afflicting the system, often centring around the
now familiar ‘a-university-is-not-a-business’ argument, and also asserting that the ‘ever
increasing emphasis on measurable outcomes and quantitative performance indicators
are necessarily short term and misleading, and are at the expense of content’ (Karmel,
2000:3).

The higher education system in Australia

A brief snapshot of the Australian higher education system is useful at this stage as it
underpins the discussion of transnational education provision that follows.

At the time of writing, Australia has thirty-eight universities (Australian Vice-Chancellors'

Committee, 2003a). Since the abolition of the former binary system which distinguished
between universities and institutes of technical and further education, teachers’ colleges
etc., there has been no distinction between types of higher education institutions.
Institutions that provide qualifications lower than degree/professional level are not
counted as ‘higher education’ and usually fall into the vocational education and training
sector, whereas universities are responsible for higher education and are the only
institutions that can award degrees. Both those capacities, and the title ‘university’, are
protected by law (Ziguras, 2001b). Furthermore, universities are legally empowered as
self-accrediting institutions and are responsible for the quality of their own educational
programs (Hacket and Nowak, 1999). Most degrees offered in Australia are of three to
four year’s duration (however this has evolved to apply exclusively to on-shore degrees,
as we will see later). Australia has a strong tradition of part-time study and distance
education, and adult students are commonplace. These aspects of the Australian higher
education system, as well as English language instruction, render it attractive to overseas
students (a more detailed analysis of aspects that attract Singaporean students in
particular is found in the following chapter). The exchange rate of the Australian dollar is
also highly favourable for export when compared against the United States Dollar, the
British Pound or the Euro. Australia’s experience of working with demographically and
geographically diverse and disparate student bodies should maximise our sensitivity to

16
working with diversity. The growth of the sector is therefore not surprising; all the
preceding factors combine to favourably position the export of Australian education.

Australia’s provision of transnational education

The use of descriptive terminology in transnational educational appears somewhat
capricious. Both internationally and intranationally, providers and regulators use different
terms and categorisations to describe similar phenomena. For example, what Australians
generally call distance education (learning that does not situate the teacher and the
learner in the same location, e.g. on-line learning) is not what Singaporeans frequently
understand the term to mean (e.g. any form of education that is not taken through a
Singaporean university). Where IDP Education Australia categorise students as ‘on or off
campus’, DEST categorise them as ‘internal or external’. These latter categorisations are
not as interchangeable as one might assume; clearly importing students is not the same
as exporting education and one can only wonder at the motives behind such a worrisome
lack of differentiation which renders meaningful comparison difficult. Therefore, this
research will attempt to ensure that meanings are clarified in terms of the national or
organisational contexts in which they are cited.

When describing exported education, ‘transnational education’ seems to be the current

Australian term of preference, although ‘offshore education’, and ‘overseas programs’ are
often used interchangeably. Terminology employed by global organisations that regularly
deal in transnational education (e.g. by the UNESCO European Centre for Higher
Education, and the Global Alliance of Transnational Education (GATE) [an accrediting
organisation set up to foster and certify quality in transnational education enterprises])
tends to reflect terms and models employed by the World Trade Organization’s (WTO)
General Agreements on Trade in Services (GATS). This research will use the term
‘transnational education’ as is also employed by UNESCO and other recent Australian
authors in the field (e.g. McBurnie and Pollock, 2000; Olsen, 2001; Ziguras, 2001a;
Altbach, 2002).

General agreements on trade in services

GATS is the first set of multilateral rules covering international trade in services (and is
therefore differentiated from GATT’s: General Agreements on Tariffs and Trades).
Education is one of the twelve sectors covered by GATS, which is a framework in which
governments commit to liberalising trade in services in a particular industry in the global

17
marketplace (Ziguras, 2001b). The GATS model of supply is readily adapted to
education, and is categorised as follows (Olsen, 2001; Knight, 2002)

• Consumption abroad (e.g. the student travels);

• Commercial presence (e.g. the provider establishes a campus, or partnership,

franchised, or licensed arrangements in another country);

• Presence of natural persons (e.g. the educator travels); and/or

• Cross border supply (e.g. neither the organisation nor the student travels –
internet provision, on-line learning).

The GATS model affects much more than the terminology applied to transnational
education however, and is an integral component of the globalisation debate. Like much
to do with globalisation, GATS are contentious because GATS agreements regulate the
level of access that countries have to another country’s education system. As Knight
(2002:19) highlights; ‘education is a fundamental vehicle for acculturation’ thus ‘concern
about the homogenisation of culture through cross border supply of higher education is
expressed by critics of GATS’. Interestingly, Australia was one of only three countries (the
others being the USA and New Zealand) with higher education commitments under
GATS to have submitted negotiation proposals at the time of writing (Knight, 2002).
Australia had flagged its intention to achieve access to overseas education markets while
refusing to make further education commitments itself (AEI International Education
Network, 2002:12), and rationalised liberalisation of trade in educational services as ‘a
means of providing individuals in all countries with access to a wide range of education
options’ with the benefits of ‘competitive stimulus and internationalisation and flow of
students’ (Knight, 2002:11). Unlike New Zealand, Australia did not overtly acknowledge
that ‘revenue generation and academic exchange’ were also important benefits (Knight,
2002:11).

Whilst each of the GATS models of supply in the preceding dot point list is a potential
opportunity, it is also the potential subject of barriers to trade. For example; ‘consumption
abroad’ can be blocked by visa requirements, ‘presence of natural persons’ (e.g.
teachers) can be complicated by restrictions on use or import of educational materials,
and ‘cross border supply’ can be made too complex to pursue due to a lack of
opportunities to grant degrees or the requirement to use local partners. Singapore, which
will be discussed in greater detail in the following chapter, had GATS education
commitments to market access and national treatment (AEI International Education

18
Network, 2002:13) but also had in place some significant barriers to would-be exporters,
such as exclusion of recognition of qualifications.

Thus, whilst GATS agreements are not the only factors regulating cross border trade in
education, they are an emerging force that form an important component of the
background to models of transnational practice.

Models of transnational practice

As required in GATS agreements, most Australian universities involved with the provision
of transnational education are engaged in a variety of ‘twinning’ agreements, articulation
programs, franchises and other partnering arrangements (Clark and Clark, 2000). The
twinning arrangement typified Australia’s early involvement in transnational education.
Twinning programs are generally fully taught programs, following the same syllabus and
timetable as the home campus program. Academic staff can be recruited host country
nationals or Australian citizens who travel from the provider university. Lecturers can be
recruited solely by the Australian university, or by the partner institution subject, to
approval of the Australian university. Frequently, a combination of these staffing methods
can be found within the one program. Further iterations are found in program delivery.
Sometimes part of the course is carried out in the host country and part in the provider
country. Increasingly, however, programs are totally run in the host country, particularly in
Malaysia and Singapore (Davis et al., 2000b). Advantages of transnational education
provided ‘at home’ for overseas students - such as access to family and friends and lower
living costs – are highlighted in marketing documents (Altbach, 2000; I.D.P. Education
Australia, 2000). Other, less altruistic, benefits include the negative reaction of overseas
students to totally on-line learning (as discussed later in this section) and the expected
recruitment of international students to Australian campuses through their exposure to
Australian courses. The mutual mobility of Australian students is also frequently
mentioned as a benefit of internationalised education (Fell, 1999). This would be cause
for celebration if it were justifiable in terms of numbers. Sadly though, only 2641
Australian students ventured overseas on exchange in 2001, although there is currently a
target of twenty percent of Australian students incorporating international study
(Australian Vice-Chancellors' Committee, 2003c).

Twinning models differ from ‘articulation programs’ and ‘moderated programs’ in which a
local institution teaches locally developed programs with quality assurance from an
Australian university. In these models, the Australian university is then likely to offer
advanced standing on completion of the overseas program (Davis et al., 2000b, citing

19
Adams, 1998:8-12). ‘Licensed’ or ‘franchised’ programs are another iteration, in which an
overseas institution teaches an Australian university’s program, again with quality
assurance by the Australian university. It remains, however, that the most common
offshore model is where Australian academics travel overseas to teach; especially
postgraduate course-work programs (Clark and Clark, 2000).

The partner institutions in the above models can be private or public, but are usually
education institutions of some type (Davis et al., 2000b). The typical transnational
arrangement is conducted in accordance with a formal agreement between the Australian
university and the overseas institution (Australian Vice-Chancellors' Committee, 1996).
There is rarely any formal process between Australia and Singapore (e.g. such as a
tender process) in the establishment of transnational programs. Proposals to establish
programs frequently come from the academic community and established academic
networks (McBurnie and Pollock, 2000:60-64; O'Loughlin et al., 2002), as was the case
with the program that is the focus of this research. In most transnational partnerships, the
Australian university develops the program and has responsibility for teaching
assessment and overseeing academic standards, whereas the partner institution is
responsible for provision of the study location, marketing, promotion and financial
administration (Australian Vice-Chancellors' Committee, 1996) (Davis et al., 2000b).

Trends in delivery modes

Almost all Australian universities are now providers of transnational education, and there
is substantial evidence that the level of interest is increasing (Davis et al., 2000b). Indeed,
Australia is now the world’s most competitive exporter of educational services (when the
nation’s share of exports is taken as a percentage of total services exports) (Olsen,
2001:22). The main subject areas currently offered are business, administration, and
economics, followed by health, science, and then education. Programs are typically
postgraduate, full time, with a mean enrolment of forty students and the most common
period of study being two years (Australian Vice-Chancellors' Committee, 1996; Davis et
al., 2000b:3,15).

In 2000 IDP Education Australia found that eighty percent of programs were classified
(according to Australian terminology) as face-to-face delivery or supported distance
education. A trend toward on-line learning and partner responsibility (in some cases
including the partner institution conducting assessment) has been noted however, quite
possibly because these modes reduce the pressure on the Australian university (Davis et
al., 2000b:4). The extent to which this trend continues will depend on a range of factors,

20
including university policies and host country preferences. Previous research (e.g.Lawley
et al., 1999:78; Daniel, 2000:7) has shown that that overseas students prefer face-to-
face contact with lecturers and peers; consequently student reactions to the internet as a
mode of delivery have been generally negative. It seems therefore, that the market will
reinforce the currently predominant mode of travelling teachers for the foreseeable future.

Student choice and market positioning

In the complex and sensitive transnational education market, student choice and
perception are cultivated and responded to in an environment of competitive pricing and
very small profit margins (Hacket and Nowak, 1999:13). Australian transnational
education providers and Australia as a nation are keenly observed in South East Asia. In
Singapore, the pages of the main broadsheet newspaper, The Straits Times, along with
billboards and signage on public transport are inundated with advertisements for
overseas university programs. My personal experience of scanning the papers in
Singapore was that overseas ‘university scandals’ were a point of focus in the local press.
Milton-Smith also found that:

the Singaporean media does not project or reinforce an image of [Australia

as] a country with a first-class university sector and a rich and diverse
cultural life. Indeed focus-group discussions quickly revert to the widely
reported natural disasters, Pauline Hanson, horrible crimes, racism, boat
people, visa problems…. (Milton-Smith, 2001)

The level of interest in Australia and what some might consider to be petty university
scandals is intense, and decisions in relation to choice of university are inevitably
changed by these negative signals (Davis et al., 2000b; McBurnie and Pollock, 2000:65).
Not surprisingly, students seek quality and reputation in all their forms when choosing a
university and study program. Whilst Singaporean teenage students might consider
themselves key decision makers (Gray et al., 2003) the majority of those making the
decisions are adults; either in the role of paying parents or as members of the
increasingly important ‘earner learner’ market (Olsen, 2001:23). Olsen proposes that the
overwhelming focus of that working adult market is; ‘a demand for practical, relevant
qualifications delivered in a manner which takes account of the competing time and
energy demands’ (Olsen, 2001:23).

In this acutely observed, selective and dynamic market - susceptible to the opinions of
friends and family - Australian universities clearly need to be protective of their market
niche and reputation. Mazzorol (1998) found that success in overseas markets was
positively associated with ‘image and resources’ (market profile, recognition, financial

21
resources, reputation for quality, size and influence of alumni and range of courses) and
‘coalition and forward integration’ (international strategic alliances and offshore teaching
programs). In the short term however, an avoidance of individualism and the
development of a strategy with greater emphasis on branding at a national level has been
called for in order to protect the market for all (Davis et al., 2000b:29; Milton-Smith,
2001). Misleading and culturally inappropriate publicity has been a problem in the past
(Daniel, 1999a; Tan and Olsen, 1999), leading the AVCC ‘Code of Conduct Code of
Ethical Practice in the Provision of Education to International Students by Australian
Universities’ to require its members to; ‘promote and market [programs] accurately and
honestly in terms of quality, standing and availability’ (Australian Vice-Chancellors'
Committee, 2002).

Quality assurance
Despite - or possibly because of - the proliferation of transnational programs, a pattern of
current concerns emerges from the literature. As already discussed, the changing status
of the student to that of consumer is contemporaneous with an unstable, developing
market of competing providers. Some academic commentators may remain loath to
recognise universities as businesses, however it is now indisputable that universities are
providing services in exchange for money. It is therefore reasonable to expect that they
should be prepared to exercise quality control and provide customer service such as is
expected of service providers globally. Increasingly, and quite reasonably, student
purchasers are demanding appropriateness of purpose and value for money from their
costly, full-fee paying courses.

Since 1993, the broad issue of quality assurance has been widely recognised as the
lynchpin to the ongoing success of transnational education in what is a largely
unregulated market (Australian Department of Education Training and Youth Affairs,
1993; Altbach, 2000; Davis et al., 2000b; Altbach, 2002). This is agreed both on the
global stage (e.g. Little, 1996; UNESCO, 1996; Altbach, 2000) and within Australia (Fell,
1999; Hacket and Nowak, 1999; Davis et al., 2000b; I.D.P. Education Australia, 2000;
McBurnie and Zigarus, 2001). Along with accreditation, quality has also been raised as a
‘matter requiring urgent attention…that should not be left solely at the hands of the
market’ as a part of the GATS process (Knight, 2002:18). Unfortunately there has to date
been little agreement on which points under the somewhat amorphous heading ‘Quality’
should be addressed as a priority, nor the manner or framework under which they should
be addressed.

22
In terms of quality assurance frameworks, the accrediting organisation ‘Global Alliance for
Transnational Education (GATE) (with which some high profile Australian universities
such as Monash are affiliated), has been attacked as being run for private profit and
therefore a suspect arbiter of program quality (Altbach, 2000). Further, whilst some
universities (e.g. Curtin) have aligned themselves with the International Organisation for
Standardisation (ISO) ‘ISO 9000+’ accreditation system, others see it as being designed
for the manufacture of products and therefore inappropriate for higher education (Hacket
and Nowak, 1999). The AVCC has designed its own, previously mentioned, code of
ethical practice to which member universities are supposed to assent. Other quality
control mechanisms have included government and private provider and course
accreditation, performance reporting and external audit processes.

In 1999 the then Minister for Education, David Kemp, stated (correctly) that; ‘our major
competitors have external quality assurance mechanisms, and countries in our largest
markets look to government verification of quality standards’ (Kemp, 1999a). Accordingly,
the Australian Federal Government endorsed the introduction of a new quality assurance
process in relation to all higher education institutions, to be managed by the Australian
Universities Quality Agency (AUQA) which commenced operation 2001. AUQA is now
commissioned to conduct audits of overseas higher education provision by Australian
providers, and at the time of writing, was about to be strengthened to undertake regular
audits of all Australian higher education providers operating in a given country (Australian
Department of Education Science and Training, 2003a; Australian Vice-Chancellors'
Committee, 2003b:6). AUQA was developed to provide independent assurances that the
standards of an award offered by an Australian university operating overseas were the
equivalent of the standards for the same award offered in Australia (Kemp, 1999b).
However, perhaps:

Ultimately the emergence of ‘lifelong learning’ may give the impetus to a new
concept of quality. People want the assurance that what they learn will be up
to date and will give them competencies that employers value. Whilst most
universities are still focused on inputs, citizens are interested in the output of
higher education for themselves. (Daniel, 2000:4)

In summary, as stated by Martin Carroll (2003: n.p.) - then Audit Director of AUQA - in
relation to Australian transnational provision; ‘we are not bad but we could be better’. The
concluding chapter to this research provides suggestions for quality improvement that
interpolate the findings from this research with previous studies.

23
Truncated programs

The typical offshore program has a duration of four semesters, taught as two or three
semesters per year. An Australian Vice-Chancellors' Committee report of 1996 provides
information about a range of offshore programs being offered at the time. Details include;
‘time to complete offshore’, and ‘time to complete in Australia’. Evidently there was no
standard length of time required to complete an Australian undergraduate degree
offshore. Significant differences existed between different provider universities and there
was a major disparity between programs provided in Australia versus offshore. How could
it be, for example, that a Bachelor of Engineering degree takes one year in Malaysia, and
three years in Australia (Australian Vice-Chancellors' Committee, 1996)? This inversion of
what is considered an academically valid period of study onshore in Australia, is
exacerbated by the certainty that the Singaporean market would not purchase extended
courses. Indeed courses advertised in the Singaporean press use brevity as a key selling
point. It seems that this issue has also been noticed by AUQA, as one of the teaching
issues on which their international audits will focus is whether; ‘the schedule provide[s]
adequate time for student reflection’ (Caroll, 2003). The Manager of IDP Singapore and a
senior manager of S.I.M., in response to this research, identified the continuing truncation
of courses as an emerging problem. Furthermore, several student respondents had come
to the conclusion that the BET program provided insufficient time for reflection, which had
a negative impact on their learning. The effects of this paradoxical situation on students
and teachers will be further discussed in chapters six to nine, however ‘truncated’ courses
are surely a matter of concern if academic rigour, quality of learning, and the value of a
qualification, are to have any meaning in the long term.

The changing university

As discussed at the beginning of this chapter, current trends in globalisation and

internationalisation mean that universities must make decisions in a complex
multinational environment. In the past, universities have changed rather slowly (Daniel,
2000). However – whether welcomed or imposed – the forces of globalisation now put
them under essentially the same pressures as multinational corporations. In this world-
systems approach, transnational education can be viewed as ‘an exercise in investment,
production, distribution and marketing...with decisions involving the calculation of
opportunity cost’ (Sweeting, 1996:380).

As a direct result of these changes, the way people in universities work is also diverging.
Old management and collegial styles are no longer economically appropriate. For

24
example, decision-making styles have had to change: lengthy democratic discussion-
making processes are giving way to new corporate styles where small groups need to be
empowered to make decisions to meet a deadline (McBurnie and Pollock, 2000:66).
Also, whilst the idea of work teams is currently an anathema to the individual pursuits of
the research academic, transnational projects benefit from project management expertise
including current rarities such as team teaching; sharing of materials; peer critique; and
clear lines of authority (Daniel, 2000:4).

The integral business relationship between universities and overseas partners needs to
be managed with tact and sensitivity. Roles and responsibilities of both parties should be
clear, explicit and documented (Hacket and Nowak, 1999:69). Negotiations between the
Australian university and host country partner generally hinge on economic viability, but
this can be a short term or longer term consideration. Both parties need to decide
whether they are prepared to accept short-term losses because of the potential long-term
benefits (Daniel, 2000). These decisions are risky because the financial benefits of
offshore programs are likely to be modest. Unlike onshore courses, offshore programs
are not covered by government stipulation of minimum course fees, but are set in an
increasingly competitive market. Consequently, profits in excess of ten percent are rarely
generated and a number of Australian faculties have suffered significant losses from
transnational operations (Back et al., 1996:18; Fell, 1999:6, 11-12; Karmel, 2000).

So is transnational delivery from Australian universities an ‘overblown rhetoric of promise’

(Altbach, 2000)? Certainly institutions should be clear as to their primary motivation
(Bates, 2001:5). Some would say that the decision to move into transnational provision is
justifiable only on the grounds that it advances one of the university's core functions:
education, research or community service (Davis et al., 2000b; McBurnie and Pollock,
2000:57). However, both the contemporary literature and pragmatic observation require
that other reasons are the primary motivators:

The Economic rationale

Why? ‘Money, money, money’. (Bates, 2001:4)

The literature leaves the analyst in little doubt: undisguisably, the main motive behind the
move to the provision of transnational education by Australian universities is the
generation of funds, followed by the presumption of enhancement of the university’s
reputation (Altbach, 2000; I.D.P. Education Australia, 2000; Altbach, 2002).

25
Reputation

[transnational education] regularly tarnishes and brings into disrepute every

other form of international university activity. (Daniel, 1999b)

Only time will tell whether or not individual university reputations and the reputation of
Australian education in general are enhanced or undermined by the provision of
transnational education. Fell (1999) however, proposes that there is in fact an inverse
relationship between the quality index of an Australian university and its number of
offshore students. He advanced the hypothesis in 1999 that; ‘high quality institutions will
opt for onshore delivery as it provides the best financial returns and offers Australian
students the opportunity for cultural enrichment’ (Fell, 1999:5). He also noted that none of
the top ranked institutions in Australia in 1999 engaged in extensive offshore operations
(Fell, 1999). In terms of overall reputation, the then ALP spokesperson on education,
Senator Kim Carr warned the Australian Senate that ‘we ought to also be discussing the
defence of this country's international reputation in regard to its higher education’
(Ziguras, 2001a:8). Clearly observers and purchasers are not naive to the reality that the
export dollar is the prime motivation behind transnational provision. It would seem at the
time of writing, therefore, that immediate care is needed.

Capacity building and meeting market demands – a global community

service?

They say to themselves it’s as if they are providing a service to these

Singaporean students who can’t afford to go to their own universities or to
study in Australia…and of course we should provide this sort of service to
people…and make money out of it! (80:1:202-206)

Capacity building of overseas countries is still cited as a rationale for transnational

education (I.D.P. Education Australia, 2000). However, as the above quote from a
Singaporean respondent to this research amply demonstrates; assertions that
transnational education is provided for altruistic reasons in current times are treated with
cynicism by informed citizens of receiving countries. Notions of capacity building are also
somewhat short-sighted from a business perspective because some of Australia’s major
customers - Singapore in particular - are successfully establishing themselves as
education hubs in the region, in direct competition with Australia (e.g. Ziguras, 2001b;
Australian Vice-Chancellors' Committee, 2003c; Marginson, 2003a). This paragraph
does not in any way intend to discount the previous calls for mutuality of opportunity,
however it does propose that profit-making motives should not be thinly veiled by altruistic
rhetoric. Such approaches only serve to underscore a paternalistic and potentially

26
colonialist mindset. As Altbach contends, ‘we need to serve the interests of students and
teachers and not simply become a vehicle for profit-making corporations (Altbach, 2000).

Chapter conclusion
Much of the published literature on transnational education uses words such as; ‘blurring’,
‘borders’, ‘frontiers’ and ‘tensions’. It seems that transnational education is on the edge of
something that we do not yet fully understand. This chapter has analysed trends in
Australian transnational education in an attempt to build understanding, commencing
from the ‘macro’ perspective of globalisation and internationalisation. The genesis of the
current transnational system has been discussed and, at the micro level, emerging issues
have been identified and an analysis commenced. It has been shown that there is much
work to be done at both institutional and governmental levels if Australia is to continue to
be a significant and respected player in transnational education. Ultimately, this chapter
has suggested that strategic planning and the potential long-term benefits of mutual
exchange are being sacrificed to short-term financial gain. This is occurring in a culturally
myopic environment where the diverse needs of teachers and students are traded off
against economic imperatives.

The following chapter analyses aspects of the Singaporean context as relevant to this
research. In 1998 Dudley observed that Singapore was arguably one of the few examples
in the world of a capitalist society that was not democratic. Dudley (1998:28) proposed
that; ‘globalisation privileges economic rationality and capitalism over democratic and
social principles’ and that, for the economic benefits of globalisation to be maximised, a
‘high priority is placed on education…[which has as its purpose] the production of skilled
workers to meet the demand of a flexible workforce’ (1998:31). Dudley’s work proposes
that Singapore might be a model country, ideally placed to reap the benefits of a
globalised economy. The following chapter addresses Singaporean contextual issues that
are relevant to this thesis; finds that Dudley’s proposals are largely supported; and
considers the future potential of transnational education in Singapore.

Chapter Three: The Singaporean context

Introduction
This chapter reports and analyses Singapore’s socio-cultural environment and thereby
provides context to the lifestyles of the student respondents, and to Singapore’s status as
a major purchaser of transnational education. In doing so this chapter identifies some of

27
the many puzzles and paradoxes that, as Haas (1999b:1) proposes ‘are obvious to many
commentators [on Singapore] but [for which] explanations are elusive’. The first segments
of the chapter follow headings as outlined in a model of influences on Singaporean
culture devised by Haley and Low (1998) (Low is a Singaporean academic). An
understanding of those influences provides a foundation to the ensuring discussion of the
Singaporean education system.

Influences on Singapore’s culture

Arriving at the incredibly efficient Changi airport, being whisked past the
contemporary skyscraper skyline to the five star hotel in an air conditioned
taxi driven by a courteous and well spoken English-speaking driver…may
convince the unwary that there is very little that is Asian about Singapore.
(Meriwether Craig, 2001:92)

Singapore’s culture is sometimes indistinct, always evolving, and multifaceted. As the

above quote from Meriwether Craig demonstrates, aspects of Singapore feel familiar to
‘Westerners’. Indeed many Australians think of Singapore as a ‘Western’ type of country
that is geographically located in the ‘East’; a ‘safe haven’ or an ‘introduction to the exotic’
for the uninitiated traveller to Asia. In fact several people asked me why I chose
Singapore as an ‘Asian’ study site because they considered it so ‘Westernised’ that it was
not to any great degree culturally different from Australia. Superficially at least,
Singapore can be all those things, and at times its cultural differences can be ‘so subtle
that one hardly notices that they are there. However at other times they are glaring’
(Meriwether Craig, 2001:92). In fact, as the founding father of Singapore, Lee Kuan Yew,
says; ‘The Western habits, songs, dances…dress styles or fast foods, that’s just a veneer’
(Lee Kuan Yew, as cited by Kwang et al., 1998:189). Senior Minister Lee may have his
own reasons for wishing that veneer to be thinner than it actually is, but the observer who
is able to substantially experience Singapore’s evolving and heterogeneous cultures will, I
believe, agree that despite global and internal influences they are singularly differentiated
from ‘the West’.

Haley and Low’s (1998) model below, concisely illustrates the effects of both innate
characteristics and deliberate policy-based influences on the evolving Singaporean
culture. The model is well suited as a basis for the ensuing analysis of Singapore as one
of the world’s most prolific purchasers (and intending future providers) of transnational
education. The ensuing chapter borrows both Haley and Low’s headings, and also the
notion that no component part of the model exists in isolation. As each component of the

28
model influences the others, so does Singaporean culture (like all cultures) reveal its
complexity and dynamism.

Figure 1: The web of unique influences of Singaporean culture (Haley and Low, 1998:536).

Peoples’ Action Party (PAP) Government

Political history

Singapore was first leased by its Malay rulers to the British East India Company in 1819
until the Sultan of Johor ceded it to the British, who assumed sovereignty in 1824. In 1867
the Straits Settlements including Singapore, Malacca and Penang became a British
Crown Colony. During the early years of the colony Singapore’s racial demographic
rapidly evolved from a Malay to a Chinese majority. The Chinese served as middlemen
for the entrepot trade and were categorised by the British into two groups: the minority
who could speak English and were given favoured treatment, and the non-English
speaking who were further subdivided according to their dialect groups. Because Malays
preferred to continue traditional agricultural occupations, labourers were also imported
from India (Tamney, 1996). From 1942-1945, British rule was interrupted when the
Japanese imperial army invaded Singapore (Haas, 1999a). On returning to power after
World War Two, the British loosened control over Singapore and the civil service was

29
gradually taken over by local people, although Britain kept control of the defence forces
and foreign policy (Tamney, 1996).

In 1959 the Peoples’ Action Party (PAP) won the first general election on a platform that
included free compulsory education, workers’ rights and immediate independence (Haas,
1999a). Lee Kuan Yew (holder of a law degree with highest honours from Cambridge)
became Singapore’s first Prime Minister (Tamney, 1996). The PAP was originally an
alliance between nationalists, who were English educated professionals, and leftists,
some of whom were union leaders. However, when factions challenged Lee for control in
1963, more than one hundred opposition party members were detained, which led to riots
that in turn served as a pretext to arrest more dissidents, thus crushing the factions. Since
then, no opposition party has developed a mass base (Haas, 1999a:19).

In 1965 Singapore was expelled from the Federation of Malaya and reluctantly became a
sovereign nation. Racially based fears and prejudices were significant in the events
leading up to and surrounding the expulsion: whilst Singapore had a Chinese majority
and was chauvinist towards its Chinese heritage, Malaya had a Malay majority and similar
preferences for the Malay people (Bumiputra). The events contributing to the expulsion
have been cited as defining moments in the birth of modern, independent Singapore
(Kwang et al., 1998; Ganesan, 2002); indeed Singapore has been called a ‘virtual capital
of the overseas Chinese’ (Low, 2002:14). Lee Kuan Yew has since reflected that the
break with Malaya came about because of ‘diametrically different approaches to the
problems facing our societies’ (Lee Kuan Yew, as reported in The Straits Times
Interactive, 2000) and brought home the enormity of the ‘twin challenges’ of building a
nation out of ‘a disparate collection of immigrants’ with an insufficient economy (Lee,
2000:3). Nevertheless Lee and the PAP ‘started out with great trepidation on a
journey…to an unknown destination’ (Lee, 2000:9). That journey has been remarkably
rewarding.

Lee governed until 1990 when he relinquished the prime ministership to Goh Chok Tong.
Even today, Lee remains in the cabinet as ‘Minister Mentor’ to the new Prime Minister, his
son Lee Hsien Loong. Goh was prime minister during this research and was perceived
by the Singaporean press as presenting a slightly ‘softer’ approach than Lee. Goh
considered that ‘to be fully developed, Singapore must look beyond economic
success…[he did not want Singaporeans to be known]…just for economic efficiency –
cold, disciplined, efficient, with a high standard of living, but everybody looks like a robot‘
(Asiaweek Magazine, 1996, n.p.). Goh’s comments reflect Clammer’s (1993) contention

30
that Singapore is becoming a mature economy, but remains an immature society. The
emergence of a white-collar middle class society ‘plugged into consumption as a way of
life’ (Clammer, 1993:35) and which is more keen to participate in the public sphere,
presents challenges to the government. In the short term however, ‘the average citizen is
generally unconvinced that he or she has a substantive impact on public policies’
(Ganesan, 2002:60), and ‘the fundamental question in the power equation – PAP
hegemony – [remains] non negotiable’ (Clammer, 1993:35).

The economic imperative

Singaporeans are continually reminded that economic development is the first national
priority. The government’s promotion of macroeconomic stability and incentive schemes
in order to attract foreign investment, (e.g. abolition of capital flow restrictions, capital
gains taxes, inheritance taxes and wealth taxes only for foreign investors (Haas, 1999a)),
frequently means that public policy takes second place to economic imperatives
(Bercuson et al., 1995; Tamney, 1996). As a result of this preparedness to manipulate
society to further the production, development and management of material wealth,
Singapore has been outstandingly successful in economic terms. It has rapidly evolved
from being a ‘somnolent, swampy fishing village to the world’s most technologically
modern city’ (Neher, 1999:39) with First World status: ‘a feat that even Senior Minister
Lee once thought impossible’ (Haas, 1999a:3).

At the start of the twenty-first century, Singapore is a modern, post-industrial nation with
multinational and global interests. It is in the same OECD ranking bracket as Australia
and enjoys an economic situation that would be the envy of most countries. At present
Singapore has a First World per capita income, and although its wage share is lower than
many OECD countries, it is significantly higher than nearby developing countries (e.g.
Thailand) (Wong and Ong, 2001). Indeed, its economic growth has been more rapid than
that of any other Asian country with the exception of Korea (Bercuson et al., 1995). The
country boasts an annual average per capita income of around S$37,000 (Wong and
Ong, 2001), and average household income of S$59,000 (Statistics Singapore, 2002)
(both of these figures were based on Singapore’s last census, which at the time of writing
was taken in 2000). Singapore also has one of the world’s highest savings rates
(Gopinathan, 1997b) and, despite suffering a major economic downturn and record
unemployment during the period of this research, maintained a Gross Domestic Product
annual growth of 2.2 percent (Statistics Singapore, 2003). By comparison, Australia’s
GDP was 2.0 percent during the same period (Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2003).

31
In support of this rapid development, Singapore has had to be nimble and flexible and its
success can be partially ascribed to its ‘vigilance for opportunities in the global
marketplace’ (Sanderson, 2002:88). Under government direction, the small country has
made rapid ‘U-turns’ in order to stay ahead, and over time the economy has evolved from
that of a ‘semi closed, low-wage producer of mainly labour-intensive goods, to a very
open, high-wage producer of high-technology, capital intensive products’ (Bercuson et al.,
1995). During times of large-scale unemployment, government policy restrained wages
and promoted rapid industrialisation. Later, with high levels of employment, the emphasis
shifted to fostering the implementation of technological value-added activities.
Subsequently, labour cost increases were encouraged and vocational training first
emerged as a government priority in order to support the more complex skill sets required
(Bercuson et al., 1995).

Labour market policies

One reason the country can be so nimble in its adaptations to economic fluctuations is
that Labour unions in Singapore have generally cooperated with the government and
employer groups and have been ready to support restraint when needed (Bercuson et al.,
1995). This tripartite cooperation had its genesis in the country’s political history (for
example Lee Kuan Yew’s first job in Singapore was as legal adviser to several unions
(Kwang et al., 1998). When the PAP split along anti/pro-communist lines, the non-
communist National Trade Union Congress (NTUC) emerged as the leading union body.
Strong ties and role rotation between the PAP and NTUC leaders continue and the
resulting non-militant union movement is one where ‘social responsibility is the bedrock
on which all decisions are made’ (Ashton et al., 1999:29). In case of any fallout, this
system is reinforced by legislation that bans strikes and lockouts for essential services,
and an Employment Act that enshrines the principle that wage negotiations should be
based on economic growth and efficiency, rather than on ‘abstract notions of justice’
(Bercuson et al., 1995:33).

The Singaporean government’s interventionist approach encompasses not only broad

issues of labour market policy but also human resource management and development
functions (which are obviously highly relevant to this thesis as the core subject of the BET
degree). For example, the government has always emphasised the importance of
manpower development (Ministry of Manpower Singapore, 1999a, b, c).and has focused
heavily on productivity improvement, including the development of incentive pay and
performance appraisal systems (Shaw et al., 1995). Until 1999, national human resource

32
planning efforts were largely undertaken by various government economic agencies.
However, now a Ministerial level National Manpower Council oversees workforce
planning, development and talent attraction (Ashton et al., 1999; Ministry of Manpower
Singapore, 1999c).

The government management of human resources (human resource development in

particular) at the national level is much more interventionist than usually exists in
Australia and as such is worthy of note. Employers are not given the exclusive right to
identify training needs (Yaw et al., 2000). This issue is strikingly relevant to the BET
program, where much of the subject content is based on models that were developed in
countries where HRD practices occur in a less regulated environment.

Politics and propaganda

Certainly there can be little disagreement with Gopinathan’s (1997b:32) statement that
‘Singapore’s policy makers are not uncomfortable with power’. The unicameral nature of
Singapore’s government has allowed direct intervention and the paternalistic,
authoritarian, ‘government-knows-best attitude’ that pervades Singaporean lives; even in
areas such as marriage and childbearing (Haley and Low, 1998; Ashton et al., 1999;
Sanderson, 2002). In response to accusations of interference at every level in the private
lives of citizens, the following statement from Lee Kuan Yew is revealing:

We would not have made progress if we had not intervened on very

personal matters such as who your neighbour is, how you live, the noise you
make, how you spit (or where you spit) or what language you use…’ (Lee
Kuan Yew, The Straits Times, 20 April, 1987, as cited by Kwang et al., 1998)

Evidently the government unapologetically justifies its micromanagement and

ubiquitousness as necessary for political stability and economic growth (Clammer, 1993;
Shaw et al., 1995; Haley and Low, 1998; Neher, 1999). Aside from personal
intrusiveness, the government is also omnipresent in most aspects of the business, social
and cultural life of the country. It dominates all internal and external links and has a direct
impact on Singapore’s culture through policy measures, regulation, planning,
propaganda, information and domination of production and infrastructure (Haley and Low,
1998). It is the country’s largest employer, regulates the ‘working class barracks’ (Haley
and Low, 1998) of public housing in which most people live, and controls Singapore’s
compulsory savings scheme (the Central Provident Fund) (Tamney, 1996).

33
Crisis, what crisis?

During Singapore’s earliest formative years there were inevitable social disturbances,
including riots; many of them racially based. Lee has been unapologetic in relation to the
governments’ interventions and, somewhat paradoxically, frequently reminds
Singaporeans of the threat of the past ‘riots and troubles’ (AsiaWeek Magazine, 2000)
whilst at the same time eulogising multiculturalism. The government continues to ban any
activities that could be perceived as likely to incite racial or religious anger. Accordingly,
race and ethnicity-based issues are perceived as constant threats fermenting in the
background of Singapore’s superficial harmony.

Brown (1993) proposes three main reasons for this ongoing centrality of ethnicity to
Singaporean politics. Firstly, he contends that the political consciousness of the Chinese
majority in Singapore is dominated by their self-perception as a minority within a
predominantly Malay region. Furthermore, he highlights the fact that the racial division of
labour, which occurred during British rule, still exists to some extent (e.g. Malays in the
public sector and lower paid jobs; Chinese in business and the professions; Indians at
both ends of the spectrum - the professions and labourers (Pang, 1975)). Finally, Brown
(1993) highlights the link between Chinese chauvinism and pro-communist agitation in
the 1950s, which, he argues, predisposed the PAP moderates towards a view of the
disruptive potential of ethnic loyalties.

Like many other issues in Singapore, the government’s concern over racial conflict has
both positive and negative implications. On the positive side of the equation,
multiracialism and equal opportunity/’meritocracy’ are enshrined in legislation (although
whether they exist in practice is open to debate, as discussed later in this chapter).
Countervailing that however is the fact that, employing what Haas calls ‘melodrama out of
all proportion to the perceived threat’ (Haas, 1999b:5), national security has become a
justification for suppressing public discussion (Tamney, 1996). Moreover, based on the
melded threats of ethnic conflict and economic downturn, the government is able to
perpetuate a crisis mentality thereby ‘driving Singaporeans harder, and resulting in ever-
more interventionist and paternalistic policies’ (Haley and Low, 1998:542).

Stifling debate

The pervading atmosphere of censorship in Singapore is perhaps nowhere more obvious

than in the dearth of critical academic appraisal of government policy, particularly
anything emanating from Singapore itself. Indeed a respected Singaporean academic

34
said to me that, in regards to publications, the reader was expected to ‘have the
intelligence to read between the lines’. A rather unfortunate outcome of this self-
censorship is the fact that a great majority of the academically critical literature about
Singapore is written by ‘Western’ authors, many of whom have had quite negative
experiences of the country. As Haas observes, ‘sometimes those painful experiences
motivate acerbic comments’ (Haas, 1999b:8). Indeed in compiling and editing ‘The
Singapore Puzzle’, Haas found that ‘most Singaporeans were reluctant [to contribute]’.
This reluctance is no doubt largely explained by the experiences of those academics who
have previously gone on record with what have been deemed to be inflammatory
comments whilst in Singapore. Of particular relevance to this research is one of the most
notable cases of ‘defamation’ in Singapore: that concerning [then] resident American
academic Dr Christopher Lingle. In October 1994, Lingle published an article in the
International Herald Tribune (IHT) entitled: ‘The smoke over parts of Asian obscures
some profound concerns’. His article was a rejoinder to an opinion piece written by
Kishore Mahbubani, then Permanent Secretary of the Foreign Affairs Ministry of
Singapore. Mahbubani’s piece analysed the flaws of European foreign policy and
concluded that East Asia had enjoyed sound strategic decisions (The Straits Times,
1994b). Lingle’s rejoinder referred to unnamed ‘intolerant regimes in the region’ and
made critical comments about the ‘compliance’ of judiciaries in ‘some Asian countries’;
however no country was specified. The Singapore High Court found that the article did
suggest that the judiciary in Singapore was compliant and consequently four editors from
the IHT and Lingle were charged with contempt of court, and Lee Kuan Yew successfully
sued Lingle for libel (The Straits Times, 1994c; Fernandez, 1995b, c, a). Whilst the
Lingle case is probably the best known, it is not the only instance of foreign academics
being sued by members of the Singaporean government (see also Sandilands (The
Straits Times, 1994a)).

The fact that the government will sue (and frequently bankrupt) dissenters and critics has
become an expected matter of course in Singapore, indeed Lee Kuan Yew has ‘the
distinction of being the most successful libel litigant in history’ (Haas, 1999b). He is
reported as having told university students that they must ‘be on guard against being
unduly influenced by their foreign teachers’, and has directly told foreign teachers that
anyone who criticised basic government policy would be on the first plane out of the
country (Tamney, 1996:28). Visiting professors at the National University of Singapore
claim to have learned that their lectures were attended by informers, who were assigned
the responsibility of monitoring lecturers, as well as students (Haas, 1999b). As is

35
doubtless self evident; this stifling of public comment has wide reaching implications for
transnational education in Singapore.

External dependency
Singapore’s rapid growth and economic success is all the more remarkable because of its
tiny size and almost non-existent natural resources. These fundamental characteristics
result in dependencies and vulnerabilities; for example Singapore is dependent on
Malaysia for over fifty percent of its water needs (Savage, 2001). Land is another
vulnerability and reclamation is an additional source of conflict with Malaysia.

A further vulnerability, repeated by the government like a mantra, is the fact that for
Singapore; ‘our people are our only resource’ (Brown, 1993; Tamney, 1996; Tesoro and
Oorjitham, 1996; Gopinathan, 1997b; Gopinathan and Ho, 2000b; Chiang, 2002; Teo,
2002). This mindset is good news for those interested in human resource development, is
no doubt entirely accurate, and has been cited as one of the foundations of Singapore’s
success (Sanderson, 2002). For more than a decade the government has been wooing
‘foreign talent’ to augment the workforce in areas where necessary expertise is in short
supply. Singaporean MP Raymond Lim suggests that the term ‘global talent’ is better
suited to this policy which aims to; ‘attract the best from anywhere in the world to work in
Singapore, and, just as importantly, to retain, nurture and develop local talent to world
class standard’ (Lim, 2002). Without doubt, the recognition that human resources are a
potential limiting factor in Singapore’s growth has maximised the already high value that
Singapore places on education - particularly vocational education. This stress on the
development of human resources will be discussed later in this chapter, in the context of
its centrality to the education system.

Environmental cross fertilisation

By virtue of history and trade, Singapore enjoys very close relations with the members of
the Association of Asian Nations (ASEAN) in which it plays a central role. In 1993
Singapore began to purposefully leverage on those relations as it initiated an
economically based ‘regionalisation drive’ (Ashton et al., 1999). Regionalisation is usually
a process driven by political forces seeking to reduce or eliminate barriers to the
movement of goods, capital, and people within a region: in opposition to the forces of
globalisation, or as a move towards it (Low, 2002). Singaporean regionalisation aims to
utilise cheaper production and labour costs whilst tapping the growing markets in the
region. As a result, the number of Singaporean companies established in the region has

36
risen significantly and Singapore is one of the largest investors in Malaysia, Indonesia,
Thailand, Philippines, Vietnam and China (Singapore Government Online, 1998).

Within Singapore, the cultivation of foreign investment has provided the country with a
very significant number of resident multi-national corporations. As a consequence of
these factors, and the influx of ‘foreign talent’ outlined in the previous section, Singapore
is more cosmopolitan than many of its neighbours (Haley and Low, 1998). As an outcome
of this cosmopolitanism, whilst Chinese heritage is a common denominator in the region,
Singapore’s culture is quite different to others in ASEAN. All these factors place
Singapore in good stead to establish its own transnational education provider status.

Global competition
Singapore is inextricably entwined in the phenomenon of globalisation (Gopinathan,
1997b), and its status as a major financial, transportation, and communication hub is
dependent on its preparedness to play by the rules. The requisite flexibility brings
economic benefits but also cultural changes, some of which are decidedly unwelcomed –
at least by the government. There is a pronounced tension between the government’s
preparedness to embrace global values when they enhance Singapore’s economic
competitiveness and its resistance to external values which it classifies as alien and
charges with being corruptive of Singaporean lifestyles and values (Clammer, 1993).
These ‘alien values’ are stereotypically portrayed as ‘Western’. Singaporeans are also
exhorted to ‘manage the external influences which the country is exposed to so that they
absorb the good and filter out the undesirable’ (Prime Minister Goh Chock Tong as cited
by Birch, 1999:22). Meanwhile the government itself has embraced capitalism and
adopted certain ‘Western’ values and practices, but it reserves the right to interpret these
to fit its own purposes (Clammer, 1993:44). For example, whilst rule of law exists, trial by
jury was abolished in 1969 (Haas, 1999a). Singapore's leaders emphasise that the
Westminster model of democracy is not appropriate for all, (e.g. that it is combative in
nature and ill-geared towards achieving consensus), and that nations must be allowed to
develop their own forms of human rights that take the cultural context into account
(Gopinathan, 1997b; Ganesan, 2002; Mahbubani, 2002). The efforts of Singapore’s
leaders to neutralise the tensions in this seeming contradiction constitute another of the
fascinating but baffling paradoxes of modern Singapore.

37
Benchmarking, borrowing and sifting
‘If we succeed, we can then aim for the summit, joining countries like the US,
Japan and Switzerland’ (Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong's National Day Rally
Speech, as per Ministry of Information and the Arts Singapore, 2001:1)

Clearly being a Singaporean involves blurring the boundaries of ‘East’ and ‘West’
(Tamney, 1996; Rizvi, 1997). Lee Kuan Yew has observed that a disadvantage of
Singapore’s adoption of English, is its exposure to American values through the internet,
as opposed to the experience of other Asian countries where language has acted as a
proxy censor (The Straits Times Interactive, 2000).

For the Singaporean government, the ‘values’ portrayed as ‘Western’ or ‘American’ are
those that are counter to the paramount economic focus and the requirement for a flexible
and passive work force. The government’s response has been to laud the values of
Singapore’s ethnic sub-cultures and to underscore the ‘undesirable’ elements and
features of ‘Western’ society (Gopinathan, 1997b:24). Sometimes ‘the West’ is cast in the
role of imperialist, seeking to govern Singapore and make it a ‘client state of the US’
(Henson, 1994). The ascription of behaviours to the government’s ‘decadent-Westernism’
list or, conversely, to the ‘acceptable-costs-of-modernisation’ list appears arbitrary at
times. It is all the more interesting because Singapore has comprehensively relied on
adapting foreign models to reach the point where it is now being touted as an
international model in its own right.

As evidenced in PM Goh’s statement at the start of this section, Singapore’s leaders are
‘fond of making international comparisons as a way of benchmarking achievements’
(Gopinathan, 1997b:23). During the 1960s, the Cambridge-educated Lee Kuan Yew
‘never missed an occasion to express his admiration, tinted with some nostalgia, of the
1940s British universities and Britain itself’ (Margolin, 1993:89). However Lee began to
lose his nostalgic reverence as new freedoms in Britain overwhelmed the Victorian norms
he had been used to (Margolin, 1993; Backman, 2000) and subsequently, from the
1970s onward the models the PAP selected were always economically successful
countries and attention was turned to Japan and the Asian region (Margolin, 1993).

The government’s adoption and adaptation of foreign models is also evident in HRD. In
post-independence Singapore, vocational/technical educational ideas were borrowed
from Swiss and German experiences (Margolin, 1993; Gopinathan, 1997b). The
Economic Development Board invited multinational companies to establish technical
training institutions in Singapore. Meanwhile the Ministry of Education sent teams of

38
principals to the United Kingdom, USA, and Taiwan to study and eventually transpose
desirable aspects of their education systems into Singapore (Gopinathan, 1997b; Tan,
2003). Currently ‘all three components of the education and training system: basic
education, initial training and continuing education and training, contain selective
elements of other countries’ practices’ (Ashton et al., 1999). However culture is a
determining factor in the success or otherwise of human interactions and Singapore’s
borrowings in the field of HRD and vocational education and training have not always
been entirely successful. For example the introduction of ‘On the Job Training (OJT)’, as
copied from Japan, encountered problems because many Singaporean managers were
reluctant to share information with subordinates (Ashton et al., 1999:46). This is not
surprising, as it is difficult to extract HR polices and practices from their wider societal
conditions and produce the same effects in a different environment. Nevertheless one of
Singapore’s strengths seems to be its ability to adopt and adapt, and clearly it has
demonstrated that much can be learned from the study of systems other than our own. It
will be interesting to see the approach Singapore takes as it exhausts its opportunities for
further growth from this pattern.

Migrant stock
Management of ethnicity in contemporary Singapore
Let’s break up the ghettos and rebuild. We did not allow them to chose their
neighbours, which means when their children went to school they are mixed.
When they do national service they are mixed. (Lee Kuan Yew, as cited by
The Straits Times Interactive, 2000)

It’s not because we want to divide the races, if we want to reach people at
the bottom we need people from the same community. A Chinese can’t
reach out to a Malay family and advise them how to bring up children. That
would be an insult to them. They need a Malay leader, recognised by the
Malay community, who is genuinely interested in helping these families do
better. (Goh Chok Tong as cited in Asiaweek Magazine, 1996)

Today Singapore has a total resident population of 4,185,200 (Statistics Singapore,

2003). The population is a multi-racial and multi-lingual, with a Chinese majority
(seventy-seven percent), followed by Malays (fifteen percent), Indians (six percent),
Eurasians and others (two percent)(Chiang, 2002). In the country’s early history there is
no doubt that multi-racialism brought with it problems that had to be managed. Evidently
the task has been undertaken quite successfully; certainly racially-based riots are now an
affliction of the past. At the same time as moving to ensure ‘harmony’, the government
has attempted to engineer ethnicity in order to maximise the economic (and

39
penultimately, the social) benefits of its diversity. But here emerges another of the
puzzles of Singapore. The observant outsider notices a tension between the propaganda
of ‘one nation, one people, one Singapore’ (the chorus of a ‘National Song’ that makes
frequent appearances on television and at National Day rallies) and the impact of the
racial categorisation, elitism, and gender inequalities that are evident in Singapore.

One aspect of the aforesaid engineering is evident in the government-sponsored

hegemony of the English language in Singapore (James, 1998). English is the language
of business and education. Indeed the fact that Singapore ‘did not indulge in the linguistic
nationalism of many postcolonial societies’ (Gopinathan, 1997b:31), has been cited as
another reason for the country’s economic success. English is considered as a means of
providing a link to the world economy and to provide for inter-racial ‘bonding’ within
Singapore (Chiang, 2002). Whilst schools also teach a compulsory mother-tongue
(Mandarin, Malay or Tamil) the use of English in the home is rising: forty percent of
homes, particularly those with younger people, use English as the main language
(Chiang, 2002). This is likely to bring about long-term cultural changes because, for
example, any change in language usage also has an impact on culture and value
systems. Chinese language is the most important factor in establishing and transmitting
Chinese identity for the Chinese-educated, whereas for the English-educated, descent,
surname, Chinese customs, and beliefs are more important (Beardsmore, 1998).

Interestingly (and again, puzzlingly for a country that espouses multiculturalism and
ethnic harmony), at most junctures Singaporean society remains artificially divided along
primarily racial lines; even in the realms of economic, political and social issues which do
not relate directly to linguistic, religious or racial matters (Brown, 1993). By way of a
personal example: I was surprised to find that when I applied for a student exchange visa,
all the documentation that I needed to complete asked for my race as well as my
nationality – this was a question I had never been asked before. Clammer (1993:41)
observes that these old official modes of ‘racial’ classification are often absurdities and
my experiences supported that opinion. Nothing is really that clear-cut in Singapore and I
found that race-based assumptions about people’s culture and religious affiliation were a
misleading simplification made on dubious grounds. For example, inter-racial marriages
have been common in Singapore (Haley and Low, 1998) and, possibly through living in
such close proximity to each other, Singaporeans have adopted components of the
religious and cultural traditions of the other ethnic groups. Even in Singapore’s early days,
racial descriptors could not have been reliable cultural indicators: the Chinese were
divided into two descendent groups – the Babas or Straits Chinese whose culture

40
reflected the Malay influence, and the Sinkeks, the name given to newcomers from China
by the Straits-born Chinese (Khoo, 1996). Contemporary Singapore is dominated by
people of Baba heritage who had access to English education; an influential case in point
being Lee Kuan Yew (Backman, 2000). Singapore’s Chinese heritage citizens still speak
a range of dialects (Tamney, 1996; Backman, 2000) despite the government’s push for
all Chinese heritage Singaporeans to speak Mandarin (Gopinathan, 1998), and the
different dialect groups retain differing cultural traditions

However, in Singapore sub-group loyalties (e.g. to ethnic or language groups) are

deemed antithetical to the required loyalty to the nation state. ‘High culture’ (such as the
performing arts) has been celebrated and depoliticised whilst ‘undesirable elements’
(such as liberal religion) have been eradicated (Brown, 1993; Clammer, 1993). The
various groups within society are officially recognised as having ‘values which differ from
each other but which are mutually compatible, so that they form the building-blocks for
the ”umbrella” national cultural values and identity’ (Brown, 1993:17).

Despite the questions raised about the compatibility with officially espoused multi-racial
ideals, the state manages sub-group loyalties by allowing state-sponsored racially-based
groups, membership of which is often the only means for Singaporeans to ‘safely’
participate in any form of government (Tan, 2003). At the same time, the groups provide
the government with a means of political control (Brown, 1993). The Mendaki (Council for
the Education of Muslim Children) is an interesting example of one of these state-
sponsored interest groups. Whilst during the 1970s Singaporeans had been warned that
issues relating to race, religion, and language were too sensitive for discussion, during
the latter half of the 1980s the government took a ‘risky gamble in the political context that
had few parallels elsewhere’ (Gopinathan, 1997a:33). Prime Minister Lee singled out the
Malay community and began to explicitly discuss the fact that the Malays were entering
into a cycle of lack of educational success and relative deprivation (Brown, 1993).
Consequently the 1982 formation of the Mendaki was justified to ‘reform Malay attitudes
and values’, particularly concerning education (Brown, 1993:29). After the successful
formation of the Mendaki, the government moved (ostensibly to tackle the grievances of
other groups in society) to create more ethnic interest associations including; a Sikh
Advisory Board, the Singapore Indian Development Association, the Eurasian
Association, and a Hindu Advisory Board (which has constraints against involvement in
Punjabi and Tamil/Sri Lankan politics). In order to appear balanced, it had to offer the
Chinese their own ‘Mendaki’ and so the Chinese Development Assistance Council was

41
established in 1991, despite the fact that ethnic Chinese were heavily over-represented in
local tertiary education (Tan, 2003).

In summary, Singapore’s ‘harmony’ is closely managed and some consider it to be an

illusion based on the suppression of dissent (Brown, 1993; Tamney, 1996). Certainly in
my experience, there are strong feelings of inequality within the minority groups, and
Singaporeans are well aware of this. Singapore is not the ‘one happy melded nation’ that
the propaganda songs promise: the usual racial prejudices that exist around the world are
alive and well in Singapore. Unfortunately this fact revitalises the previously discussed
crisis mentality. Meanwhile, with the stated intent of supporting interracial harmony, the
government continues to push forward with the promulgation of a national values
ideology.

National values, Asian values, whose values?

The argument about Asian values: we didn’t want to pick a quarrel with the
West. But we have certain basic beliefs which have held this community
together, and if we lose those values, we are done for. (Lee Kuan Yew, as
reported by The Straits Times Interactive, 2000)

It is vital for Western minds to understand that efforts by Asians to rediscover

Asian values are not only a search for political values…[but represent] a
complex set of motives and aspirations in Asian minds…to renew the
connection to the past…bring up their young…conscious of the cultures of
their ancestors…define their own personal, social and national
identities…[and] enhance their self esteem. (Mahbubani - Singapore's
Western-educated ambassador to the United Nations, 2002:33)

As previously discussed, Singapore has habitually adopted ‘Western’ models whilst

rejecting the value sets that arguable underpin them. To counteract the adoption of these
supposedly decadent ‘Western’ values, the government has to promoted ‘Asian’ values
and traditions. The intention to promulgate of ‘Asian Values’ seems to be a combination
of description, or lauding of appropriate values and traditions that can be shown to still
exist, and prescription and inculcation where the ‘values’ had been forgotten or possibly
never existed in the first place (Clammer, 1993; Tan, 1997). As early as the 1970s Lee
was espousing the need to ‘remain ourselves’ (Lee Kuan Yew as cited by Gopinathan,
1997b:24). However he believed that culture could be ‘tinkered with’ and consequently
set about enacting his intention to engineer a populace who would ‘emulate or adopt
certain habits and practices which will make Singapore a success’ (Lee Kuan Yew as
cited by Kwang et al., 1998:17).

42
As the effects of globalisation intensified, the government moved to enshrine ‘Asian
values’ as a national ideology. During the late 1980s the following were adapted as
national values that were intended to unite all Singaporeans:

• Nation before community and society before self;

• Family as the basic unit of society;

• Community support and respect for the individual;

• Consensus, not conflict; and

• Racial and religious harmony.

As Clammer (1993:35) observes; ‘at face value this move would appear to simply
encapsulate values that already exist and are widely shared in Singapore’. However
there has been much debate about the values pertaining to issues such as; whether they
are truly representative of Singaporean values or simply another propaganda mechanism;
whether it is possible to meld values emerging from such varied ‘Asian’ ethnic
backgrounds; whose values they actually represent; and the agenda/s behind the
development of the values in the first place.

Certainly it is quite likely that most ‘Asian’ people would accept that they do have different
values to those from ‘the West’. For example, in a poll of Asian executives published by
the Far Eastern Economic Review in March 1996, eighty percent considered that ‘Asian’
values were different from those of ‘the West’, and sixty-three percent considered that
they made a significant difference to Asia’s economic development (Birch, 1999:26).
Furthermore Neher (1999) reported that the majority of ‘Asians’ consistently ranked social
stability as more important than personal liberty. However despite such reports, two major
problems with Singapore’s ‘National Shared Values’ are obvious in light of the research
reviewed in this thesis. One is the questionable assumption that all Asian cultures share
common values (Brown, 1993; Tan, 1997). Another is highlighted in the ‘ecological’
research from the field of psychology which identifies national cultural dimensions
(discussed in detail in chapter five), and argues that: ‘we speak of individuals holding
values, not countries…’ (Bond, 1996a:211). Both of these points make something of a
nonsense of extrinsically assigning ‘National Values’ to a multi-ethnic country like
Singapore. Indeed, as Clammer (1993:49) suggests: ‘the gulf between a Hakka peasant
from South China and a Hindu Brahmin from Tamil Nadu is about as big as you can get’.

43
In light of such considerations, it is not surprising that both Singaporeans and external
observers immediately expressed suspicion that the National Ideology would promote
Chinese Confucianist values at the expense of the non-Chinese (indeed the value set has
been labelled neo-Confucian) (Gopinathan, 1997b). Certainly the five values are highly
representative of Confucian-heritage nations (Hofstede, 1980; Chinese Culture
Connection, 1987). Perhaps the values are specifically directed at Singapore’s Chinese,
who were seen to be most at risk of ‘Westernisation’ (e.g. through conversion to
Christianity and enthusiastic consumerism) (Brown, 1993). Paradoxically, it seems likely
that promotion of the ‘National Values’ could actually undermine the government’s efforts
to promote racial harmony, as it is hardly surprising that non-Confucian Singaporeans
would be cynical about the espoused ideology of their nation. As Clammer notes;
‘apparently the Indians, Malays, Eurasians, Arabs and others who make up Singapore’s
population do not have any values worth enshrining…[or if they do] they are of the
dangerous religious variety (Clammer, 1993:42,25)

Several commentators have also observed that the values bear a striking resemblance to
a deindividualised version of Weber’s Protestant work ethic (Tamney, 1996; Haley and
Low, 1998). If the values appear traditional and somewhat old fashioned that is probably
not an accident. For Singapore’s leaders, who are committed to discipline and wary of
relaxation (Tamney, 1996), the new attitudes of Singapore’s burgeoning middle and
upper classes (quality of life, rather than economic survival) are dangerous – but this is
yet another paradox as these middle classes are a direct result of Singapore’s economic
success. Moreover, Singapore’s National Values, supposedly uniquely ‘Asian’, may
actually be universal: based more on the Victorian era reflected in the education of many
of the government’s Ministers, and thus the ‘Western’ comparisons may be completely
spurious (Clammer, 1993; Margolin, 1993; Backman, 2000). Nevertheless the
government continues to attempt to programme them into the national psyche, with
further paradoxical outcomes, as discussed below.

Reinventing and reinforcing values

No child should leave school after nine years without having the software of
his culture programmed into his subconscious. (Lee Kuan Yew, as cited by
Tamney, 1996:26)

Whether [our young] love Singapore and are prepared to give their lives in
her defence [is] shaped by the education they receive during their formative
years. (Rear Admiral Teo Chee Hean, Minister for Education and Second
Minister for Defence as cited by Ministry of Information Communications and
The Arts Singapore, 2002)

44
In Singapore the national education system and compulsory national service for males
are inextricable components of nation-building and the evolution of a Singaporean
identity: in other words they are ‘tools for the citizen’s submission’ (Haley and Low,
1998:533).

Schools have been managed at the national level and ‘are mandated to implement
educational policies formulated to achieve national political, cultural and economic goals
and priorities’ (Chew, 1997:75). Examples of such educational policies have included the
provision of compulsory subjects such as ‘moral education’, and, in a surprise policy
move in late 1982, ‘religious knowledge’. The implementation of ‘religious knowledge’ is
an interesting case as it was a government policy intended to inculcate desirable values,
but the subject was scrapped in 1993 and replaced with ‘civics and moral education’.
Again the rationale for the change was to combat ‘decadent Western influences’ (Tan,
1997). However critical reflection has pointed to the likelihood that the ‘religious
knowledge’ subject was actually abandoned because it added to a heightened
consciousness of religious differences. Subsequently the Religious Harmony Act was
enacted: thus, whilst the ‘National Values’ are notionally intended to encourage religious
harmony, the Act enforces it (Clammer, 1993). ‘Under the Act, ‘harmony’ has two
meanings: not to attempt the conversion of those of a different persuasion; and not to mix
religion and politics’ (Clammer, 1993:41).

In addition to passing through the filters of education and national service, undesirable
values and foreign cultural messages are managed through government control of the
media including the exclusion and restriction of the circulation of a range of foreign
publications, and the banning of TV satellite dishes. Internet usage is also highly
regulated, even advertisements are vetted to ensure that ‘Asian’ values are not
undermined: the Ministry of Information and the Arts considers that ‘[Singapore] should
discourage advertisements which show Singaporean men, women and children behaving
as if they were ‘Westerners’’ (Birch, 1999:20).

‘Meritocracy’ and equality

We the citizens of Singapore pledge ourselves as one united people,
regardless of race, language, or religion, to build a democratic society based
on justice and equality so as to achieve happiness, prosperity, and progress
for our nation. [Singapore school pledge recited at weekly flag-raising
ceremony]

I’ve said it openly that if we were 100 percent Chinese, we would do better.
But we are not and never will be, so we live with what we have. (Lee Kuan
Yew as cited by Kwang et al., 1998:181)

45
As has been discussed, the National Value that refers to ‘racial and religious harmony’
has not come easily or voluntarily in Singapore. The approach that the government takes
to maximising the benefits of diversity (economic or social) is difficult to categorise, at
least according to ‘Western’ sociological models. Like so much in Singapore, the
government adopts aspects of the access and equity models used in ‘the West’, but only
those it deems to meet its requirements. Maximising the benefits of diversity does not
necessarily imply ensuring equality. An example that surprises the newcomer to
Singapore is a public sector that uses a language of exclusion that many ‘Westerners’
would consider overtly discriminatory through the constant use of the masculine pronoun
in government titles, public documents and newspapers (e.g. The Ministry of Manpower,
‘Workmen’s Compensation’ etc.).

At face value, Singapore is founded on the freedom of religious association and

acknowledgment of difference. Lee Kuan Yew, and therefore the Singaporean
Government, has said that he does not subscribe to the cultural assimilationist ‘melting
pot’ ideology, nor a denial of difference (Kwang et al., 1998). Lee acknowledged in 1998
(as cited in Kwang et al., 1998:440): ‘we cannot obliterate the cultural and religious
distinctions between the racial groups’. However, as already discussed, some of those
distinctions have been systematically diluted and/or suppressed at the highest level.
Therefore it would seem that Lee’s rhetoric does not match Singapore’s reality: as
interculturalist Bennett (1993b) proposes, the model for the ‘successful melting pot’
usually looks a lot like the dominant group. Statements such as the following made by
Lee as Prime Minister would indicate to a Malay or Indian that adopting a Chinese
behaviour set and value system is the yardstick of success:

[in describing a person of Malay descent] …and he is acting just like a

Chinese…I am not saying that all of them have to be like that…but here is
one who has made his life a success. (Lee Kuan Yew as cited by Kwang et
al., 1998:184).

Non-Chinese are not the only Singaporeans who may be marginalised. The status of
women has long been unequal, where ‘social pressure and traditional attitudes about sex-
roles required that females play a subordinate and submissive role’ and ‘educational
opportunities were first offered to male children as the future economic providers’ (Low,
1997). Women graduates in Singapore earned less than men, and were less likely to
reach senior management positions or be ‘sent’ for training (Lee and Pow, 1999).
However, during the period 1991 to 1999 the skills/education profile of women improved
and has come to almost match that of men (Ministry of Manpower Singapore, 2000).

46
Nevertheless, female representation in corporate management type positions is building
from quite a low baseline and there is some way to go yet (Lee and Pow, 1999).

The issues of race and class-based income disparity have long been topical in Singapore
(Pang, 1975; Mukhopadhaya, 2000). Unfortunately, Malays and Indians are
disproportionately out of work because, as has always been the case, relatively more
Chinese run companies (Henson, 2002). Whilst in Singapore I viewed a documentary in
which an Indian woman talked about telephoning for a job interview only to be told the job
had already been allocated. However when she phoned back and pretended to be
Chinese she was given an interview. This disparity is denied by Prime Minister Goh, who
has stated that, (in a country with an 77% Chinese majority), ‘no non-Chinese is
disadvantaged unless the company does business with China or Taiwan, or is a
traditional Chinese owned company’ (as cited by Tan, 2002:167). In Singapore there is a
minimal social safety net and consequently unemployment (running at a ten year high of
4.7% (Ministry of Manpower Singapore, 2003), and income disparity, are very sensitive
issues. The state’s justification for a lack of social security is that it provides an education
system in which the use of English creates a level playing field across races, leaving
them to succeed on their own merit (e.g. (Goh Chok Tong cited in Pang, 1975; Asiaweek
Magazine, 1996; Tan, 2002). This ‘equal opportunity for all’ is somewhat debatable,
given that children of graduate parents in Singapore were sixteen times more likely to
make it to the top ten percent of their cohort and the majority of graduates are Chinese
(Mukhopadhaya, 2000; Tan, 2003).

Somewhat inexplicably for a government that is not shy to legislate, Singapore has no
enforceable equity legislation. A government publication in 2000 acknowledged that:

Employers realizing that women are more likely than men to leave the labour
market…due to family responsibilities…could be less inclined to hire them
for occupations where experience and on the job training are important.
(Ministry of Manpower Singapore, 2000)

In 2002 tripartite guidelines were put in place regarding non-discriminatory job

advertisements for employers (Ministry of Manpower Singapore, 2002). However the
guidelines are not mandatory and it is common to see advertisements for ‘Mandarin
speaking’ workers, which would presumably exclude most non-Chinese applicants.

This tension between the government’s espoused ‘meritocracy’ and the elitism evident in
Singaporean society is yet another paradox. This brief consideration of diversity in
Singapore is important to this research on several levels: including that managing

47
diversity is central to Human Resource Development and is one of the subjects taught in
the BET program. Furthermore, and possibly of most importance to this thesis, concepts
of diversity and equality influence educational opportunities in Singapore.

The Singaporean education system

An educated and enlightened population is our guarantee for a prosperous
future. (Minister for Education Ong Pang Boon, 1996, as cited by Low,
1997)

The Singaporean government has a history of generous spending on education, and has
long boasted the highest expenditure by percentage of GNP in Asia (Low, 1997;
Chapman, 1998; Haley and Low, 1998). As a result the country has a ninety-three
percent literacy rate for those aged fifteen years or over (Singapore Ministry of Trade and
Industry, 2002); ‘regularly blitzes the world’s cross-national test scores in student
achievement in mathematics (TIMMS)’ (Chapman, 1998:644); and is acknowledged as
producing students who regularly out-perform those produced by ‘Western’ education
systems (Townsend and Cheng, 2000).

As Linda Low (2001:305) (then from the National University of Singapore) confirmed; ‘[in
Singapore] higher education is a consuming preoccupation at both the national and
individual levels’. That preoccupation is driven by Singapore’s now familiar primary
economic objectives. Human capital is fundamental in the nation-building process and
Singaporeans are walking investments in the country’s economic future (Bercuson et al.,
1995; Ashton et al., 1999; Gopinathan and Ho, 2000b; Tan, 2002). Each year the
Council for Professional and Technical Education (CPTE) under the Ministry of Trade and
Industry (MTI) anticipates the skills the economy will require in response to the next
phase of globalisation and recommends tertiary intake by discipline area in an attempt to
tailor the education system to economic requirements (Yaw et al., 2000; Low, 2001;
Tan, 2003).

Whilst high levels of expenditure from a government that is supportive of vocational

education may initially appear ideal from an HRD perspective, in reality, when ‘education
is seen more as a national need than a citizen’s right‘ (Low, 1997:352), discretional
selection of one’s educational institution, discipline area and subsequent career path
becomes an unrealisable dream. This frequently inequitable situation is founded on, and
sustained by, an education system that is described as ‘conspicuously elitist’ (James,
1998:101).

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History and evolution of education in Singapore

Singapore’s early educational development was subject to a range of influences including

those of its British colonial masters; the ideas, teachers and ideology of China; and the
ideologies and pedagogies of the nation’s various religious and ethnic sub groups
(Gopinathan, 1997b, a). During the colonial period the British had employed an ‘ad-hoc
policy of benign neglect’ resulting in deep educational segregation along ethnic and
linguistic lines (Gopinathan, 1997a:25). Chinese schools reflected political changes in
China and Islamic Madrasahs continued traditional models from the Middle East
(Gopinathan, 1997b:24). The outcomes of this divisive system engendered resentment on
behalf of those who had not been able to access an English education (Gopinathan,
1997a:25; Ashton et al., 1999; Davie, 2003b). It was in response to this resentment that
the PAP adopted Singapore’s bilingual education policy.

Streaming and stresses

In Singapore’s contemporary education system a child spends at least six years in

primary school where the focus is on English, mathematics and the mother tongue. Due
to high failure rates in English and the mother tongue, ability-based streaming was
implemented; consequently at the end of four years in primary school, pupils are placed
into one of three language streams according to their abilities (Ministry of Information
Communications and the Arts Singapore, 2002). Streaming at such an early age seems
likely to be the commencement point for the reported elitist and competitive nature of the
Singaporean schooling system. Those students placed into the lower ability streams tend
to be categorised as low achievers. The stigmatisation of these students is the cause of
much concern amongst Singaporeans; indeed the second highest grossing movie in
Singapore box office history (Jack Neo’s ‘I not stupid’) tells the story of three young boys
struggling in primary school and their stressed parents ‘all feeling the pressure of a
society that demands a narrow type of success at all costs’ (Neo, 2002).

Following the successful completion of the Primary School Leaving Examination (PSLE)
at the end of year six, pupils are again streamed into one of three curricular emphases.
At this stage they are either preparing for the Singapore-Cambridge General Certificate of
Education ‘Ordinary’ (GCE ‘O’) level examination via a three year ‘express course’ or the
four year Normal (academic) or (technical) course, both of which lead to CGE ‘Normal’
(GCE ‘N’) level examinations. Those who do well in ‘N’ levels may continue for a fifth year
and sit for ‘O’ levels. Pupils may then enter an Institute of Technical Education, a
Polytechnic to pursue a diploma course, or a junior college to prepare for the ‘Advanced’

49
‘A’ level examination, the results of which determine their eligibility for tertiary education
(Ministry of Information Communications and the Arts Singapore, 2002).

The Singaporean system has been called ‘rigid…where people are indicted for life
because of their poor GCE results’ (The Straits Times, 1999). It certainly has a ‘survival of
the fittest’ feel and, with no safety net for those who do not exactly fit the mould, it is not
surprising that anything to do with education stirs intense public feeling. Competition
between schools as well as individuals is intense: all secondary schools are ranked
annually and the results are published in the newspapers. As discussed further in chapter
five, in Confucian-heritage societies status and face are derived from knowledge, career
choice, and formal qualifications; thus certificates, diplomas and the trappings of higher
education have high symbolic value (Hofstede, 1980; Jeans, 1995; Pratt, 1999; Chua,
2000; Koh, 2001). Whilst the government presents the education system as a level
playing field that enables all Singaporeans to make the most of their opportunities, it is
obvious that some schools and individuals are simply unable to compete effectively (Tan,
2003).

Singapore’s higher education system

At the time of this research, Singapore had three Universities; the National University of
Singapore (NUS), Nanyang Technological University (NTU) and the Singapore
Management University (SMU). Until recently, NUS has been the most comprehensive
university offering a wide range of undergraduate and postgraduate programs whilst NTU
has specialised in engineering and business disciplines. Recent university reforms have
meant that NTU will be expanded, to offer programmes in physical sciences, humanities,
design, and media (Davie, 2003a, c; Nirmala, 2003). SMU was opened in 2000 to meet
the needs of the business and service sectors of the local economy, and its auspices are
considered likely to be a benchmark for future collaborative educational ventures
(Sanderson, 2002; Lee, 2003).

In addition to the three ‘official’ universities Singapore also has other local onshore
providers of tertiary education, including the National Institute of Education (NIE) and the
Singapore Institute of Management (SIM) (the site of this research). The National
Institute of Education (NIE) that was formed in July 1991 at a cost of S$400 million as a
campus of NTU (Ministry of Information Communications and The Arts Singapore, 2002).
With the establishment of NIE has come formal upgrading of teacher education to
university level (Gopinathan and Ho, 2000a; Gopinathan et al., 2001).

50
Apart from the above tertiary options, many Singaporeans either go overseas to pursue
university qualifications, or undertake degrees provided by overseas universities in
Singapore or online. They make this decision either as a preferred choice or, more
frequently, because they are unable to gain entry to local universities (Low, 2001). At the
time of writing the annual university intake rate per cohort is twenty-one percent, although
the government aims to raise that to twenty-five percent by 2010 (Lee and Gopinathan,
2003).

The prestige of a university degree has the corollary that polytechnic graduates are
frequently stigmatised as being less academically able and therefore less employable
(e.g. see (Chua, 2000)). As a consequence, thirty percent upgrade to a degree within five
years of being awarded their diploma and up to a further twenty percent do the same in
later years (Fong, 2000; Ministry of Trade and Industry Singapore, 2001). The bulk of
these have to seek their education overseas (Fong, 2000). When diploma up-graders,
including those who study in Singapore or externally, are added to the annual cohort who
study at NUS, NTU and SMU, Singapore’s percentage of higher education enrolment
improves from a base that is at least fifteen percent below the OECD average of forty
percent, to a very healthy fifty percent (Olsen, 2001).

Many Singaporeans believe that NUS and NTU should become more cross disciplinary,
and that admission criteria should become more transparent and flexible in order to allow
more polytechnic graduates the opportunity to access a degree at home. However the
government has been concerned by the ‘seduction of business and management
courses’ (Low, 2001:310) and maintains that at least half the university graduates every
year should come from science and technology courses as these skills are; ‘…our
competitive advantage’ (Minster of State for Education, Dr Ng En Hen as cited by Lee,
2003). Despite the fact that the many Singaporeans who enrol in external courses are
beyond the manpower projections of the CPTE, the government seems to deem the
eventual graduates as ‘icing on the cake’ of the country’s manpower requirements (Low,
2001).

In support of the push for internationalisation, Singaporean Universities are being

restructured into three tiers with the aim of developing global institutions (Sanderson,
2002). The first elite tier will focus on postgraduate education, world-class research and
development, and the transferral of knowledge to the industrial sector. One of the
foundations of this program is the ‘World Class University’ program launched by the
Economic Development Board (which aims to make Singapore the ‘Harvard’/‘Boston’ of

51
the East (Low, 2001)). Ten of the world’s top universities were invited to set up centres of
excellence and research in Singapore, thereby offering greater diversity and choice for
local and international students. The institutions that so far have a permanent local
presence in Singapore under this programme include:

• Chicago Graduate School of Business (USA);

• Massachusetts Institute of Technology (USA);

• John Hopkins University (USA);

• INSEAD (France);

• Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania (USA);

• Georgia Institute of Technology (USA);

• Shanghai Jiao Tong University (China);

• Stanford University (USA);

• Technische Universileit Eindhoven (Germany); and

• Technische Universitat Munchen (Germany). (Singapore Education, 2004)

• The University of New South Wales (Australia) will also establish a permanent
presence commencing 2006.

The second tier of universities will consist of NUS, NTU, and SMU which will be the
mainstay of the university system, again conducting research and development whilst
catering for Singapore’s manpower needs and education as a public good (Lee, 2003).
The intention is that second tier universities will work with the first tier, which should
ensure skills transfer and, no doubt, add prestige to the second tier institutions. To
support flexible growth of this sector both NUS and NTU both have received substantial
increases to their endowment funds (Lee, 2003).

The third tier will consist of additional private universities focusing on teaching and
applied research, and will include SIM and Australian universities providing transnational
programmes in Singapore (Lee, 2003). Third tier universities operating in Singapore in
the future are expected to be of ‘at least the same global ranking as NUS/NTU’ (Ministry
of Trade and Industry Singapore, 2001). These universities will also be expected to take
up the ‘potential base load of Singaporean students who currently go overseas to study,
and working adults undertaking continuing education’ (Ministry of Trade and Industry

52
Singapore, 2001).They will also be expected to increase their enrolment through the
intake of foreign students (Ministry of Trade and Industry Singapore, 2001).

Vocational education

Singapore’s Vocational Education and Training system is intensively focused on meeting

the MTI’s projections for human resource requirements (Alto, 2000; Low, 2001). Again,
the system is tiered; the first level meets higher management needs, the second provides
engineers, technicians and middle managers, and the third caters to skilled manpower
needs.

Entry to the first tier polytechnics which provide ‘para-professional training’, is via the
GCE ‘O’ or ‘A’ levels and, despite its perceived inferior status is also extremely
competitive with only forty percent of annual applicants gaining a place (Sanderson,
2002:91). Polytechnic students are awarded a diploma after two years of full time study or
advanced or postgraduate diplomas that usually require one-year full time study.

The second tier Institute of Technical Education (ITE) provides full time and continuing
vocational training and apprenticeship programs (Alto, 2000). ITE entry requirements
include GCE ‘O’ and ‘N’ levels, and offer courses that include industrial technician
certificates, business studies and office skills. The ITE also accredits training providers
through the Approved Training Centre (ATC) scheme which enables an organisation to
train its workers to national standards and subsequently to access financial support
through the Skills Development Fund (Alto, 2000; Ministry of Information
Communications and the Arts Singapore, 2002).

Other providers in the third tier include the Singapore Hotel and Tourism Education
Centre (SHATEC), the National Maritime Academy, corporate training centres, and the
Productivity and Standards Board which is responsible for nurturing small business and
offers in-house consultancy and short courses (for example, through the national training
initiative focusing on Critical Enabling Skills) (Tesoro and Oorjitham, 1996; Singapore
Productivity and Standards Board, 2001). Training needs and assessment processes are
indicative of the German ‘meister’ and the Australian ITAB systems. Training needs are
identified through industry surveys and assessors are pedagogically qualified trainers
who are often trained by the ITE (Alto, 2000).

Government training policy has focussed on improving the use of the workplace as a
source of learning (Ashton et al., 1999). The government’s Manpower 21 Plan has as its

53
centrepiece the idea of a ‘School of Lifelong Learning’. Financial support for training
through the ‘Manpower Development Assistance Scheme’ works on the principal of co-
funding between the individual, the company, the unions, and the Government (Ministry
of Manpower Singapore, 2001b). In support of the government’s focus on the workplace
as a source of learning, Singaporean employers are encouraged to commit to a globally
benchmarked expenditure of four percent of payroll on training and development. Thirty
percent of residents in the labour force participated in some form of structured training
during 2000 and an impressive eighty-one percent of those received some level of
financial support (Ministry of Manpower Singapore, 2001a).

Pedagogy: from dominance to dynamism?

In both higher and vocational education, Singapore’s pedagogical styles have until very
recently been strongly teacher-dominated in a system replete with rote learning and rigid
syllabuses and assessment practices. Chapter five will analyse the dominant cultural
paradigms and pedagogies that have been a significant part of the socialisation
experiences of the adult participants in this research. However at this juncture it is worth
noting that pedagogy in Singapore is slowly changing. During the 1990’s the entire
education system was reviewed, and for the first time academics and educational
personnel were involved in this process (Gopinathan, 1997b). Despite excellent academic
results, syllabuses began to look inadequate when measured against the requirements of
government reforms promoting creative, critical, and independent thinking (Kwang et al.,
1998; Gopinathan et al., 2001; Low, 2001). Launched by Goh Chok Tong in June 1997,
the currently pervasive policy initiative designed to redress these imbalances is entitled
‘Thinking Schools, Learning Nation’. The ‘thinking schools’ component is intended to
meet future challenges while ‘learning nation’ promotes a culture of continual learning
beyond the school environment (Gopinathan, 1997b).

Pedagogically, ‘Thinking Schools, Learning Nation’ places a greater emphasis on process

than outcome, which may not yet be reflected in actual day-to-day practices in the
schools and universities (Tan, 2003). This is an attempt to replicate pedagogical reforms
introduced in other Asia Pacific countries (e.g. Hong Kong), which encourage the use of
experiential processes, reflective teaching, and a focus on course and project work
(Cheng et al., 2001; Singapore Productivity and Standards Board, 2001; Sanderson,
2002; The Straits Times, 2003). Whether the government rhetoric will eventually match
reality is an one question that is yet to be answered, and the cross-cultural efficacy of
such hitherto ‘Western’ pedagogies is another (the latter will be addressed in chapter

54
five), although it seems reasonable to suspect that after decades of traditional teaching
styles in an education system that remains so competitive, change will come slowly and
be resisted by many. For example, John Tan (2003)(an academic and educator at NIE)
reports (as evidence of the slow pace of change) that an acclaimed secondary school
department head very recently attributed her students’ examination success to months of
repeated mock examination practice per subject. Moreover, he reports that teachers still
‘tend to resort to “over teaching” and “over drilling” to help students anticipate exam
questions’ (Tan, 2003). Seemingly the strategies of intensive and repetitive coaching and
practice that have worked in the past are still viewed favourably by teachers and parents,
and are likely to be difficult to displace given the fact (especially for the majority in the
non-elite schools) that common national exams and school comparison still restrict
systemic innovation (Tan, 2003).

Why would a Singaporean chose to go to a foreign university?

At the commencement of this research, I was convinced that for Singaporeans the
completion of an overseas qualification would be an opportunity to gain prestige.
Consequently, I believed that ‘Western’ universities had a major and sustainable
marketing advantage. Now I am convinced that was a naïve, possibly ethnocentric,
perception. The notion of a sustainable advantage is becoming more tenuous as, whilst
degrees from prestigious foreign universities remain a passport to the upper ranks of the
civil service and business (Tan, 1996; Gray et al., 2003), these qualifications are now
becoming easier to obtain onshore. The notion of prestige is even more spurious, as
clearly the best and the brightest Singaporean undergraduates are able to access the
likes of NUS; an institution that is ranked higher amongst world-class multi-disciplinary
universities in Asia than any Australian institution (the highest are Japanese) (Bacani,
2000).

However, whilst entrance to local elite universities may be highly desirable, it is

unachievable for many Singaporeans. The NUS and NTU admission systems, whilst not
entirely transparent, definitely place a high emphasis on GCE levels. Many mature-aged
students in Singapore consider that the current system disregards the notion of multiple
intelligences and, as a disgruntled letter to the editor of The Straits Times complained, is
‘an unforgiving and penalising system’ that excludes late-developers and assumes that a
person’s educational development remains relatively static (Davie, 1999; The Straits
Times, 1999). As a consequence, mature-age students and polytechnic graduates must
reluctantly pursue tertiary study either overseas or through a twinning arrangement

55
onshore. If they are working, particularly within the public sector, those studying in
Singapore may be able to access at least partial fee reimbursement. The unemployed
can also sometimes gain financial support from the ethnic support councils such as the
Mendaki. If not, those who do pursue overseas study are denied the subsidies that
students at NUS and NTU enjoy and therefore cost the government nothing (Davie, 1999;
Chua, 2000). At the time of writing, in contrast to students studying onshore at local
universities, part-time students, post-graduate students, and those studying overseas, are
not permitted to use their CPF savings to pay for their education (Davie, 1999; Central
Provident Fund Board Singapore, 2004). This seems to contradict the ‘Learning Nation’
rhetoric.

Student and employer choice patterns: onshore versus offshore

In making their choice of degree and university, Singaporeans really need to do their
research (The Straits Times, 2001e). They must make a difficult and potentially life-
altering decision that is potentially ‘one of the most significant and expensive initiatives
they will have ever undertaken’ (Mazzarol, 1998:4) in a hitherto unregulated market. To
illustrate what is definitely a case of caveat emptor, the press regularly publishes articles
bemoaning the fate of Singaporeans who attend overseas universities only to be told on
return to Singapore that the university they have attended is not recognised by major
employers such as the civil service (Davie, 1999; Quek, 2001a, b). The ‘phantom’
approved-universities list adds further stress to what is already a difficult decision.
Whether or not a ‘civil service list of preferred universities for employment purposes’
actually exists, this ‘phantom’ has become part of Singaporean ‘urban myth’. Most
Singaporeans I came to know are certain that such a list exists. One person said that
prior to enrolling in the BET program he was told that ‘The University’ was on the
‘approved’ list by a friend who was a senior Human Resources officer in the civil service,
but most agree that nobody outside the upper echelons of the public sector actually got to
see the list. Therefore decisions about choice of university are made in something of a
vacuum.

As described in the discussion on GATS in the previous chapter, Singapore has in place
‘barriers to trade by mode of supply’ (Knight, 2002). Under GATS, Singapore has not
committed to recognise qualifications, thus it can ‘pick and chose which providers and
programs it recognises’ (AEI International Education Network, 2002:13). At present the
twinning partners of overseas universities wanting to provide a degree onshore in
Singapore must obtain the Ministry of Education’s (MOE) permission on a course-by-

56
course basis. The MOE assesses the appropriateness of curriculum, teachers, facilities,
management, and premises, however the approval criteria are not known by anyone
outside the MOE (Ziguras, 2001a). Professional bodies such as SIM are not required to
go through the same process but consult with the MOE in a less formal manner (as found
by Ziguras (2001a), and as supported by my interview with a senior SIM manager). In all
cases the Singaporean twinning partner is viewed by the MOE as a provider of
infrastructure and the overseas university is ultimately responsible for program outcomes
(Ziguras, 2001a; Ministry of Education: Singapore, 2004a). Institutions that provide
cross-border delivery through online distance education, and that have no local presence
in Singapore, are not subject to any form of approval or regulation. A list of the registered
onshore programs is available to the public through the Ministry of Education’s (MOE)
website (Ministry of Education: Singapore, 2004b). However registration does not imply
accreditation and the Ministry currently states that:

The Ministry of Education does not have a list of accredited overseas

universities. There is no central authority in Singapore that assesses or
grants recognition for degrees obtained from overseas universities. (Ministry
of Education: Singapore, 2004a)

Prospective students of offshore and external programmes are advised by the MOE to
contact embassies and high commissions in order to ensure that the overseas university
is ‘a bona fide establishment’. They are also encouraged to ensure that the conferred
degree will be recognised by the respective Singaporean professional bodies (e.g. for
engineering, accountancy, medicine), which are statutory organisations gazetted under
relevant acts of parliament. Thus the government is able to selectively recognise foreign
programs in order to regulate the supply of graduates in particular fields (Ziguras, 2001b;
AEI International Education Network, 2002).

As a result of the profusion of external degrees available in Singapore, private employers

are also starting to distinguish between delivery modes. Local programmes are highly
regarded, as they are believed to have high academic standards and to be contextually
appropriate (Davie, 2003c). In the case of offshore programmes brokered in Singapore,
completing the final year overseas is considered superior to an all-at-home programme
(The Straits Times, 2001e). Full time external degrees are preferred, as are
unsurprisingly, those from a conferring institution that is well known. A low level of
preparedness by Singaporeans to enrol in totally online programs is ascribed to both
traditional teacher-centred pedagogical preferences and the negative attitudes of
employers toward such programmes (Lee, 2002; Munro-Smith, 2002; Chung and Ellis,

57
2003). Also of concern to those considering overseas study are the doubts that have
been raised in the press about the admission and examination standards of distance and
external programs. This perception is reinforced by recurrent newspaper reporting of the
problems besetting overseas universities (e.g. internet scams selling fake degrees,
‘marks for fees’ charges, cheating etc. (The Straits Times, 2001d, c, b, a, f, 2002).
Essentially, as the profusion of external degree options grows, so does the level of
stigmatisation associated with them.

Evidently there is an immediate need for regulation of the third tier tertiary sector in
Singapore. In the past, calls for regulation have been met with relatively weak arguments
about the difficulty of regulating so many providers and the suggestion that the employer
should be allowed to make the final appraisal of qualifications. This response seems
somewhat unfair given that the public service is such a large employer and yet does not
make its university/qualification-appraisal list (if it exists) publicly available. However,
given that the graduates of overseas and external programs have been considered
incidental to Singapore’s planned human capital needs, it is perhaps unsurprising that this
uncharacteristically laissez-faire attitude has been perpetuated. Whilst the government
has seemingly been unmotivated by the possibility of overseas universities cheating
Singaporeans, since it has set its sights on developing a transnational education industry,
it has finally accepted the need to put in place strengthened quality assurance
mechanisms to ensure that third tier universities (which have a total enrolment of more
than one hundred thousand local and overseas students) are of appropriate quality
(Ministry of Trade and Industry Singapore, 2001; Lee and Gopinathan, 2003; Standards
Productivity and Innovation Board, 2003a). In March 2003 the government announced a
‘public trust mark’ accreditation scheme, to be called the ‘Singapore Quality Class for
Private Education Organisations’. Whilst the scheme is voluntary, the government hopes
that accreditation and the resulting benefits will encourage Singapore-based private
education organisations to participate. Assessment standards and processes will be very
similar to conventional forms of academic accreditation including a review of teaching
effectiveness, transparency of information to students, content delivery, and the
recruitment and development of instructors and standards of disclosure for business
processes (Ministry of Trade and Industry Singapore, 2002; Standards Productivity and
Innovation Board, 2003b, a). The establishment of this accreditation system fills another
gap on the road to Singapore’s establishment as a provider of transnational education.

58
Singapore as a purchaser and provider of transnational
education
During the ten years from 1990 to 2000 the proportion of adult resident Singaporeans
with secondary or higher qualifications rose from thirty-seven to fifty-five percent, whilst
the percentage of university graduates rose from four percent to twelve percent (Statistics
Singapore, 2000; Yeo, 2001). More than twenty-one thousand individuals were enrolled
in external (onshore) degree programmes as against thirty-seven and a half thousand in
local universities. However enrolment in external programmes, particularly business and
information technology subjects, is increasing more rapidly than in local universities (Yeo,
2001). In response to this strong demand, one hundred and thirty-three foreign
universities and other organisations offered degree programmes in Singapore at the time
of writing.

Whilst some observers are beginning to report that the Singaporean education market is
approaching saturation level (e.g. The Observatory on Borderless Higher Education,
2003a, b), others take the view that the market is showing no sign of weakening (Garrett
and Verbik, 2003). It can be difficult to get an accurate picture of the extent of the
international student program in Singapore due to an apparent lack of record keeping,
particularly in relation to students enrolled in offshore programs (Low, 1997; Sanderson,
2002). However the Straits Times has reported that ‘commercial schools running these
programs estimate the figure to be between ten and twenty thousand’ (Davie, 1999:64-
65).

Singaporeans tend to base their choice of external degrees on a range of factors. A high
level of importance is placed on communal values, consequently they are very likely to
look for guidance from friends and relatives (Simpson and Fam, 2000; Milton-Smith,
2001; Nirmala, 2002; Gray et al., 2003). This was supported by the Senior Manager of
IDP whom I interviewed for this research, who said:

I would say eighty percent of the time [friends influence the decision]…it’s
because ‘my friend went over there, is going there or is there already’. So
that’s how things happen, there is safety is in numbers and that reflects the
Singaporean mentality… . (70:1:369-374)

In 2001 Milton-Smith found that other influencing factors in the South East Asian market,
in rank order, included the university’s reputation, level of affordability, closeness to
home, perceived safety and employer recognition. By 2003, Gray et al. (2003:7) had
found that the internet and print media were the most important additional sources of

59
information, whilst ‘the primary motivation for students is the prospect that a degree from
the chosen university provides better career prospects…and opens the possibility of
employment in the West’.

Because of the unregulated market, the resulting ‘buyer beware’ mentality and the
constant press reports of negative overseas educational experiences, the reputations of
provider nations are an important factor in the selection process. In the case of Australia,
Milton-Smith (2001) found that for Singaporeans the image conveyed was mixed and
confusing. Australia was seen as providing a ‘sporty, easy-going and excellent quality of
life’, however was also perceived to be ‘unrefined, insensitive and complacent’ (2001:5).
Milton-Smith demonstrated that the Singaporean media does not project an image of a
country with first-class university sector and a rich and diverse cultural life, indeed
Singaporean focus group discussions ‘quickly reverted to natural disasters, Pauline
Hanson, horrible crimes, racism, boat people and visa problems’ (Milton-Smith, 2001:1).
Indeed whist I was in Singapore, a Straits Times article reported that the majority of Asian
students interviewed said they thought Australians were ‘uncultured, lazy and anti-Asian’
(Fletcher, 2000). Thus, in relation to Australia as a provider of educational services to
Singapore, at the time of this research it was evident that:

• Degree-awarding powers are progressively being given to onshore Singaporean

colleges (Wong, 2003);

• Singapore views Australian distance education provided onshore in Singapore as

‘third tier’, which - whilst it may be harnessed to attract international students to
Singapore in the medium term - in the long term is likely to be phased out as
Singaporean colleges build internal capability;

• ‘Third tier’ universities in Singapore are intended to attract Singaporean students

who currently travel overseas to gain a degree;

• Employers in Singapore regard prestigious onshore universities as preferable to

‘distance education’, which is becoming more stigmatised as options increase.

• A fourth University that will directly target Australia’s offshore market (mature-
aged, part time, vocational upgrading) was scheduled to open in Singapore.
During the later stages of writing up this thesis, it became evident that SIM would
be given university status and take on that role.

• The University of New South Wales has accepted an invitation by the

Singaporean Government to establish a permanent campus in Singapore, with the

60
 intent of attracting 70% of cohort from around the region, and 30% from
Singapore. Also of interest is the fact that Warrick University (UK) turned down a
similar offer due to concerns about academic freedom in Singapore in October
2005 (Burton, 2005).

These factors point to the likelihood that in the not too distant future, not only might the
hitherto significant numbers of Singaporean enrolments on which many Australian
programs have relied continue to fall, but Singapore is likely to emerge as a significant
competitor in the transnational education market (Sanderson, 2002). Indeed Singapore
has been overtly looking to Australia’s success as an incentive model (Ministry of Trade
and Industry Singapore, 2001; Nirmala, 2002). Garrett and Verbik (2003) propose that
this is to be expected when countries that rapidly reach developed status have the funds
to support an adequate domestic higher education sector. Therefore it should come as no
surprise that, in 2001/2002 the Singaporean Ministry of Trade and Industry issued two
policy papers on the topic of developing and facilitating the growth of the education
industry (Ministry of Trade and Industry Singapore, 2001, 2002). The papers outline
developments in the global education industry, the potential for its development in
Singapore and recommend strategies and processes on how to establish transnational
education as a major business for Singapore.

In Singapore, trends in transnational education are emerging that have never played out
on the world stage before. As Garrett and Verbik (2003) postulate, this notion of
transformation into a regional education hub may form a predictable intermediate step
between majority import of transnational education and majority export: raising a
country’s profile whilst maintaining foreign associations. From Australia’s perspective it
may be that the erosion of its Singaporean market base is less of a concern because
China is simultaneously emerging as a seemingly bottomless source of overseas
students. However Singapore should not be underestimated as a serious competitor. It
has the foundations of a first rate transnational program in place, particularly because it
has perfected the art of learning from, and adapting, the experiences of other countries.
Singapore’s existing regional links, its cultural similarity in ASEAN, and its bilingual policy
should be advantageous in the lucrative Asian education market where China and India in
particular have massive higher education capacity shortfalls (The Observatory on
Borderless Higher Education, 2002).

It was not that long ago that Singapore’s leaders denounced ‘Western’ education (in
particular American) models as not being of a universal standard, (e.g. Lee Kuan Yew’s

61
statement that; ‘…a sense of cultural supremacy is difficult to accept…American
principles and theories have not yet proven successful in East Asia’ (Lee Kuan Yew in
'Global Viewpoint' September 1995, as cited by Kwang et al., 1998:206). Singapore is
not alone in its anxiety about Western educational imperialism. Therefore, its inherent
ability to provide more culturally appropriate programmes could further maximise its ability
to challenge ‘Western’ providers. Additionally, its proven ability to inject large sums of
money into education infrastructure, its preparedness to attract and maximise the skills of
‘foreign talent’, its policy of collaborative investment and learning from word-class
universities and the mutually beneficial arrangements brought about through exchange of
staff and skills transfer (e.g. SMU and Wharton) stands in contrast to most of the purely
financial arrangements that tend to exist in Australian universities’ twinning arrangements.

Chapter conclusion
This chapter has discussed a range of influences that have impacts on Singapore as a
nation and the participants of this research as individuals. It has revealed a multi-faceted
country that, whilst currently relying on foreign providers of higher education, is likely to
become a significant competitor to Australia in the next decade. The chapter has revealed
a country that makes astute and enterprising decisions in its global interactions, and in
doing so provides quite a few puzzles to the external observer. We have seen that,
despite seemingly overwhelming odds at Federation, Singaporeans have met global
challenges and emerged as the success story of the region. The country’s capacity to
adopt and adapt knowledge, practices, and values from culturally dissimilar milieus is
perhaps nowhere more clearly reflected than in its reputation as a dynamic and
successful meeting point of ‘East’ and ‘West’. The chapter has also shown that
Singapore is a country that is diverse and unequal in terms of its racial, ethnic and
cultural composition and its ever more obvious class structures: a country where
individuals are used to being pawns in the state’s pursuit of economic success and to
having the majority of their major life decisions strongly influenced by a long term,
essentially unopposed, government. In this environment of economic pre-eminence and
relative internal stability, one of Singapore’s newest challenges will be to transform itself
into the creative innovative society which the government now realises it must be, to face
the near future. This could be a significant challenge based on an education system that
rejects those who do not fit the predetermined mould at a very early age. Perhaps these
‘educational rejects’ may be exactly the creative types that the government seeks. The
individuals who are the subjects of this research are adults who have been socialised in
this system and who despite the significant odds against them have defied their

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predetermined lot in life and made the sacrifices required to gain an undergraduate
degree as mature aged students. For that they are to be greatly admired.

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Chapter Four: Methodology
Introduction
The selection and implementation of a methodology for the research are described in this
chapter. First a rationale behind the selection of the methodology is justified. The chapter
then addresses some of the key issues that require consideration in analysis of the
selected methodology. Discussion of the application of relevant methods then ensues
followed by reflections on dilemmas considered and addressed during the research.

Rationale for selection of interpretive methodology

This study set out to describe an international undergraduate program from the
perspective of the participants and to extrapolate from those experiences
recommendations for further program development and enrichment. A central
consideration was the impact of cultural phenomena. My original supposition was that
cultural phenomena would have a profound impact on the participants’ experiences of the
program, and that the culture-based origin of these interactions would substantially be
unrecognised. Consequently, the chosen research methodology had to be capable of
describing and interpreting frequently intangible, sometimes sensitive, and always
human, agency. This research environment necessitated the selection of an appropriately
sensitive and flexible methodology. The proposed research was therefore informed by
methodological recommendations from the fields of anthropology, sociology and
psychology; the nature of cross-cultural research being multidisciplinary (Evans, 1993;
Clarke, 1997).

Believing, with Max Weber, that man is an animal suspended in webs of

significance he himself has spun, I take culture to be those webs, and the
analysis of it to be therefore not an experimental science in search of law but
an interpretive one in search of meaning. (Geertz, 1973:3)

Geertz’s quotation suggests the application of an interpretive approach to the analysis of

cultural phenomena. Central aspects of this study, including the multiple realities found in
any multicultural setting, the focus on human interactions and the period of immersion in
a foreign culture, were ideally suited to the epistemology of qualitative, specifically
ethnographic, approaches (Strauss and Corbin, 1990; Cassell and Symon, 1994). In
contrast, positivist research methods would have been an inappropriate choice due to
their deductive characteristics and inherent foundation on unsurfaced assumptions about
relationships. I aimed to enter the field in a state of open-mindedness in order to avoid
potentially ethnocentric assumptions about what would transpire. In support of this

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approach, Simon (1986:53) recommends that the ethnographic researcher: ‘aspires to a
kind of naïveté that prevents imposing frameworks that could limit the data or structure of
the findings’. Although such an approach may initially appear theoretically ungrounded, it
is supported by exponents of the ethnographic tradition and ethnographic evaluation (see
Goldberg, 1984; Fetterman, 1989). Indeed Simon (1986) reports that in an ethnographic
study the researcher cannot even assume to know what questions to ask or what sample
to define until he or she enters the community. Insights must be allowed to generate new
or unsuspected configurations and, in fact, the ethnographer typically generates more
hypotheses than concrete findings (Pitman and Dobbert, 1986; Fetterman, 1989). Thus
the literature makes it clear that a quantitative and/or positivist approach - potentially
based on initial assumptions about what was occurring in the program - would be an
inappropriate choice for this study, in which an open-minded, non-judgemental
interpretation is methodologically appropriate.

Elements of ethnography
As stated above, I believed that cultural phenomena would be having an impact on the
BET program, however I wanted to explore and thereby learn more about the role of
culture in interactions within the program. Fetterman’s words, as quoted below, indicate
that an ethnographic process was in perfect accord with my methodological requirements:

The typical model for ethnographic research is based on a

phenomenologically oriented paradigm, which embraces a multicultural
perspective because it accepts multiple realities. (Fetterman, 1989:15)

However at this juncture it is noteworthy that it could be argued that one should not claim
to be conducting ethnography unless a range of purist ethnographic research methods is
employed (Wolcott, 1984; Pitman and Dobbert, 1986). Whilst I did not set out to be
referred to as ‘an ethnographer’, the methods and outcomes of this research nevertheless
fulfill a good number of the prescribed conditions for ethnographic research, as described
in the following paragraphs:

Lengthy immersion in a foreign culture

The foremost requisite for ethnography is for the ethnographer to spend a relatively long
period of time in the field in a foreign culture (e.g., Malinowski, as cited by Simon, 1986;
Fetterman, 1989). This immersion enables field workers to internalise - rather than
superficially observe - patterns of belief, fears, expectations, dominant ideas, values and
behaviours of the people under study. Correspondingly, over-internalisation (or ‘going

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native’), due to cultural immersion and the resulting acculturation of the researcher, is
reported to be one of the potential risk factors leading to bias in ethnography (see page
92 for further discussion of this issue).

This study offered the opportunity for immersion in the two primary cultures that
influenced the program; the lecturers and the students. I was familiar with the lecturers
because I was a student (and later a sessional lecturer) in the same faculty. Whilst this
cultural immersion may be less obvious than my later immersion in Singapore; the
individualist and relatively autonomous academic work culture of the lecturer group was
quite new and foreign to me.

Probably more typically ethnographic is the six-month fieldwork period during which I
lived in Singapore. My status as an exchange student solved a lot of practical problems.
For example, it provided access to a student visa, which allowed me to stay for longer
than the one-month tourist visa allowed. It also gave me access to a university library and
related facilities. More importantly, however, I was provided with a fieldwork supervisor
whose support and ability to provide cultural interpretation were invaluable.

For the first few weeks of my fieldwork I lived on campus at the National Institute of
Education (NIE), Nanyang Technological University (NTU) in Singapore. However the
NTU campus was a long distance from the Singapore Institute of Management where the
BET program was being taught, and it was difficult to gain access to via public transport
after conducting interviews late at night. Therefore my fieldwork supervisor organised for
me to move to a flat in a Housing Development Board estate; the type of high-rise
accommodation inhabited by at least eighty-six percent of the Singaporean population
(Ministry of Information Communications and the Arts Singapore, 2002:148). This
arrangement was more practical in terms of commuting to interviews and classes.

This change of accommodation facilitated a rapid increase in my understanding of

Singaporean culture. Daily challenges included shopping; sleeping in the noisy, high-
density environment; hanging laundry on poles out the kitchen window; learning to enjoy
the sharp Singaporean wit; and communicating with my immediate neighbours whose
language was a mixture of Hokkien, Cantonese, Mandarin, and the local patois
(‘Singlish’). Less frequent but equally educative experiences included waking to the
gongs and smoke of Taoist funerals on the flats’ ‘void deck’; working out the purpose of
the bells rung by the ‘kurung guni’ man (an itinerant ‘rag and bone’ man) as he went floor
to floor; and observing what Chinese ‘loan sharks’ do when somebody on the floor

66
defaults on their loan (public shame through accusatory graffiti). The preceding is a small
illustrative selection of the experiences I had while living in the community and exclude
those facilitated by my developing relationships with the student respondents (which are
described in chapter seven). As a result of my living arrangements, my cultural
assimilation increased and my culture shock reciprocally decreased. Living as a local
(rather than in an isolated university or an ‘expatriate ghetto’) also seemed to provide a
greater level of credibility with respondents.

In summary, therefore, throughout my fieldwork I was immersed in two ‘foreign’ cultures:

that of the university lecturers and that of the Singaporean students. I continued to
develop my understanding of these cultures throughout the study. On reflection I agree
with the predominant view that such a period of immersion is invaluable and probably
imperative in any attempt to gain an insider’s perspective in a foreign culture.

The art of description

The description, interpretation and analysis of the routine daily lives of people in intact
cultural scenes is central to ethnographic research. In representing the data to the reader,
two important characteristics of the ethnographic method are utilised: ‘thick description’
and verbatim quotations (LeCompte and Goetz, 1984; Simon, 1986; Fetterman, 1989).
In employing these characteristics, the study aims for holism: to understand as much as
possible about the subcultures within the program under study. Whilst some would argue
that ethnography should consider all conceivable influences (Simon, 1986:58), others
remind the ethnographer that it is necessary, and probably only possible, to gather
enough data to describe the culture and say something significant about it (Fetterman,
1989). Indeed Simon (1986) asserts that ethnography is never complete but forms only
one part of a collection. This study therefore describes the cultural implications of one
international program (out of the many being conducted at any one time) in the hope of
adding to an amalgamation of knowledge, from which generalisations can eventually be
built.

Emic and etic perspectives

The qualitative research literature concurs with the proposition that ethnography should
provide the reader with the emic viewpoint: that is, the perspective of the insider. Emic
perspectives are culture-specific, whilst etic perspectives refer to: ‘universal or pancultural
truths or principles’ (Matsumoto, 2000:35). The terms emic and etic originated in
linguistics: etic from the word phonetics (aspects of language and verbal behaviours that

67
are common across cultures), and emic from phonemics, which are aspects of language
that are specific to a particular culture and language (ibid, 2000). The multi-disciplinary
nature of cross-cultural studies means that other words are also used to illustrate these
concepts; for example ‘universality’ versus ‘cultural relativity’ (ibid, 2000). In this research
I have chosen to use the words ‘emic’ and ‘etic’ because they tend to be employed
consistently across disciplines (e.g. psychology, anthropology, linguistics) and, as
previously stated, cross-cultural research does not reside in any one discipline.

Terminology aside, as Matsumoto (2000) highlights, emic and etic paradigms are
important because they have an impact on what we perceive to be true in a given
situation. The ethnographic researcher must be mindful of the risks inherent in an
ethnocentric assessment of what constitutes a ‘truth’. Truth, like culture, is not absolute
and can be relative depending on one’s perspective. This is reflected in the
methodological imperative which specifies that perspective is considered instrumental to
understanding and accurately describing situations and behaviours (Fetterman, 1984b;
LeCompte and Goetz, 1984; Simon, 1986; Fetterman, 1989; Matsumoto, 2000). In
adopting a perspective, Matsumoto (2000:37) warns of a tension between emic and etic
research that parallels the tension between culture and individual behaviour. He
concludes that etics and emics can coexist; and therefore, our understanding of cultures
can be improved if we: ‘avoid the tendency to compartmentalize’. Fetterman also
proposes the employment of both perspectives when he advises that:

Most ethnographers start with an emic perspective, then try to make sense
of what they have collected in both the emic and their own perspective.
(Fetterman, 1989:32)

He concludes that an outsider’s point of view is required to form a complete picture,

especially where the emic and the etic are in conflict. Bhawuk and Traindis et al. (1996)
concur with Fetterman by proposing that emic descriptions reveal ‘the native’s point of
view’ whereas etic research focuses on the cross-cultural researcher’s point of view. They
consider that emics are essential for understanding a culture whilst etics are theoretical
concepts that allow generalisations about relationships among variables across cultures.
This research therefore follows the prevailing recommendations from the field and
consequently employs emic research methodologies to provide the reader with the
insider’s perspective, followed by the etic application of theories in analysis of the data.

Although this methodological conclusion may appear clear-cut, when attempting to apply
it in reality I was constantly aware of the complex plurality at all levels of data collection

68
and analysis. Not only is the compartmentalisation of perspectives as emic or etic
problematic but, of course, there is always more than one insider group whose
perspective is being represented. To illustrate: whilst the lecturer group and the student
group were the main units of analysis in this study, a description of the Singapore Institute
of Management and ‘The University’ perspectives provided additional insight and,
importantly, facilitated analysis of whose values the program supported and whose were
neglected (LeCompte and Goetz, 1984, citing Krathwol 1980, and Suchman 1967).
Fetterman (1989) holds that this separation of surface perceptions from deeper analysis
is crucial to an understanding of why people think and act in different ways.

In representing other people’s perspectives, I needed to remain aware of the underlying

structures within the program’s sub-cultures and the desirability of representing and
juxtaposing the viewpoints of sub-cultural groups. Of course the members of the
subcultures within this study had differing attitudes about the surface level of their
systems, but as would be expected, they also shared common beliefs (Fetterman, 1989;
Evans, 1993). For instance, subcultures within the student cohort had differing responses
to elements of the program (e.g. a particular lecturer’s style), however they found
common ground in regard to other aspects (e.g. the value of the program). Fetterman
(1989) advises that the participant who later becomes a reader need not agree with the
ethnographer’s analysis but should recognise the culture from the description.

Ethnographic evaluation – a contradiction in terms?

Whilst an ethnographic methodology was entirely appropriate for this study, at first I was
resistant to the notion of superimposing an evaluative element. I had approached the
study with the frequently recommended, but also contested, mindset that an ethnographic
description was necessarily non-judgemental. However, once analysis of the emic
evolved into etic interpretation, and beyond that, when it came to the point of making
recommendations, I recognised that I was unable to maintain a non-judgemental stance.
In short, I found that once an etic perspective was brought to bear, the study
metamorphosed into the evaluative domain.

I was concerned about the methodological implications of this as: ‘traditionally

ethnographers have preferred to defer judgement rather than render it’ (Wolcott,
1984:179). However I considered that whilst it would be ‘safer’ to remain non-
judgemental in the relatively political educational environment, I owed a debt of reciprocity
to the respondents that could partially be repaid by ensuring this study made useful

69
recommendations for program enrichment and development. ‘Fence sitting’ seemed weak
and inappropriate in a thesis that was investigating a program that most participants
agreed could be improved. On reflection, I now consider that once an ethnographic study
enters the applied realm, especially where recommendations are made, it almost
automatically takes on some of the core elements of evaluation. I was comforted
therefore, to find that whilst the label ‘ethnographic evaluator’ suggests a contradiction in
terms to some scholars, other respected experts consider that a non-judgemental
orientation and evaluation are not mutually exclusive (Wolcott, 1984; Fetterman, 1986).
Indeed Wolcott (1984) argues that research participants have become rightly sceptical of
researchers who claim to be observing but not evaluating them. Throughout the fieldwork
for this research I therefore again followed Fetterman’s (1986:37) recommendations and
was honest with participants about the dichotomous aspects of my role: ‘part student
trying to understand how the system works and part professional evaluator trying to
develop recommendations to improve the program’. I also found this bicultural approach
to be useful in gaining access to the emic perspective. Accordingly the ethnographic
evaluative methodology utilised herein is summarised by Goldberg as:

An approach to evaluation that frankly sees itself as a kind of social history

and points to cultural assumptions guiding that history [which] can help trace
the course of events growing out of the interaction of these different planes
of human endeavour. (Goldberg, 1984:171)

Crossing cultures and defining a world view: the

researcher’s intellectual autobiography
The view that social behaviour is partly a product of the dominant values and
ideologies of a culture has gained increasing acceptance…. (Leung and
Bond, 1989:133)

As Leung and Bond highlight above, we behave according to the ideologies and values
that dominate our lives, which frequently leads directly to ethnocentrism. The will to avoid
ethnocentric behaviour, a fatal error in ethnographic research, is what fuels the previously
mentioned non-judgemental aspirations of ethnographic methods. Despite the best
intentions however, we are all products of our own socialisation and cultural beliefs.
Consequently, competing cultural concepts make it desirable for researchers to identify
our perspective because national, cultural, political, and social prejudices are bound to be
reflected in our work. Indeed the inspiration for, and conceptualisation of, a piece of
research; the definition of the problem; the epistemology of the chosen theoretical and
interpretive paradigms; and selection and analysis of data, are all influenced by the
researcher’s cultural perspective (Fetterman, 1989). Consequently:

70
 identification of the researcher’s identity and experience - their intellectual
autobiography - is not only desirable but critical to the success of the
research. (Temple, 1997:607)

It is prudent, therefore, to discuss my own intellectual autobiography.

Long before this research was conceptualised, I was well acquainted with Singapore. I
have travelled repeatedly for lengthy periods in, and have many long-term friends from,
South-East ‘Asian’ countries. Whilst I am of Anglo-Celtic heritage myself, my closest
friends are Chinese and Indian Malaysians, Singaporeans, a Mauritian and Southern
Indians. I live in an ‘Asian’ enclave in Melbourne and feel very comfortable with ‘Asian’
cultures. Perhaps not surprisingly, I am strongly supportive of multiculturalism in Australia.
Moreover, I share with BET students a career in Human Resource Development (HRD).
Like many of the students, I came to that field of endeavour almost by accident; my
career history leading me from supervisory roles to a twenty year career (at the time of
writing) in the training and development of adults in the workplace, specifically corporate
and organisational development roles in the public and non-government sectors. The job
satisfaction I gained from HRD lead me to undertake tertiary study which eventually
brought me to this research and to my current role as a sessional lecturer. However
despite the preceding sentences, I am also acutely aware that I am a female Australian
from a middle-class Anglo-Celtic background and therefore do not share the ethnic
background of the student participants in the study, nor the intellectual or cultural
autobiographies of any of the participants (lecturers included). As a result, both my
similarities to the respondent groups, and my status as an ‘other’ and an ‘outsider’ were
repeatedly manifested during the course of the research.

Those similarities and differences constitute my ‘intellectual autobiography’, which, like

culture, is dynamic. I continuously found new differences and developed new
commonalities. Both informed the research – the ‘trick’ was to remain cognisant of their
existence. The differences served to remind me of my nescience and cultural clumsiness.
Reflection on them heightened my awareness of my own culture and alerted me to
potential bias and negative judgement. The mutual identity not only increased my comfort
and confidence, but more importantly, helped me to access the field and foster
communication once I was there.

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Outsiders versus insiders: finding common ground and
negotiating access
Selected authors from the cross-cultural research literature challenge the once-prevailing
notion that an ‘insider’ or indigenous researcher is better able to study their own society
through open interaction than an ‘outsider’ (for examples see Zinn, 1979; Evans, 1993;
Fortier, 1998; Donohoue-Clyne, 2001). For example, Evans (1993) argues that class
differences within societies may create important barriers to communication between
indigenous scholars and ordinary people, compared with the more socially neutral
outsiders. Zinn (1979) pointedly reminds us – possibly counter-intuitively - that
researchers who are insiders can still be exploiters. Further, Minichiello (1995) proposes
that insider interviewers may take statements for granted and consequently not probe for
further details.

This research supported those authors’ contentions in relation to outsider efficacy: after
an initial period of establishing trust relationships, I was able to cross sub-cultural
boundaries within the group that an ‘insider’ may not have been allowed to cross. As a
consequence, opinions were shared with me in an atmosphere of tolerance for my
naivety that also appeared to reflect participants’ perceptions of me as a neutral outsider.
This illustrates the contention that research participants frequently have attitudes and
habits that they take for granted, and underscores the value of an external observer for
whom everything is new, clear and distinct (Simon, 1986; Fetterman, 1989). As a newly
arrived observer I was able to ask questions that spurred reflective answers about day-to-
day occurrences that had become invisible to the group: for example who sat with whom,
the group’s allocation of roles to individuals in the class, and response patterns during
different interactions. I subsequently refined observation patterns and interview questions
based on my growing understanding of the program’s cultures. This refining of techniques
over the long term gave me greater insight into how the students made sense of what
was going on (Wolcott, 1984; Fetterman, 1989).

Boundaries between the other and the self are important in any attempt to cross cultures
and interpret meaning. The nature of potential boundaries is not always obvious. For
example, Fortier (1998:49) was led to question the methodological and epistemological
implications of simply assuming that issues such as gender and ethnicity were fixed
boundaries. Indeed Fortier (1998) and Silverman (1998) agree that such ‘social
categories’ or ‘stable institutions’ are contentious, in that they are: ‘lived differently in
different contexts’ (Fortier, 1998:49). Fortier suggests that, rather than assuming how

72
social categories might impact upon research, we should examine how they are
negotiated. From such a perspective it would seem that often common ground can be
found amongst the various categories of any culture and its sub-cultures that will facilitate
the acceptance of the researcher to into the world of the participant. As Donohoue-Clyne
(2001) reflected when citing the work of anthropologist Flores-Meiser (1983:53) the
finding of common ground constitutes ‘the ways in which mutual respect [are]
established…it is on common ground …no matter how narrow, that humanity is bridged’.

As the preceding discussion demonstrates, ethnicity and gender need not be the defining
constructs of the researcher’s and the participants’ identities, nor the sole ground for
granting or refusing access to research sites. During this study I also realised that, even
when communicating across the most obvious examples of ‘otherness’, the respondent
and I were able to find common ground at some level. In the case of the student
respondents I shared the identity of ‘mature-age student’ and ‘HRD practitioner’; in the
case of the university staff I was also a (sessional) lecturer, and in the case of the
Singapore Institute of Management I had been a purchaser of educational programs at an
organisational level. I made use of this concept of ‘common ground’ from the beginning
of the research; invitation letters and ‘plain language statements’ (Attachments ‘A’-‘C’)
outlined my role as it related to the participant group in question (e.g. ‘fellow mature-age
student’ or ‘experienced HRD practitioner’). To sum up, in accordance with the advice of
Fortier (1998:53), I negotiated ‘belonging’ and met participants on the ‘terrain of our
common status’.

Choosing and accessing a research site

Finding a site that that I could access and that matched my interests was a challenge
from the outset of this research. I wanted to extend the knowledge I had gained from my
Masters research and I was keen to focus on a program taught in a Confucian heritage
and/or ’Asian’ country, by ‘Westerners’. Initially I had access to a management
development program being delivered in Hong Kong. However six months into my PhD
period this program underwent significant change, with the result that I was left with no
study site. Fortunately the then coordinator of ‘The University’ BET program knew about
my predicament and suggested the BET program as an alternative. She was keen to
have some external input and very welcoming of an evaluative stance. As the Australian
transnational education environment is highly competitive, I considered it quite unlikely
that I would find another university prepared to allow me access. Indeed, other
universities had been contacted to no avail. Initially I was concerned about researching a

73
program being run by the same faculty – albeit a different department – of the university in
which I was enrolled, as I feared that this option would be perceived as purely
convenience-based selection. However time was becoming a factor and the BET program
was in fact a perfect match for my interests; being based on HRD (my career field) and
run in Singapore. In the end I accepted that I would have to be opportunistic, and
realistic. As Fetterman (1989:43) concedes; ‘convenience and luck played a part’.

Once I had selected the BET program as my research site, I then had to proceed through
a highly formalised process to gain official permission for access to the site. This
included written approval from the Dean of the faculty, and approval from several levels of
hierarchy at Singapore Institute of Management (S.I.M). Once approval was granted (at
that stage it was approval in principal via email from SIM), approval from the ‘The
University’ Human Research Ethics Committee was sought. Of course, any of the former
could have had the right of veto, but eventually all approvals were obtained. This process
was an anxious time for me and it was not until the week that I was ready to board the
plane to Singapore that final written approval from SIM was received.

Whilst waiting and hoping for final approval I began the ‘survey period’ of the fieldwork.
This included investigating the structure, function, history and culture of the BET program
in Melbourne, through discussion with the program coordinator, and reading available
‘hard copy’ and online documentation, advertising material etc.. Once I had permission
from ‘The University’ to proceed, I was able to commence data collection with the local
lecturers, predicated on the hope that SIM would give approval. I was also able to access
limited data about the BET students; however it wasn’t until I reached Singapore that I
was able to gain access to sufficient demographic detail to commence the process of
student participant selection.

Sampling
Because both ethnography and case study methods permit the researcher to collect data
from many perspectives, a defined unit of analysis (as advocated in the case study
approach) usefully limits the boundaries of the research, and later provides the means for
generalising the findings to similar cases by focusing on the same type of unit of analysis
(Yin, 1993; Pring, 2000). The ‘unit’ can be anything from a person to an institution or
even a collection of institutions (Pring, 2000). However, the research focus exists within a
‘bounded system’ (Stake et al., 1978; Cohen et al., 2000). Whilst I was not employing a
case study approach, I found the notion of units of analysis within a system a useful

74
concept to inform the construction and analysis of the study. Accordingly the main
bounded system in this study is the transnational program, and the embedded units of
analysis are: the regular lecturers, the students, the Singaporean cultural context, and the
Australian Education system’s cultural context. These units of analysis provide a
framework for chapters of this thesis. The following paragraphs outline the sampling and
methodological procedures against the units of analysis.

Lecturers

As the numbers were small, all regular lecturers in the BET program were included in the
study. Each lecturer was invited to participate and sent an invitation letter and plain
language statement (Attachments ‘A’,’C’). The recommendations of Glesne and Peshkin
(1992) and a template provided by Krueger (1994) were followed in the development of
the Plain Language Statements (Attachments ‘A’, ‘B’). Each lecturer who was contacted
agreed to participate. Several individual interviews took place with each lecturer: the first
in Melbourne at the commencement of the research; where possible a second interview
in Singapore (this eventuated in three cases); and a third in Melbourne towards the
conclusion of the research.

Lecturers were encouraging, cooperative and enthusiastic. I owe them a significant debt
of gratitude for making time for me in their busy schedules, welcoming me into their
classrooms, answering my numerous emails and sharing course notes, thoughts and
many non-scheduled conversations. Five lecturers were interviewed: three male and two
female. All were of Anglo-Celtic heritage and were at least third generation Australian.
The lecturers had all taught classes in Australia comprising significant numbers of
students from Asian countries, however only two had taught in Asia prior to the BET
program. Before teaching in the program, all five had been to Singapore but only two had
stayed for longer than a few days. By the time I first interviewed them however, all five
had taught at least one intake of the BET program in Singapore.

Students

The BET program had three cohorts at the time of the study. The Cohort One group were
alumni, having graduated one year prior to commencement of the research. Cohort Two
was approximately two-thirds of the way though the degree, and Cohort Three
commenced the program while I was in Singapore.

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Admittedly, selection of student participants was not a uniform process, but of course
sampling is typically opportunistic in this type of research and ‘typically ethnography uses
stratified judgmental sampling rather than a truly randomised selection’ (Fetterman,
1989:99). Table 1 (page 82) illustrates gender and ethnicity demographics across the
three BET cohort groups. Forty percent of the student population were interviewed
individually. As much as was possible, given the eventualities outlined below, participants
were selected to ensure representation of the ethnic groups in Singapore. This was
purposeful and eventuated in minority groups being represented. Unfortunately, however,
women were under-represented across the three cohort groups. Twenty-eight percent of
the total female students were interviewed, compared with fifty percent of the total males.
Notably, most of the women who were interviewed were unmarried. Whilst all
Singaporeans tend to work long hours, perhaps the combined responsibilities of bringing
up children, working and studying made time an even less available commodity for the
female participants. Certainly research shows that women still maintain primary
responsibility for the traditional child-rearing role in Singaporean culture (Lee and Pow,
1999; Ministry of Manpower Singapore, 2000). Of the women who were interviewed,
those who were mothers sometimes had their children present during the interview,
posing difficulties for them and the tape recorder. Those who were unmarried had
significant family responsibilities and several had responsibility for the care of aging and
infirm relatives. This made me appreciate even more the time that the women
respondents were able to give me.

I began the process of student participant recruitment and selection with a two-pronged
approach. All BET participants, past and present, were sent a written invitation to
participate in the research (Attachment ‘C’); a plain language statement (attachment ‘B’);
and a brief questionnaire that I initially hoped would permit maximum variation sampling.
The questionnaire was designed to identify demographic details such as gender,
ethnicity, work sector and satisfaction with the BET program (Attachment ‘D’).

Student addresses had been provided from university records, however I checked those
details with SIM before sending out letters as I suspected, correctly as it eventuated, that
some of the name details had been incorrectly recorded in Melbourne. Naming
conventions in Singapore are quite different to the West, for example Indian male names
usually include the father’s name prefixed by ‘s/o’ (meaning ‘son of’), whilst Muslim
women’s names have a similar convention using the word ‘binte’. Also, like many
Westerners, I was initially unable to differentiate between some of the Chinese family
names and given names. I considered it very important to have local name variants

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correct as an indication of my sensitivity to the culture of the group, the ‘first element of
every ethnographic protocol’ (Fetterman, 1989:55). After checking the accuracies of the
naming conventions with my fieldwork supervisor the letters were posted. The invitation to
participate informed recipients as to how they had been identified and referred them to
SIM if there were concerns about the research; however no complaints or questions were
forthcoming.

BET cohort one (alumni)

The recruitment process with the alumni group was the most formal and the least
successful, as this was no longer an intact group and there was no opportunity for it to
meet. Twenty-three letters were sent to members of this group and a follow-up letter was
sent (Attachment ‘E’) two weeks later. Six responses were received and only three
interviews eventuated. Perhaps many had psychologically moved on and no longer
identified with the BET program as part of their lives.

As previously stated, Singaporeans tend to work very long hours so this discouraging
response, whilst disappointing, I later came to realise was not at all surprising. Indeed,
the SIM program coordinator was concerned that I might get very limited cooperation
because, she said; ‘Singaporeans are not so used to giving time for research and have
not responded well to similar requests in the past’. This reflected a cultural enigma
generated by Singaporeans themselves that they are a nation of kiasu people. Kiasu is a
Hokkien and now a ‘Singlish’ word and broadly translates to ‘selfish, afraid of losing’
(Tamney, 1996). I became concerned about the effect of ‘kiasu-ness’ on the response
rate. In contrast to ‘kiasu-ness’, I was relieved to read a Singaporean research paper that
showed a response rate in excess of 90% (Ministry of Manpower Singapore, 2001b).
However the Singaporean Government had conducted that research and Singaporean
citizens generally comply with government requests. My research did not have the same
leverage as illustrated by the disappointing response rate for cohort one. However this
was ameliorated by the eventual high response rate for the other two groups. Table 2
(page 82) specifies BET Cohort One interview participants.

BET cohort two

All Cohort Two students became participants by default because, unlike the first cohort, I
was able to attend classes, introduce the research and myself, and seek students’
permission for the observation process. Students were told that they would shortly
receive a letter explaining the research and that if they had any questions or comments

77
they should let SIM or me know. Many were quite curious and took the opportunity to
quiz me during the breaks about what I was doing, however nobody vocalised any
objections to the classroom observation.

Those first days were exploratory in nature. This was a crucial time for relationship
building; relationships that were to prove instrumental in gaining access and cooperation.
As reported in other ethnographic studies, they were marked by tremendous excitement
(at least on my part) and elements of confusion (on both parts I am sure). As described
by Simon (1986), I was ‘learning to become a member of the group’ and the stakes were
high. I was aware that that establishing independence would be crucial to avoid
eliminating any potential respondents. In short, I was casting the ‘big net approach’
(Fetterman, 1989:42) or ‘shagging around’ as it is unfortunately termed by LeCompte and
Goetz (1984:43). The process consisted of mingling during breaks and after class,
talking to as many people as possible and looking for formal and informal powerbrokers. I
was honest in my responses to student questions and told them everything I could about
what I was doing and why I was doing it. The most common responses I got at this early
stage, which I later found to be typically Singaporean, were inquiries about how much it
was costing me to undertake the study; how I could afford to take time off work, and what
having a PhD would do for my career in Australia. It was much later in the study that
respondents were asking me deeper questions about what I was interested in and why
(see page 90 for further discussion of this ‘reactivity’). In the early stages participants
were as curious about me as I was about them. One respondent’s comment illustrates
this:

We are also interested in you. You are quite unusual! Usually Singaporean
students go to Australia or England or America to get their degrees. We
never meet a Westerner coming here to study. We are equally curious
about you. People want to be interviewed to meet you and find out what you
are about. (14:2:1-6)

The BET Cohort Two students had received their written invitations by the third night of
the first subject attended by me. Again, relatively few of the questionnaires were returned
(thirty-three percent were returned across the three groups). I later found that this did not
necessarily indicate a lack of intention to participate in the study. Returning documents
(despite a follow-up letter, the opportunity to give me the document in class and the
provision of a stamped return envelope) simply didn’t seem to be effective. Again, this
could be related to the need to build relationships in order to facilitate interaction, or could
simply be a result of busy schedules.

78
The first invitation letter had stated that I wanted to conduct a one-to-one interview and
possibly a focus group later in the six-month fieldwork period. Before long I discovered
how difficult it was to coordinate a timeslot for an interview with even the most
enthusiastic respondents and I soon decided that it would be impossible to facilitate
getting everyone together for a focus group. Again, as is common in ethnography, I had
to be flexible and adapt my research plans to suit the culture and the preparedness of my
intended participants to cooperate. Possibly the need to be available at a set time for a
focus group discouraged people from participating, or perhaps it was the requirement to
share thoughts in front of others. I had hoped that a focus group would give me access to
greater numbers of people in an efficient way, and that the focus group dynamic would
provide different data to the individual interviews. However this was not to be and I had to
settle for a much larger number of individual interviews than I originally planned, which
resulted in a great deal of transcription.

Flexibility was also required on my part when it came to being available for the individual
interviews. It was not unusual to receive a phone call from someone saying; ‘I am free in
two hours time, can you come tonight’? Of course I took every opportunity possible,
ceasing whatever I was doing and sometimes travelling across the island for an interview.
Participants made a selfless effort, disproving the kiasu theory in this instance, and gave
up their precious family and personal time. It was noticeable that I conducted several
interviews during public holidays including Hari Raya, Deepavali, Christmas Eve and
Boxing Day, which these participants said was the only free time they had.

Despite the workload involved in conducting and transcribing so many interviews, there
were benefits in this eventuality. Certainly the ‘law of diminishing returns’ did apply; I
reached a point where a lot of what was said in interviews was fairly repetitious. However
I believe the extra interviews were worth the time invested. People were prepared to
share views that they may not have shared in the group, particularly in relation to their
personal histories. I developed deeper relationships as a result and some of these
individual interviews became the catalyst for friendships. Apart from the friendships being
genuine and enduring, these relationships provided a greatly increased understanding of
the participants’ lives and culture. On reflection, it seems quite likely that these views
would not have been as forthcoming in a more superficial relationship formed during a
group interview.

Notwithstanding the disappointing response to the written invitation, I acquired sufficient

participants through personal contact. Previous research predicts that building

79
relationships over time will be crucial in Confucian and Malay background settings
(Hofstede and Bond, 1988; Bailey and Chen, 1997; Watkins, 2000; Abdullah and Lim,
2001) and it was very evident that some of the more resistant potential participants only
offered their participation once we had spoken a few times during classes. I was starting
‘wherever I could get a foot in the door’. Fetterman (1989) talks about introduction from a
member of the group being ‘the best ticket’, and states that the introductory member
should have credibility with the group. As might be predicted in a high power/distance
culture such as Singapore (see chapter five), the class had an elected student ‘president’.
This person offered to give me a lift home on the first night of the class. He later became
a friend and confidant, and I know that my friendship with him and with a woman who was
an informal leader, helped me gain access to some members of the group. I also
approached some potential respondents who had initially seemed reluctant and sought
their participation. I told them, for example, that I had a representative group of willing
Chinese-heritage male participants but I wanted the respondent group to represent the
demographics of the class and of Singapore. Therefore I personally approached some of
the Indian, Malay and Eurasian heritage respondents and several of the women. Some
seemed glad that I wanted to ensure that their sub-group was represented in the study. I
also invited the previous class president to an interview, as I wanted to access his unique
knowledge and experience.

This ‘encouragement’ recruitment process was very successful. Several of these

‘personally invited’ participants made self-deprecating and modest statements like ‘I don’t
think you can learn much from me’ or ‘my opinion is not so interesting’; however they
usually did agree to participate. Again, the literature emphasises this humility, which is
commonly found in ‘Asian’ cultures, as well as the collectivist orientation. Cultural
dimensions (discussed further in chapter five) support a conclusion that collectivist
research targets may be socialised to not value their own individual opinions and may
question the benefit of their involvement in the research. After all, seekers of ‘expert
knowledge’ would surely look to the more experienced or high status respondents – not
undergraduate students? A further factor, that in retrospect should have alerted me to this
possibility, was the ‘Asian’ socialisation process where from an early age people are
discouraged from standing out and being opinionated - for example:

We are just supposed to listen and learn and not waste anybody’s time with
what we think. (49:1:84-86)

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This contention was further supported during interviews, where subsequent analysis of
transcripts shows very frequent use of statements such as: ‘it is only my opinion’; or ‘I am
not an expert, but…’; or, most commonly, ‘I may be wrong but…’.

If I were to conduct similar research in the future I would do everything possible to ensure
that I personally invited participation because the ‘personal touch’ provided me with the
opportunity to stress that I wanted to hear from as many viewpoints as possible and that
everyone’s input was very valuable to me, even if it did not seem so to them. Eventually,
the combination of these recruitment strategies resulted in nineteen (51%) of the Cohort
Two students being interviewed, as outlined in Table 2, page 82.

BET cohort three

The recruitment procedure for the third cohort was identical to that for BET Two. I was
able to be with this group from its inception and attended their orientation programme.
The BET Three group was much smaller than the other groups, so the group dynamic
was more intimate. However the response rate was almost the same as the BET Cohort
Two – 53% of the group (8 interviews).

SIM and Singapore

Both the Divisional Manager and the Manager of Bachelor’s Degree Programs at SIM
agreed to be interviewed. Two further invaluable interviews took place in Singapore: one
with the Assistant Manager of I.D.P. Australia in Singapore (I.D.P. is a not-for-profit
education aid/brokerage organisation established by the Australian Government and
managed by a standing committee of the Australian Vice-Chancellors’ Committee) and
another with Dr Linda Low, Associate Professor at The National University of Singapore
and editor/author of a book chapter (Low, 2001) focusing on the overseas education and
HRD market in Singapore.

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 Demographic Analysis of B.E.T. Student Interviews
Cohort Gender Breakdown Cultural Breakdown
Total Male Total Female Total Chinese- Total Eurasian- Total Indian Total Malay-
Males Interviews Chinese- heritage Eurasian- heritage Indian- heritage Malay- heritage
Interviews Females
in heritage interviews heritage interviews heritage Interviews heritage interviews
in cohort (% of total
cohort (% of total in cohort in cohort in cohort
Females) (% of total (% of total (% of total (% of total
Males)
Chinese- Eurasian- Indian Malay-
heritage in heritage in heritage in heritage in
cohort) cohort) cohort) cohort)
B.E.T.
Intake 10 2 (20%) 13 1 (8%) 18 3 (16.6%) 0 0 2 0 3 0
One
B.E.T.
Intake 23 14 (60%) 14 5 (36%) 27 12 (44.4%) 1 1 (100%) 6 3 (50%) 3 2 (66%)
Two
B.E.T.
Intake 7 4 (57%) 8 4 (50%) 13 5 (38%) 0 0 1 1 (100%) 1 1 (100%)
Three

Total 40 20 (50%) 35 10 (28.5%) 58 20 (34.5%) 1 1 (100%) 9 4 (57%) 7 3 (75%)

across
all
intakes

Table 1 Demographic Analysis of B.E.T. Student Interviews

Data collection methods
To quote Bogdan and Taylor (1975:11): ‘truth is an evasive concept...[it] emerges as not
one objective view but rather as a composite picture’. A composite picture was
constructed in this study through the use of multiple methods, as single-method studies
have been interpreted as subjective and untrustworthy (Hurworth, 1998). Two major data
collection methods were employed: interview and observation. The interview is said to be
the ethnographer’s most important data gathering technique and was the primary method
used in this study. However the interviews were supported by observation and and
supplemented, to a lesser degree, by document analysis (Fetterman, 1989; Filmer et al.,
1998). These sources of information were compared in order to test the validity of
information. For example interviews and observations were compared to assess whether
participants’ behaviours matched their espoused values. Triangulation of methods was
employed in collaboration with contextualisation and a non-judgemental orientation
towards culture with the objective of ‘placing a check on the negative influence of bias’
(Borg and Gall, 1989; Fetterman, 1989).

Interviews

Both formal and informal interview structures were used to maximise the possibility of
soliciting different types of information. I entered the field with a series of questions that
were devised to guide the interviews and to ensure that explicit research goals were met
(Fetterman, 1989; Kvale, 1996; Seale, 1998; Pring, 2000). The questions for both
student and lecturer respondents focussed on socialisation, career histories and values in
relation to education. Students were also asked about the relevance and application of
program content, and the interaction of HRD strategies with Singaporean culture
(Attachment ‘F’). Lecturers were further asked about their experiences and
preconceptions of teaching in Singapore and the culture of their workplace (Attachment
‘G’). The design of work-based questions asked of lecturers was influenced by the
following statement from Cheng (2000:3):

the more school members share the same assumptions and values about
the aims, process and management of education, the stronger the
behavioural norms and effects of the contextual culture on their daily
practice and performance… .

The initial predefined interview questions were intended to identify such shared
assumptions, values and norms; however they evolved during the fieldwork period. As
expected, data saturation occurred in relation to two of the questions (e.g. about training

83
methodologies employed in Singapore). Another reason for this evaluation was that, as
my knowledge of the program grew, I was able to ask more insightful questions. As
suggested by Krueger (1998) in relation to focus groups, when responses are predictable
it is foolish not to ask different questions if there is more relevant data to be gained.
Because I was engaged in constant reflective learning and analysis, it would have felt
robotic to ignore my evolving emic perspective and adhere slavishly to the original
interview structure. Early student respondents were interviewed more formally, whilst
toward the end of the fieldwork I was more skilled at maintaining a conversation that
contained embedded questions. This placed the participant more at ease and felt like
natural dialogue, with the result that more stories were shared. This is, no doubt, one
reasons why informal interviews are most common in ethnographic work (Fetterman,
1989).

I encouraged participants to tell their stories: they were always interesting and relevant to
my interests. Whilst life histories are common in anthropological ethnography, career
histories are recommended in educational research to ‘aid understanding of how
participants respond to settings, events and particular innovations’ (LeCompte and Goetz,
1984:45). I found that a combination of early life history and career history told me a lot
about participant’s cultural socialisation, attitudes to education, reactions to the BET
program and their future ambitions. This information was best elicited during informal
conversation: I did not say ‘tell me all about your life’ at any stage as that would have felt
intrusive and was really not related to what I had told participants I was researching.
However conversation about choices and probing questions that came from genuine
interest sometimes initiated quite intimate discussion about people’s lives and their past
or current struggles. These conversations enhanced my ability to perceive patterns that
were emerging in the data, and significantly increased my emic understanding.

A typical interview process began with a more formal, semi-structured format, and then
progressed to informal conversation. Interviews always took place at a venue and time
convenient to the participant. In the case of student interviews this was invariably either
their home or a food-related venue. Indeed Singaporean hospitality and pride in local food
culture meant that there was quite strong pressure to conduct the interviews in this way. I
was concerned at first about conducting interviews in such a public place. However,
despite this not being ‘text book’ interviewing practice, it was culturally appropriate and
also helped in the many cases where I was a single female meeting a male participant –
we met in a public place or at home with his family present, and this ameliorated any
gender-related discomfort. It was also a typical Asian business practice that has the goal

84
of building relationships and establishing trust on neutral territory (Cope and Kalantzis,
1997; Hodgetts and Luthans, 2000; Meriwether Craig, 2001; Adler, 2002). In fact, out of
thirty student interviews in total, twenty-three included an invitation to eat; be it at a
restaurant, a ‘country club’, hawker centre or a home-cooked meal with the student’s
family. We would commonly meet at the venue, conduct the interview and then move on
to a more informal discussion over the meal.

Interviews typically lasted for between one to one and a half hours, however the informal
discussions over meals lasted considerably longer. I tape recorded the formal component
of the interview and took field notes about interesting components of the informal
discussion as soon as I got home. In the latter cases, I always asked the person if it
would be acceptable to include specific issues that had not been part of the formal
interview. Sometimes this was agreed and other times I was asked to maintain
confidentiality. As people got to know me some conversations began with ‘this is off the
record OK?’ I have, of course, respected these limitations in data reporting and analysis.

All formal interviews were audio taped. I found the benefits of the tape recorder to far
outweigh its inconveniences. Its use allowed me to engage in long conversations and
concentrate on listening and analysing what was being said without having to think about
note taking. Some would argue that tape recorders significantly impact upon the
behaviour of the informant (e.g. LeCompte and Goetz, 1984). Nevertheless most of the
participants did not seem to be uncomfortable with the taping; indeed many of the
students tape-recorded the classes. Occasionally during interviews I was asked to stop
the tape recorder during the discussion of a sensitive topic, which I did. If the topic
developed into something relevant to the research I would ask if I could turn it back on,
the understanding being that what was on tape was ‘on the record’. Within a week of
each interview, all interview participants were thanked in writing.

Observation

I observed five BET subjects and an orientation program. The subjects were each taught
in intensive mode over three nights (Wednesday, Thursday and Monday) from 7:00 pm to
10:00pm, plus one Saturday per subject from 9:00 to 5:00. The table below shows the
subjects and cohorts observed. During November, when two classes were running at the
same time, I spent half the session in each class. Unfortunately I missed the Saturday of
one subject due to illness, however one of the students was good enough to provide me
with a tape recording of that day’s class which enabled me to make a partial transcript.

85
 Class observation schedule

Class Title Dates BET Intake group

Orientation 6 August 2002 Three

Learning and Thinking 2 – 7 October 2002 Three

Managing Learning in the 16 – 21 October 2002 Two

Workplace

Policy and Strategy 20 – 25 November 2002 Two

Analysis

Assessing Trainee 20-25 November 2002 Three

Competence

Managing Diversity in the 8-13 January 2003 Three

Global Workplace

Table 2 Class Observation Schedule

During observation I intended to take the role of ‘observer as participant’ (Merriam, 1998;
Walsh, 1998) for the following reasons:

• Gatekeepers (SIM, ‘The University’ Ethics Committee) were keen for the research
to be overt, as was I;

• ‘Complete participation’ would not have been possible as clearly I was not a
Singaporean student;

• ‘Complete observation’, or avoidance of social interaction, was the antithesis to

the chosen methodological stance and quite inappropriate in the cultural setting;

• ‘Participant as observer’ would have been possible, and indeed was partially used
during the interviews and throughout the immersion period. However taking this
role during observation would have made note-taking difficult. Moreover I knew
the intended results of some of the small group exercises, so pretending to be a
student would have been a potentially distructive charade.

In reality, my position was somewhere between ‘participant as observer’ and ‘observer as

participant’, as forecast for cases of overt ethnography by Walsh (1998:223). My observer

86
activities were known to the group, and any group participation on my part was secondary
to the role of information gatherer. During classes I did not usually participate in activities
constituting core group membership; in fact I sat at the back of the class wherever
possible. However avoiding participation was a fine line to tread, particularly as
relationships developed and I became accepted as a member of the group. Generally if I
was asked an opinion by the lecturer in the classroom, I would give a considered answer.
Lecturers sometimes maximised my status as a ‘more experienced student’ and asked
me to give suggestions to the group on topics such as ‘how do you read an academic
article’ or ‘how do you manage a bibliography’. The Singaporean lecturer asked me to
describe details of an Australian HRD program. On one occasion there were an odd
number of students in a group when dyad work was required and the lecturer asked me
to participate to make up a pair. I was happy to be reciprocal in these cases (see page 90
for further discussion of role duality), however I was careful to support whatever point I
felt the lecturer was trying to make. On another occasion a student, who was involved in
some small group work near where I was sitting, covertly asked me the answer to a
question. In that situation I declined to answer as I considered that doing so could
contaminate the scene and possibly undermine (or be perceived as undermining) the
lecturer.

I took notes on a laptop computer and transcribed them during the next day, prior to that
evening’s class. This allowed me to reconsider issues on a daily basis. As advised in the
methodological literature, my field notes focussed on social organisation, ritual, the
physical environment, participant roles and proxemics, interactions, norms and silences
(Simon, 1986; Merriam, 1998; Walsh, 1998). Walsh (1998) advises that field notes
should be ‘fairly concrete descriptions’ involving meticulous, verbatim written records.
However he also concedes that social scenes are inexhaustible; requiring some selection
to be made. In this research, interviews with students were conducted after classes;
therefore behaviours observed during class could be queried and/or clarified at a later
date. Frequently the observations were used to inform my emic understanding of the
program prior to the interviews. My field notes were certainly not complete ‘minutes’ of
around one hundred hours of class time; they were idiosyncratic and indicative of my
preselected interests, (as supported by LeCompte and Goetz, 1984). For example I was
careful to record responses to ‘overhead’ questions asked of the whole group by lecturers
because I was interested in pedagogical process (even though the response quite often
constituted silence from the group), whereas I did not record much of the subject content.

87
Textual analysis

I took advantage of the efficacy of written material to gather information about the
program before entering the field and, on return, to keep abreast of the latest
developments. University files about the BET program’s inception and development;
mission statements and course notes; and websites and on-line classes, helped me to
construct a profile of the program and construe its history (Guba, 1981). Publicly available
Australian and Singaporean Government policy documents helped me to understand
contextually the way in which international education is constructed within political
discourse. These issues were discussed at length in the preceding chapters.

Being ‘copied in’ on ongoing BET-related emails from lecturers and the course
coordinator helped me to maintain contact with the latest developments in the program.
The workplace files and emails included in the final analysis constituted a ‘series of staff
decisions grounded in the constraints and contingencies of their work’ (Silverman, 1993).
The inclusion and analysis of such written text was, as foretold by Fetterman (1989), a
valuable and time-saving form of data collection.

Analysis and reporting

Fetterman (1989) refers to the ethnographic fieldworker as a ‘human instrument’ who is
analysing data from the outset. This occurs through the constant process of
discrimination amongst different data and analysis of their relative worth during the
fieldwork phase (Simon, 1986; Fetterman, 1989). This initial ‘active’ analysis was
replaced by a more structured process of interpretation and the identification of themes
when I returned to Australia and began the analytical phase of the research.

Of course, the data I returned with represented only a fraction of what I heard and saw.
The task facing me was to ‘reduce and crystallise a world’ (Fetterman, 1989:34). I was
looking for patterns that would help me to produce a reliable report, however I was also
alert to identify exceptions to the rule in order to clarify meaning, avoid stereotypical
description, and represent the views of all sub-cultures. My understanding developed
and theory was generated through working simultaneously on many patterns (Fetterman,
1989).

Details of the analytical process

The analytical process included the following steps:

88
 1. Reading all available program documentation (including advertising material),
contractual material where available, and relevant government publications in
Australia and Singapore;

2. Preparation of complete transcripts of each interview and class observation field

notes (approximately 800 pages of single-line-spaced typed transcription);

3. Reading and rereading all transcripts; and

4. Coding all transcripts in QSR Nud*ist to reflect initial and emerging questions and
hypotheses.

Reliability and validity

It has been recommended that ethnographic research strategies should seek higher
internal validity to correct deficiencies in reports that lack meaning for participants
(LeCompte and Goetz, 1984:37). The reader should be able to judge whether the data
was used to support the author’s conclusions. Simon (1986) suggests that the data
should be allowed to speak for themselves as much as possible. Operationalisation of the
data in this study sought to increase internal validity and produce a credible report
through the use of ‘thick description’ and verbatim quotations.

Respondent anonymity, data authenticity, and validation

The size of the respondent group made it unrealistic to promise anonymity to some key
respondents in this research – for example the BET program coordinator, the SIM
management respondents and the manager from IDP. Despite my best efforts, the
lecturers are also, no doubt, identifiable to each other in some instances. Nevertheless,
both lecturer and student respondents have been rendered anonymous as far as
possible. Respondents’ names have not been used in the body of this thesis. Instead,
each respondent was allocated a random numerical identifier by a ‘Microsoft Access’
database. Similarly ‘QSR Nud*ist allocated a line number to each strand of text.
Therefore, throughout the research where direct quotes from individual interviews or
discussions with respondents have been used, the following protocol has been followed:
‘Access Database Number’ followed by interview/correspondence number, followed by
‘QSR Nud*ist’ transcript line number (e.g. [59:1:67-84] meaning: 59 [participant identifier
code number], 1 [first interview or letter/email], 67-84 [Nud*ist text strand numbers]). In
citations from classroom observations, the protocol is: ‘Class Number followed by Session
Number followed by QSR Nud*ist transcript line number (e.g. [A3:134] - meaning class A,
night three, line 134). The data are therefore retrievable and documentable, should that

89
ever be required for audit purposes. However at the time of writing no one other than the
researcher had direct access to the data, as promised to participants in the ‘Plain
Language Statement’.

Ethics, quandaries, and limitations

Ethnographic fieldwork requires constant juggling of the need to pry into others’ lives in
order to learn something of importance to the researcher, with respect for participants
who ultimately have the most at stake (Fetterman, 1989). I found that the desire to
behave ethically during this study constantly challenged my thinking and practice. I was
genuine in my desire to be honest with participants, however a degree of manipulation
potentially takes place on an almost daily basis in any number of situations, for example:

• During recruitment, when attempting to convince a potential respondent to

participate;
• During the shaping of the interview;
o When using techniques such as attempting to appear to be conducting a
casual conversation whilst inserting predetermined questions;
o When deciding when to take advantage of a golden opportunity or deciding not
to pry; and
• During written data collection, when asking people for access to documentation
that in any other circumstance would be considered private (e.g. emails).
In struggling with these quandaries, I found it useful to bear in mind the maxim that ‘first
and foremost the ethnographer should do no harm’ (Fetterman, 1989:120). Ultimately,
only the participants will be able to judge whether I have managed to live up to that
exhortation. Some of the challenges I confronted during this research are described in the
following paragraphs.

Role conflict, reciprocity and reactivity

Reciprocity and role conflict seem to be inextricably intertwined, as responsibilities are

invariably conferred by the various roles the researcher plays (for example; observer,
interviewer, group member, muse). I was concerned about balancing the need to be
rigorous, unbiased, and ethical, with the desire to help - both because the people involved
had given me so much of their time and maybe less defensibly – but more humanly -
because they had become my friends. The following case exemplifies the dilemma.

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Some months after my fieldwork in Singapore was complete I found myself playing the
role of mediator between the class president and the course coordinator. The individuals
concerned had a difference of opinion about the fact that the coordinator wanted to make
subject readings available on-line rather than in hard-copy. Both parties had good
intentions: the class president was representing the group of students and the course
coordinator thought that he was actually saving the students’ time that they would
otherwise have to spend in the library. I also knew that they were both facing significant
stresses external to this particular situation. As is often the case, neither of them ‘needed’
the added stress in their lives at that particular time. Possibly as a consequence, the
inimical tone of the electronic communication increased on a daily basis.

This was interesting data, and typified a case of escalating miscommunication coupled
with nuances of cultural misunderstanding. I was being ‘copied in’ on these emails and
both parties sought my advice. Both said that they valued my perspective as someone
with understanding of the cross-cultural issues involved. Despite my concerns about
contaminating the scene, it felt voyeuristic to simply watch the conflict unfold when I felt
that the situation could be very easily solved to everyone’s benefit. My decision was to
help in a quasi-consultancy role on the basis that each party knew I was advising the
other and the conversations between each individual and I remained confidential. In other
words I refrained from putting one person’s case to the other, I simply suggested ‘maybe
you should put it like this…’. I was also at pains to reinforce that both parties had valid
grounds and good intentions. Eventually the situation was resolved to everyone’s
satisfaction. Both parties fed back to me that my suggestions had been acted upon and
both continue to communicate and ‘copy me in’ on emails so I assume that my
maintenance of confidentiality was respected.

This issue of reciprocity and the need to make ‘on the spot’ ethical decisions are two
areas that are fraught with dilemmas for all fieldworkers (Fetterman, 1984a, b; Hurworth,
1998). During this research I found I was quite frequently in a position where I needed to
make such decisions with very little time for reflection. My own ‘intellectual
autobiography’, the intent to conduct rigorous research and the desire to act appropriately
in a foreign culture potentially impacted upon these decisions. My mind was put
somewhat at ease by the reflections of more experienced ethnographers such as
Fetterman (1989:94) who has said; ‘the ideal [my stress] stance is to observe and record
but as a participant the researcher has an ethical obligation to help put out the fire’ and
‘the ethnographer must function as an intermediary between informants’ (1989:214). I
followed his advice as best I could, making decisions based on a ‘risk-benefit’ evaluation.

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Certainly my presence had an impact on the field, in many small ways the BET class in
Singapore, and the lecturer group in Melbourne, were not the same once I departed.
Discussion of, and often sensitivity to, the difficulties and opportunities created by the
cross-cultural nature of the program seemed to increase during my time in the field.
Perhaps my presence researching cross-cultural aspects of the program raised
participants’ awareness of those issues. This eventuality (where research subjects realise
that they are being watched and alter their behaviour as a result) was first described by
Dickson and Roethlisberger (1943) and entitled ‘the Hawthorn effect’. As much as I
attempted to remain neutral, I can’t say that I was disappointed by any reactive effect in
this instance. If my observations were correct, and cross-cultural awareness increased as
a result of my research and presence in the field, then I prematurely achieved one of the
aims of the research. However culture-based events continued to transpire which gave
me confidence that reactivity had not rendered the study invalid. In the final analysis I
believe my decisions were moral and conscious, although they probably would not suit
the reader with a preference for a more clinical approach untainted by researcher-
participant reciprocity.

‘Going native’

Was I an independent researcher, a member of the student cohort, a fellow lecturer, all of
those, or none of them? I have already established that I shared common ground with
the respondents. Would it not be human to empathise with them? At times I was confused
about the answer to these questions and that was a problem because if I was confused I
ran the risk of losing independence. The issue of ‘going native’ is discussed in the
research literature and is generally considered to be one of the risks of ethnography. It
now seems to me, like reciprocity, to be an issue that is best subjected to a risk-benefit
approach and due consideration of cultural sensitivity. To a degree ‘going native’ seems
unavoidable, and the concomitant problems that it brings become a matter of degree.
After all, one of the prerequisites for ethnographic fieldwork is a lengthy term in a foreign
culture and, unless one is totally insensitive to that culture, immersion is bound to bring
with it a level of acculturation. Acknowledgement of a level of unconscious integration into
the observed culture allows for conscious reintegration into the home culture, which is
eventually essential to enable the researcher to withdraw and regain objectivity, to move
again from the emic to the etic stance.

Fetterman (1986:38) proposes that researchers must; ‘make constant decisions about
how they are going to live their lives, even in the middle of a study’. Whilst at first I was

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quite concerned about maintaining an uncontaminated stance, I came to learn that I had
to make those decisions and I decided that building relationships was the best way to be
allowed access to what people really believed. Whilst I absolutely concede that over-
identification with the subject group could be a problem that can cause the researcher to
lose objectivity, I also now believe that the issue of ‘going native’ is quite likely culturally
relative. In Singapore, I was living in a low-context and collectivist society where people
put the group before the individual. In contrast, Australia (and the U.S.A., where much of
the ethnographic literature is based) is a high-context and individualist culture where
people are relatively happy with superficial relationships (Hall and Hall, 1990). In order to
engender trust in Singapore, I came to feel that a deeper level of relationship, and
therefore of reciprocity, was required than might be the case at home. I remained
conscious of the potential impact of the depth of relationships I was developing. That
awareness coupled with the previously mentioned methodological safeguards (e.g.
triangulation, checking participant responses to representations of their reality, use of
‘thick description’, and verbatim quotations) represents my best efforts to reduce unfair
bias in analysis and reporting.

Chapter conclusion
This chapter has outlined the methodological decisions taken in this study and has
discussed the application of the chosen methods in the case of each of the research
participant sub-groups. As discussed in this chapter, the study has been conceptualised
in terms of units of analysis within a bounded system. The thesis will consider those units
of analysis, before extrapolating to the bounded system of transnational programs being
conducted across cultures. The following chapter commences that analysis by reviewing
cultural and pedagogical theories and concepts which are relevant to the study.

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Chapter Five: Culture and Pedagogy
Introduction
Hawthorn et al. (2004:3) reflect that ‘The impact of globalisation on education [is]
becoming an inescapable pedagogical issue‘. It is in the context of this growing
awareness of the fact that teaching is a cultural activity (Fulop and Marton, 2003:147) that
this chapter considers the interplay between culture (as a core aspect of globalisation)
and pedagogy.

The Compact Oxford Dictionary of Current English (2002) defines pedagogy as; ‘the
profession, science, or theory of teaching’. However, it seems incongruous to separate
the act of teaching from its intended outcome: learning. Whilst we can learn without a
teacher, the idea of teaching without a learner seems rather pointless. In discussing the
work of Watkins and Mortimore (1999), Alexander (2001:540) agrees. She contends that
while discussions of pedagogy frequently dwell on the teacher, they should also take the
learner into account and, moreover, she observes that ‘[pedagogy] encompasses the
performance of teaching together with the theories, beliefs, policies and controversies
that inform and shape it’. Chatterjee (2000:89,90), a female academic of Indian heritage
teaching in the USA, further asserts that our:

pedagogical location is challenged by many philosophies...pedagogy

becomes a medium through which definitions of identity, race, class and
status are translated in the microcosm of classroom cultures.

Thus, in line with these cues, this thesis assumes that pedagogy relies on learning for
legitimisation and that the term ‘pedagogy’ includes act and discourse, teacher and
learner. Correspondingly pedagogical practice and learners, located within their cultural
environments, reciprocally and dynamically influence each other.

This chapter provides a selected review of relevant concepts and research from the
disciplines contributing to pedagogical theory (e.g. education and psychology) and cross-
cultural theory (e.g. anthropology and psychology). It commences with the analysis of
core constructs relevant to intercultural research, then after establishing the necessity for
culture-general understanding, compares and analyses several of the better-known
foundational cross-cultural theories before progressing to describe the background
teaching and learning cultures of the research site and common ‘Western’ responses
thereto. Evidence is provided that cross-cultural difference could be expected to have a
significant impact on transnational education generally and the BET program in particular.

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The East-West dichotomy
It behoves any discussion of ‘Asia’ to consider the origins and complexity of the word.
‘Asia’ is a construction that is widely considered to be enmeshed in ‘endemic
Eurocentrism’ (Clarke, 1997:5), and the progenitor of numerous stereotypical and
homogenising portrayals (Said, 1979; Evans, 1993; Clarke, 1997; Rizvi, 1997).
Furthermore, definitions of ‘Asia’ are neither fixed nor universally agreed upon, whether
the term is employed to describe a geographic designation or an undifferentiated ethnic
or cultural identity. As Clarke (1997:10) reminds us, terminology such as ‘East’, ‘Orient’,
‘West’ and ‘Asia’ have the potential to become ‘devices for reducing endless complexities
and diversities into manageable but falsifying unities’.

Possibly because ‘East’ and ‘West’; ‘Occident’ and ‘Orient’; ‘Asia’ and ‘the rest’
(Mahbubani, 2002) are so obviously bi-polar, they have drawn equally dichotomous
reactions both in academic debate about the underpinning philosophies and perceived
hegemony of related discourses (e.g. Orientalism, Occidentalism), and in the
categorisation of differences between the two supposedly opposite poles (e.g. etic
classifications of cultural difference). Many would argue that such classifications are
always an oversimplification of the immense diversity found within the region and that
‘without sharp definitions, comparisons based on them are often loose, vague and nearly
impossible, if not meaningless’ (Cheng, 2000).

In his classic work ‘Orientalism’, Edward Said (1979) purports that any treatment of the
‘East’ by the ‘West’ is likely to be distorted by the baggage of colonialism. Knight
(2000:16) further admonishes those considering anything ‘Asian’ to remember that the
characteristics attributed to it and its peoples have ‘frequently been used to enhance
European (or more broadly ‘Western’) interests’. Certainly, as we are all aware,
stereotypical descriptions of what constitutes ‘Asian’ and ‘Western’ abound – some more
benign that others. The ‘West’ is seen (depending on one’s viewpoint and motivation) to
be rationalistic, ethical, positivistic and practical, selfish, immoral and hedonistic; whilst
‘Asia’ is perceived variously as inclined toward inward life and intuitive thinking, to be
sensual, cunning, exotic, mysterious, inscrutable, mystical and perilous (Evans, 1993;
Clarke, 1997). In short:

The assumptions of a basic dichotomy in modes of thought and ways of life

has lead to the conception of ‘Asia’ as either a culturally rich civilisation that
reflects on the inadequacies of our own, or an alien region of looming threat
and impenetrable mystery. (Clarke, 1997:4)

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Conceptualising ‘Asia’

It is widely agreed that ‘Asia’ is ‘correspondent to no stable reality that exists as a natural
fact’ (Said, 1995:331); was originally an artefact of the European imagination and a
negative term for that which was not European, (Evans, 1993; Knight, 2000:12). It is
nevertheless a term that has long been employed globally and is likely to continue to be
used in this way for the foreseeable future.

In reality ‘Asia’ is an extremely diverse region characterised by:

• numerous ethnic and cultural distinctions, both between and within its constituent
nations;

• many different languages and dialects;

• a wide variety of religions;

• wealth, ownership and status indicators that have a major influence on people’s
life experiences and opportunities;

• generations: as in ‘Western’ societies, the values, attitudes and behaviour of youth

in ‘Asia’ differ from the more traditional older generations; and

• acculturation, wherein any of the above groupings might be altered through

exposure to globalisation.

Adapted from (Knight, 2000:20-24).

Whilst it is obvious that ‘Asia’ as a region is diverse, some very similar responses to
external influences have emerged across the region (Knight, 2000). However, do these
emerging similarities mean that ‘Asians’ themselves now accept ‘Asia’ as a descriptor for
individuals or the region? Given the insight that ‘Asia’ is an external construct, this is a
prudent question for a ‘Westerner’ to ask. The answer is by no means clear and
responses are polarised – notably between ‘Asian’ and external commentators.

The literature supports the notion that the average person in ‘Asia’ is much more likely to
identify with an ethnic group in the first instance, followed by allegiance to a nationality,
before describing themselves as ‘an ‘Asian’ (Knight, 2000; Mahbubani, 2002). For
example, and to paraphrase Knight (2000), someone in Singapore might first identify
themselves as a person of Southern Indian heritage, identifying with Carnatic and Hindu
traditions, then as a Singaporean, and probably only marginally – if at all - as an ‘Asian’.
This becomes even more understandable if we consider that the same person might be

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young, middle class and educated in the English language, in which case they might
reasonably be expected to have more in common with someone from London (for
instance) than they would with someone from rural China. Even the category
‘Singaporeans’ is a simplification because of the richness of Singapore’s ‘Asian’
heritages. However, one of the reasons that ‘Asia’ as a term is becoming more accepted
in the region is that ‘Asian’ political leaders have used the term to resist perceived
‘Western’ interference in local affairs (Knight, 2000; Mahbubani, 2002). Nevertheless,
even at the political level, the reality or otherwise of an ‘Asian-values-based’ coalition
throughout the region is contested, as is evident in Burma’s Aung San Suu Kyi’s
repudiation of ‘Asian’ values as ‘…a spurious argument used by dictatorial governments
in the region…’(Knight, 2000:26). Notwithstanding the ongoing debate over ‘Asian values’
(which is discussed in greater detail in chapter three), there is evidence that at some level
‘Asia’ does figure in the self-identification of the region, particularly when its people are
confronted by outsiders (Knight, 2000). Ultimately, it is probably safest - especially for
‘Westerners’ – and therefore in this thesis - to use the word ‘Asia’ in cognisance of the
dangers inherent in naive subscription to the ‘falsifying unities’ to which Clarke refers
(1997:3).

Conceptualising culture, race and ethnicity

Culture is ‘one of the…most complicated words in the English language’ (Williams,
1976:87) and an enigmatic concept that has an enormity and scope that impacts upon
most aspects of our lives (Groeschl and Doherty, 2000; Matsumoto, 2000:19). In
academia, ‘cultural studies’ can include anything from fine art appreciation to feminist
studies, whereas ‘cross-cultural studies’ include concepts from anthropology, psychology
and sociology. Moreover, ‘Capital C’ Culture refers to fine and performing arts; whereas
‘lower-case c’ culture, tends to refer to ‘the way things are done around here’. To further
confuse matters, the types of culture are often interpolated (e.g. ‘capital C’ Cultural events
can be a component of ‘lower-case c’ culture), and the word ‘culture’ is also interchanged
with terms such as ethnicity, nationality and race.

In research with university students in America, cross-cultural psychologist David

Matsumoto and colleagues (1997) found that, to the layperson, the label ‘culture’ was
used as to describe a group’s expressions, history and beliefs; however ‘race’ was used
to identify important cultural differences. Whilst there is considerable disagreement about
whether biological or physical characteristics define ‘race’, in this research I will take

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Matsumoto’s view that ‘race is not culture: culture is a learned behaviour…culture is what
gives race its meaning’ (2000:20-31).

Social scientists tend to prefer to use the term ‘ethnicity’, rather than ‘race’ which Tamney
(1996) says ‘shifts the emphasis from biological similarity to cultural similarity’ and which
Jayasuriya (1999:4) suggests is easily applied to ‘an identifiable social category’.
Nevertheless, culture does not share exactly the same meaning as ethnicity and
Jayasuriya (1999:4,9) highlights that ethnicity is ‘sustained by a process of self ascription
and/or ascription by others, especially by the dominant groups in society…and
is…situationally determined’. Nationality on the other hand, generally refers to the
relatively static notion of a person’s country of origin (Matsumoto, 2000:32).

Matsumoto’s (2000:24) definition of culture (below) provides a parsimonious definition of

the ‘culture’ which this research addresses:

[Culture is] a dynamic system of rules, explicit and implicit, established by

groups in order to ensure their survival, involving attitudes, values, beliefs,
norms, and behaviours, shared by a group but harboured differently by each
specific unit within the group, communicated across generations, relatively
stable but with the potential to change across time.

The foundational role of intercultural theory

It is broadly agreed that the development of intercultural expertise is central to
ethnographic research and is founded on an awareness of one’s own cultural values,
beliefs and behaviours (Hofstede, 1994a). Thereafter, an awareness of culture-based
classification enables individuals to move beyond superficial ‘do’s and don’ts’ to provide a
‘meaningful framework to categorise their intercultural experiences’ (Bhawuk and
Triandis, 1996:22). An analysis and discussion of selected well-known culture-based
classifications that are particularly relevant to this research therefore follows.

Culture general (ecological) classifications

Country level dimensions and the responses of individuals

The following sections review selected cultural-general dimensions (usually referred to as

‘ecological’ (Carr, 2004:22) that will be referred to in a later analysis of respondent
behaviours. In consideration of such models, most of the literature warns that it is
important to avoid the unfounded stereotypical ascriptions that can occur when nationality
is interpreted as culture. Such misinterpretation is problematic not only because it is
statistically incorrect, but because it ignores the surety of an individual’s belonging to

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multiple sub-cultures (Matsumoto, 2000:32), and also the capacity for individuals to
manifest values through roles and behaviours to differing degrees on a situational basis
(Yamada and Singelis, 1999; Carr, 2004:29). This is an important issue because the
majority of ecological research has been undertaken at the national rather than the
individual level and therefore not all individuals within a group will ascribe to any given
dimension, however those values and behaviours can be expected to be found more
often statistically within the same society (Triandis et al., 1985; Leung and Bond, 1989;
Hofstede, 1994a:112; Kim et al., 1994:5-6; Bhawuk and Triandis, 1996). In short, as
Matsumoto (2000:32) argues ‘one’s passport does not necessarily determine one’s
cultural values’. Interpretation of this research invites similar considerations because the
respondents belong to various and strongly differentiated ethnic groups as well as any
number of sociological sub-groups (e.g. gender, socio-economic group etc).
Consequently, when this research refers to cultural dimensions in an analysis of its
findings, it does so cognisant of the fact that societies and individuals are interactive,
rather than mutually exclusive, entities.

Ecological cultural dimensions: Hofstede and successors

Many would agree that the ecological cultural classifications put forward by Geert
Hofstede (1980) are foundational in intercultural theory (Kim et al., 1994; Sondergaard,
1994; Bhawuk and Triandis, 1996; Bond, 1996a; Yum, 1996; Fernandez et al., 1997).
Indeed Sondergaard (1994:448) found that Hofstede’s typology was subjected to one
thousand citations and sixty replications in the thirteen years following its publication; thus
it had become ‘a paradigm that was taken for granted’. Hofstede’s (1980) research was
conducted using data from the IBM Company’s international database of employee
attitude surveys. More than 116,000 questionnaires in twenty different languages, from
seventy-two countries, were analysed (Hofstede and Bond, 1988). IBM’s questionnaire
focussed on employees’ basic values and beliefs. The original studies revealed that
cultures differed along four dimensions. There have (unsurprisingly given its wide
distribution), been several potential problems identified in Hofstede’s work (Chinese
Culture Connection, 1987; Sondergaard, 1994; Fernandez et al., 1997; Nicholson and
Stephina, 1998). These include concerns about whether the dimensions developed were
artefacts of the period of analysis, whether the IBM employee group demographic
constrained the results, and whether the dimensions may themselves be culture-bound.

Another issue arising from Hofstede’s original work was the exclusion of all countries that
at the time were under state socialism (Schwartz, 1994; Smith et al., 1996) – China being

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an important example. Hofstede surrogated Singapore and Hong Kong for China in his
original work; a factor relevant to this research because the specification of Singapore as
a national group that is ‘Chinese’ overlooks the multicultural nature of the country and,
despite the Chinese majority in Singapore, has the potential for ‘sub-cultural bias’
(Fernandez et al., 1997). Sub-cultural bias has been identified by other scholars (e.g.
(Chinese Culture Connection, 1987; Schwartz, 1994; Bond, 1996a), and Schwartz, in
particular, stresses the need to avoid mixing ethnic samples from the one country when
ascribing national cultural dimensions. Nevertheless, it remains noteworthy that
Singapore’s distinct cultural groups (e.g. Indian, Malay and Chinese) are clustered closely
in Hofstede’s dimensions and are significantly removed from Australian and other
‘Western’ nations (Bond, 1996a).

In response to criticisms of a ‘Western’ bias in his original work, Hofstede later worked
with Michael Bond and a group of Chinese-heritage social scientists to test his four
dimensions with Chinese-heritage people (Chinese Culture Connection, 1987). A survey
of Chinese values was developed, and was administered in twenty-two countries on five
continents. Three of the dimensions that emerged were found to be similar to Hofstede’s
original work, but a new and unique dimension was found. This dimension was originally
labelled ‘Confucian Dynamism’, however Hofstede has since labelled it ‘Long-term
Orientation’ (Yeh and Lawrence, 1995). The Hofstede/Bond et al. dimensions are
discussed in greater detail later in this chapter.

Despite its constraints, Hofstede’s work has been judged rigorous by many of his peers,
and has largely been confirmed in replications (Sondergaard, 1994:450-451).
Furthermore there are notable overlaps between the Hofstede dimensions and other
validated measures (e.g. the Rokeach Value Survey (Hofstede and Bond, 1988:14), as
well as parallels with the work of later researchers (again, discussed later in this chapter).
Thus, as Bond concludes (1996a:214), the evidence is that Hofstede was ‘tapping into
fundamental dimensions of values across countries’.

A further explication of cultural difference comes from Trompenaars’ (1993) ten-year

study in which 55 countries were represented by 30,000 managers from 30 multinational
corporations. Trompenaars describes seven fundamental dimensions of (national)
culture, which are not substantially different from Hofstede’s but which offer a
differentiated view (Carr, 2004:24). The first five of Trompenaars’ factors describe
relationships with other people, whilst the remaining two are ‘orientation in time’ (which is
also identified by Hall: see page 112), and ‘attitudes towards the environment’. Two of

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Trompenaars’ dimensions suggest differences between ‘Western’ and ‘Asian’ cultures
that are additional to those described by Hofstede and are also discussed later in this
chapter.

As with Hofstede’s work, Trompenaars’ methodology and findings have been questioned.
Indeed Hofstede (1996) argues that only two dimensions of Trompenaars’ work can be
confirmed statistically (individualism/achievement and universalism/diffuse); that his
theory is not supported by the database, that the instrument used suffers from a lack of
content validity, and he ultimately accuses Trompenaars of a ‘fast food approach to
intercultural diversity’.

More recently, during the course of this research, findings of the Global Leadership and
Organizational Behaviour Effectiveness (the GLOBE study) research program have been
published (House and Global Leadership and Organizational Behavior Effectiveness
Research Program, 2004). This study (entitled; ‘Culture, Leadership and Organizations’)
reports the findings of a team of 170 scholars in 62 cultures, from surveys of more than
17,000 middle managers in 951 organisations. The GLOBE scholars set out to
conceptualise theories of the relationship between culture and societal, organisational
and leadership effectiveness. The program identified nine major attributes of cultures and
six major global leadership behaviours. The GLOBE findings are potentially more
accurate than previous studies in that they analyse practices (what is happening), as well
as values (what is desired).

Thus, a range of models could potentially provide a basis for interpretation of this
research. By employing ecological and dimensional models, this thesis does not propose
to advocate that any one model is ‘correct’, but rather (to paraphrase (Carr, 2004:26) to
‘adopt a relatively pluralistic attitude toward the models and in awareness of their
limitations utilise their essentially social constructivist (sense-making) functions’. Whilst
debate between academics such as (but certainly not limited to) Hofstede and
Trompenaars illustrates the impossibility of ascribing cultural absolutes, it also continues
to sharpen debate and sponsor further learning. Bhawuk and Triandis (1996) conclude
that research on the understanding of cultural dimensions continues to evolve, and that
despite disagreement, remains a useful reflective aid in the development of intercultural
expertise, which is how it will be employed in this thesis.

As Carr (2004:26) suggests, ‘the literature is only just beginning to integrate the different
versions of ecological dimensions empirically’, however ‘a little conceptual mapping’

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makes it easier to appreciate that the various models are not necessarily contradictory.
Such mapping provides a framework for further discussion. Thus the following table,
adapted from Carr (2004:24), provides a useful illustration of similar concepts. Because
Hofstede’s research has been the catalyst for so many other studies, the following
discussion utilises his dimensional terminology. However discussion is supplemented,
where relevant, by of the work of other researchers.

Hofstede Trompenaars GLOBE

Individualism-Collectivism Individualist- Individualism

Communitarian
Group Pride

Neutral-Affective Humaneness

Universalist-particularist

Power Distance Achievement-Ascription Power distance

Specific-Diffuse Performance Orientation

Uncertainty Avoidance Internal-External Uncertainty-Avoidance

Masculinity-Femininity Assertiveness

Gender-differentiation

Work Dynamism Time Future Orientation

Table 3: Comparison of cultural dimension theories (Carr, 2004:24)

The national dimensions of cultural behaviour that are most salient to this research:
Individualism/Collectivism; Power Distance; Uncertainty Avoidance and Confucian
Dynamism/Long Term Orientation, are discussed below.

Individualism/Collectivism

The individualism and collectivism constructs constitute one of the most important and
long recognised differences in social behaviour (Brislin, 1994; Yum, 1996). However it
was Hofstede’s seminal work that drew particular attention to them in recent times
(Bhawuk and Triandis, 1996). Hofstede (1994a:51) describes the dimensions thus:

Individualism pertains to cultures in which the ties between individuals are

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 loose…everyone is expected to look after themself and their immediate
family. Collectivism, as it’s opposite, pertains to societies in which
people…are integrated into strong, cohesive in-groups, which throughout
their lifetime continue to protect them in exchange for loyalty.

Hui and Triandis (1986) provide support for Hofstede’s contention with further
descriptions illustrating a cluster of beliefs and behaviours that could be expected in
collectivist societies including:

• concerns about how decisions would affect others;

• sharing of material resources;

• sharing of non material resources such as time, affection or sacrificing of

interesting activities for the collective;

• willingness to accept the views of others/ to conform;

• concern about saving face or gaining the approval of the collective;

• belief in the correspondence of one’s own outcomes with the outcomes of others;
and

• a feeling of involvement in others lives.

Collectivist values and behaviours are said to be entrenched by the moral political
philosophy of Confucianism (discussed further from page 113) (Kim et al., 1994).
Underlying these values is the term concern, which encapsulates the preparedness to
subordinate individual desires in favour of the group (Lau, 1992; Bhawuk and Triandis,
1996). An understanding of what constitutes the group is essential in understanding
collectivism. Hui and Triandis (1986) argue that collectivism is not equivalent to altruism.
To illustrate: a study group may or may not constitute an individual’s ‘in-group’, whereas a
family almost certainly would. Or, as Hofstede (1994b:xiii) suggests: ‘in a collectivist
society, a poor relative can expect to be helped, but not necessarily a poor stranger’.

The much-repeated view of Confucian-heritage cultures as universally collectivist is not

undisputed. Lau (1992) correctly argues that cultures that are collectivistic should not be
assumed to have no individualistic concerns. He emphasises that Chinese-heritage
cultures do have individualistic goals and have individualistic wishes, and proposes that
collectivism is a means to fulfill those goals (Lau, 1992). Lau’s hypothesis seems logical
given the previous discussion of the problems surrounding ascription of national values to
individuals; indeed Triandis et al. (1985) observe that individual differences exist in all
cultures. Triandis proposes that people select whether they act ‘individualistically’ or

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‘collectivistically’ according to a given situation (Triandis, 1994). He employs the terms
‘allocentrism’ and ‘idiocentrism’ at the individual level:

…the idiocentric selects mostly individualist solutions in collectivist cultures

and the allocentrics selects mostly collectivist solutions in individualist
cultures…(Triandis, 1994:43)

Accordingly, it is evident that the student participants in the BET classes could,
conditionally, be expected to display more collectivist orientations than one might observe
in an Australian class. However this would not preclude intensely individual responses
(e.g. a person may work with and support a study group whilst at the same time adopting
a competitive approach to individual assignments).

On the other hand, Kim et al. (1994:6) assert that individualist societies value privacy and
freedom of choice and that status and roles are not predetermined, but defined by
achievements. Individualism is considered implicitly ‘Western’, founded on liberalism and
‘reflected in religions, secular and political institutions’ (Kim et al., 1994:19; Tamney,
1996:12). In individualistic cultures, the value of the person exceeds that of any group as
such. By way of illustration, Tamney (1996:10) uses the example of the ‘Western’ family,
in which each person’s well-being is more important that the status of the group. Again
though, just as collectivism does not equate to altruism, individualism does not equate to
egoism: ‘rather it is expressed in a respect for each person including the self’ (Tamney,
1996 p.10).

Singaporean society has been described as ‘prototypically collectivist…closest to the

pure Hofstede conception of collectivism, high in conservatism and hierarchy and low in
autonomy and mastery’ (Schwartz, 1994:111), whilst Australia has a strong individualist
orientation. Singapore is also said to be and ‘the least individualistic…plac[ing] much
greater importance on the social moral values’ (Lau, 1992:365). Other studies also
suggest that Singapore’s major sub-cultural ethnic groups emphasise interdependence of
the individual with the collective (Fulop and Marton, 2003). This difference is illustrated in
the table below, where the USA, Australia and Britain were ranked first, second and third
respectively on individualism whereas Singapore was ranked thirty-ninth out of a potential
fifty-three nations (Hofstede, 1994a).

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Table 4: Selected Individualism Index (IDV) values (Hofstede, 1994a)

The GLOBE study also utilises the concepts of individualism/collectivism however it

differentiates between institutional collectivism and in-group collectivism. The study finds
that Singapore is fourth in the world out of a 62 nations on institutional collectivism
practices (what does occur) whilst Australia ranks 28th and Singapore is ranked
seventeenth for in-group collectivism whilst Australia is 52nd. Thus GLOBE also
demonstrates that Singaporeans live in a more ‘collectivist’ society - both in the workplace
and in private life - than Australians.

Particularism

One of the dimensions described by Trompenaars and Hampden-Turner which has some
similar aspects to collectivism is ‘particularism’, wherein a trustworthy person honours
changing circumstances and several perspectives exist relative to each person (Williams
and Bent, 1996). In a now famous example that illustrates particularism, Trompenaars
and Hampden-Turner (1998) asked managers from around the world to consider whether
they would fabricate the facts (in this case the speed at which the friend was driving) to
protect a friend who had been speeding when he hit a pedestrian. More than 90% of
managers in Canada, USA, Australia, Sweden, Norway and West Germany said they
would not testify falsely – whereas 26% of South Korean managers, 47% of Indonesians;
and 48% of Chinese said they would support their friend by providing false testimony.
This case illustrates both the importance of the in-group in collectivist cultures and the

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relativistic approach to ‘truth’ found in some ‘Asian’ cultures and religions (e.g. human
truth is partial, so that one truth does not exclude its opposite).

Thus, in summary, individualism/collectivism and particularism have been strongly

differentiated for Singapore and Australia. Because such noticeable differences are
predicted, the dimensions are potentially useful lenses through which interpret the data
from this study and are frequently referred to in the analysis of data (e.g. in chapter six
onwards).

Power Distance

Hofstede (1994a:28) specifies Power Distance (PDI) as:

The extent to which the less powerful members of institutions and

organisations within a country expect and accept that power is distributed
unequally.

According to Hofstede (1994a:27) PDI scores are about dependence relationships. Thus
interdependence between hierarchies would be expected in small Power Distance
nations, whereas in large Power Distance nations there would be a wide emotional
distance between levels of hierarchy. Hofstede (1994a:28) claims that social classes are
visible proof of the existence of societal hierarchy, and that education is one of the main
determinants of occupation and thus of social class. In education, the teacher-student
relationships mirror parent-child relationships; therefore large PDI situations encourage
teacher-centred pedagogies, whereas small PDI encourages learner-centred pedagogies
and student initiative. In the workplace, organisations in large PDI nations centralise
power structures, status symbols are accepted, superiors and subordinates are
‘existentially unequal’, and manual work has a much lower status (Hofstede, 1994a:35).
In contrast, organisations in small PDI nations consider superiors and subordinates
existentially equal holders of roles that can and do change regularly, status symbols are
considered suspect, there are flat hierarchical structures and managers earn respect
through democratic management styles.

The following bar chart illustrates the considerable difference between Singapore and
Australia in Hofstede’s PDI. Of note is the fact that Malaysia registered the highest global
score in PDI with a score of 104, and Singapore was thirteenth (score 74), double that of
Australia at a distant 41st place with a score of 36.

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Table 5: Selected Power Distance (PDI) Values (Hofstede, 1994a)

Again, the GLOBE study also identifies Power Distance in cultural dimensions. GLOBE
proposes that high power distance rankings are linked to cultures and religions that
respect experience and tradition (e.g. Confucian, Islamic and Hindu religions) (House et
al., 2004:523). Like Hofstede’s study, GLOBE also shows Singapore ranking higher than
Australia on Power Distance, although the gap is not as large as in Hofstede’s study
(Singapore ranks 42nd and Australia 53rd out of a potential 62 in terms of ‘practices’ [how
society is], whereas in ‘values’ [how society should be] Singapore is ranked 14th whilst
Australia is 25th). In other words the GLOBE study posits that Singapore both practices
and believes that power should be distributed unequally and that Singaporeans may
believe that even greater power distance is desirable. Perhaps counter intuitively (for an
Australian), Australia also indicates a desire for greater power distance than is currently
practiced.

Clearly the power distance dimension is also highly relevant to this research. The
traditionally dependent teacher/student relationship, the role of education as a means for
transiting socio-cultural restraints, and the acceptance or rejection of inequality would be
expected to cause some discomfort between Singaporean and Australian cultures.
Chapters six to eight will explore how that disquiet played out in the BET program.

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Uncertainty Avoidance

Hofstede (1994a:113) defines Uncertainty Avoidance (UAI) as: ‘The extent to which the
members of a culture feel threatened by uncertain or unknown situations’, and notes that
the primary mechanisms which societies use to cope with uncertainty are technology, law,
and religion. He further proposes that UAI scores are expressed through nervous stress
and anxiety, and a need for predictability and rules. In UAI, anxiety is not about risk or
fear – both of which focus on something specific – but relates to reduction of ambiguity
(Hofstede, 1994a:116). Consequently, students from strong uncertainty avoidance
societies would be expected to enjoy learning situations in which there is one correct
answer and where teachers are experts, whereas students in weak uncertainty avoidance
societies would be more happy to accept a teacher who says ‘I don’t know’ (Hofstede,
1994a:120).

As can be seen in the following chart, Singapore has the world’s lowest score for
Uncertainty Avoidance (8) in Hofstede’s indices, whilst Australia ranks fifty-fifth in the
world, with a score of (51).

Table 6 Selected Uncertainty Avoidance (UAI) Values (Hofstede, 1994a)

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Based on this finding, one would expect Singaporeans to be very comfortable with
ambiguity, have almost no need for written rules, and favour learning situations that are
open-ended, with vague objectives, broad assignments, and no timetables (1994a:119).
Whilst Singapore and Australia seem to match the remainder of Hofstede’s empirically-
based predictions very closely, in the case of UAI nothing could be further from the
experience of many researchers (e.g. chapter three), Singaporeans’ own reports, and my
experience in the field. Indeed, not many societies are more highly regulated than
Singapore, with its compulsory savings schemes, carefully controlled housing allotment,
government-sponsored matchmaking etc.; nor more socially engineered via ‘technology,
law and religion’. Therefore Singapore as a case in point seems in conflict with the
predictions of Hofstede’s UAI dimension.

Later research provides some potential explanations for this apparent quandary.
Schramm-Nielson (2000:3), postulates that there is more than one possible interpretation
of a given position in Hofstede’s indexes and that reasons for positions must be clarified
by looking at context and deeper levels of culture. Schramm-Nielson experienced doubts
about the Danish position on Hofstede’s UAI (51st place with a score of 23) and proposes
that the fact that Danes had a very low score on UAI should not lead to the conclusion
that they can do without structure and that they like to work in uncertain and
unpredictable situations. She concludes that the reason for the low Danish score is that
‘they already have a high degree of certainty in life’ and that ‘it is no doubt an expression
of their great need for security that they have built a society that provides it’ (2000:10).
Schramm-Nielson’s conclusions about Denmark could equally apply to Singapore.

Broadly supporting Hofstede’s dimensions, the GLOBE study defines uncertainty

avoidance as:

the extent to which members of collectives seek orderliness, consistency,

structure, formalised procedures, and laws to cover situations in their daily
lives (House et al., 2004:603).

Two related illustrations from the GLOBE study that are of particular relevance to this
thesis are:

1. the proposition that uncertainty avoidance is a key factor in feedback seeking

behaviours, and that underlying reasons for this include motivations toward goal
achievement, ego protection and enhancing one’s image (House et al., 2004:604);
and

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 2. that short-term feedback is provided through the acceptance and enforcement of
standardised decision rules (House et al., 2004:606).

In a noticeable contrast to Hofstede’s findings, the GLOBE study positions Singapore as

third in the world in terms of practising uncertainty avoidance, and 46th in terms of the
type of uncertainty avoidance that society values. Australia is 19th in practice and 51st in
values. In other words, according to the GLOBE study, Singaporeans could be expected
to be quite uncomfortable with ambiguity, have a preference for formalised procedures
and laws, be keen to protect and enhance their image through active feedback seeking
(protection of ‘face’?), and exist in a society that is replete with rules, whilst possibly
desiring a less formal, structured lifestyle. My experience in the field and the reports of
respondents (related in chapters six to nine) also support Schramm-Nielson’s conclusions
and the hypotheses of the GLOBE study, whilst they contradict Hofstede’s predictions on
UAI.

Confucian dynamism/long term orientation

As previous outlined, the Confucian Dynamism/Long Term Orientation dimensions to

Hofstede’s work emerged from collaboration between Hofstede, a group of Chinese
Scholars, and Bond (the Chinese Culture Connection (1987) [CCC]). High Confucian
dynamism characterises future oriented principles (persistence, status-ordered
relationships, thrift), whereas low Confucian dynamism is more present oriented
(steadiness and stability, protection of face, respect for tradition, and reciprocation of
greeting, favours and gifts). Yeh and Lawrence (1995:655) propose that there is actually
a high correlation between ‘long term oriented Confucian dynamism’ (e.g. persistence,
status-ordered relationships and thrift) and individualism because there is a tendency for
countries scoring high individualism to score low on Confucian dynamism and vice versa.

As can be seen in the following chart, Singapore and Australia rank eighth and eleventh
respectively on Confucian Dynamism (Long Term Orientation). The two countries are
closer on this than on the other Hofstede dimensions, however there are fewer countries
involved in this measure and the score gap of (48) to (31) is still quite large. From this
research we could assume that Singapore would have a future-oriented, dynamic culture
in which tenacity and thrift would be important. Given the previously mentioned
government economic imperative, this is not an unreasonable expectation. Unlike the
previous study, Malaysia (having an Islamic Malay majority) was not included in the CCC
study, however it is noteworthy that India scores fairly high on the index (Hofstede,

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1994a:168). This partially explains why Hofstede moved to retitle the dimension ‘long
term orientation’, losing the Confucian focus.

Singapore’s Indian populace is well suited to coexisting in a collectivist and even a

Confucian-heritage environment, according to the work of two Indian academics, Sinha
and Tripathi (1994), who profess the view that Indian culture is ‘coexistent’, in that the
boundaries of the self shift constantly. They highlight that this coexistence of
contradictions is reflected in various facets of Indian culture and behaviour, especially in
the enormous breadth of religious beliefs. Accordingly, whilst in Indian religion
individualism is strong, Indian people share emphatically collectivist family orientations
(ibid1994:131).

Table 7: Selected Long-term Orientation Values (Hofstede, 1994)

The GLOBE study highlights that future orientation is a construct that is not exclusively
Confucian and can be found in all cultures (House et al., 2004:283). Salient examples
from GLOBE descriptions of Future Orientation beliefs include: the desire for achieving
economic success, having a propensity to save for the future, valuing deferment of
gratification and employment of visionary leadership. This is a particularly important
dimension for this study as Singapore ranks highest in the world in practice of future
orientation (whilst Australia is mid way through the scale), whereas Singapore is ranked

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mid way in terms of values and Australia low in values. In other words both countries
would seem to be looking forward to less need to be future-oriented, but at the present
time Singapore is archetypally so.

The work of Edward Hall

The work of Edward Hall (1990) (also later with Mildred Reed Hall) describes a culture-
bound ‘silent language’ that exists outside the range of people's conscious awareness.
Hall uses the terms ‘low context’ and ‘high context’ to describe one component of this
dynamic. In high-context communication most information is vested in the physical
environment or the person, while very little is in the coded, explicit, transmitted part of the
message. Low-context communication the opposite: the mass of information is vested in
the explicit code. Studies building on Hall’s work have suggested that ‘low context’
cultures tend to also be individualist, whereas ‘high context’ cultures tend to be
collectivist; therefore things which are considered self-evident in collectivist cultures must
be said explicitly in individualist cultures (Gudykunst et al., 1988; Hofstede, 1994a:60).

Hall also describes cultural differences in chronemics (use of time). His research found
that some cultures use time in a ‘monochronic’ manner: where time is perceived as linear
schedules take priority, and are treated as sacred and unalterable. ‘polychronic’ time is
characterised by the simultaneous occurrence of many things and by a great involvement
with people (Hall and Hall, 1990). Again, there are correlations between these dimensions
and individualism/collectivism. Individualistic societies tend to use monochronic time
patterns whereas collectivist societies tend to be more polychronic (Hall and Hall, 1990;
Hodgetts and Luthans, 2000). Not surprisingly, once again Australia and most ‘Asian’
countries were found to communicate quite differently in Halls’ research.

The East West dichotomy revisited

As a result of this overview of culture-general dimensions:

We know that individuals differ in their values, that values influence

behaviour, and that people from different cultures differ on average from
people of other cultures in both their values and behaviours (Bond, 1994:74).

The significant correlation and similarities between the dimensions reviewed in the
preceding paragraphs tend to reinforce the existence of a basic Asian-Western contrast
(Bond, 1996a:223), or ‘philosophical dividing line that separates Western from Eastern
thinking’ (Hofstede and Bond, 1988). Whilst all nations are experiencing varying rates of
modernisation and change, nevertheless fundamental differences exist between reported

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and expected culturally-based behaviours. In Singapore, group-centred behaviour,
relativity of ‘truth’, respect for education, and an inherent respect for teachers are in
contrast to the cultural predispositions identified by ‘Western’ countries. Again a
conclusion of the existence of fundamental cross-cultural differences is reminiscent of the
work of Bennett (1993b) (chapter two), who considers the denial of cultural difference to
be an ‘immature minimization strategy’, and we are lead to the conclusion that these
differences go well beyond naïve stereotypes.

Thus, it has been revealed on the previous pages that Australia and Singapore could be
expected to differ significantly on predictable cultural dimensions. This prediction is
reinforced by Hofstede (1986:303) who proposes that teacher/student interaction is: ‘an
archetypal human phenomenon…deeply rooted in the culture of society…and that cross
cultural learning situations are fundamentally problematic for both parties’. To illustrate
this, he cites differences in societal positions and roles of teachers and students,
expected patterns of interaction, preferred didactic and pedagogical approaches,
amongst a significant list of predictable potential opportunities for cross cultural
misunderstanding in transnational classrooms. Therefore, whilst each person within the
student and lecturer groups in this research would not be expected to behave according
to a modal cultural typology, national cultural dimensions provide useful clues to
understanding behaviour and it is reasonable to conclude that the cultural differences
predicted by this large body of research would be evident and potentially problematic for
the interactions in the BET program.

Culture-specific classifications
Whilst a singular focus on difference may be unhelpful, like Hofstede (1986), Ziguras
(1999:3) - an Australian academic working in transnational education - has proposed that:

Educators must be familiar with their students’ backgrounds, assumptions

and expectations…In transnational education this means having some
familiarity with the student’s country of origin and the educational practices
that the student would be used to.

Accordingly, a brief exposition of the culture-specific educational histories which provide

some familiarity with the Singaporean respondents’ experiences follows.

Confucian-heritage cultures

Confucius (Master Kong, or Kong Fu Ze, whom Jesuit missionaries renamed Confucius)
was born in 551 and died in 479 BCE. He was a civil servant whose true vocation was

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political: to convince the rulers of his time to bring about harmony and peace (Ng, 2000).
However, his political career was a failure (Leys, 1996) and he altered his tactics and
began accepting pupils (Ng, 2000). It was not until after his death that the Confucian way
of thinking became the state orthodoxy in China under Emperor Han Wudi (140-87 BCE).
Over centuries the persuasive influence of Confucian concepts has been: ‘employed in an
analytical, abstract, philosophical sense and as a useful heuristic for describing the
professed values of Chinese people’ (Gabrenya and Hwang, 1996:308). The Confucian
ethical system regulates social behaviour via three principal ideas: benevolence;
righteousness or justice; and propriety or courtesy’ (ibid 1996:309). Whilst the popularity
of Confucian philosophy in China has waxed and waned, it was reinvigorated by
philosopher and educator Chu Hsi (1130-1200), and subsequently, for almost two
thousand years, Confucius has been canonised as China's first and supreme teacher (De
Bary et al., 1989; Leys, 1996). The resulting extraordinary importance (called an ‘over-
emphasis’ by Chan (1999)) attached to education by Confucian-heritage societies is a
common feature throughout South-East Asia (Bond, 1986; Leys, 1996; Chan, 1999;
Zhang, 1999; Reagan, 2000). In addition to the recurring theme of reverence for
education, various attributes are commonly associated with Confucian-heritage cultures,
as summarised below (not in order of importance):

• Maintenance of harmony (Bond, 1991; Bent and Bond, 1997; Ng, 2001; Tamai
and Lee, 2002);

• The notion of maintenance of face: ‘Harmony is found in maintenance of face;

meaning one’s dignity, self-respect and prestige. Paying respect is “giving face”’
(Bent and Bond, 1997);

• Filial piety: the Hsiao-ching or Book of Filial piety was one of the most widely
accepted Confucian works (Lee, 1989; Bond, 1991; Leys, 1996; Zhang, 1999;
Ng, 2001; Tamai and Lee, 2002);

• Respect for tradition, the elderly and ancestors (Chinese Culture Connection,
1987; Tamai and Lee, 2002);

• Respect for social order and the importance of the group (Bond, 1991; Bent and
Bond, 1997; Tamai and Lee, 2002);

• Ordering and hierarchy of relationships, with differential status including reciprocal

moral obligations (Bond, 1991; Tamai and Lee, 2002);

• Trust: of family and in-group (Bond, 1991);

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 • Belief in fate – a stronger bias toward luck or fate as compared with ‘Westerners’
(Bond, 1991);

• Preference for the tangible and concrete (Bond, 1991);

• Thrift (Chinese Culture Connection, 1987);

• Persistence (Chinese Culture Connection, 1987);

• Having a sense of shame (Chinese Culture Connection, 1987);

• ‘Human heartedness’ (kindness, patience, courtesy) (Chinese Culture Connection,

1987); and

• The belief that favours need to be repaid (Tamai and Lee, 2002).

Pearson and Entrekin (2001) remind us, that people of Chinese descent living outside
China have been indiscriminately stereotyped as ‘the overseas Chinese’ or a Chinese
monolith (Bond, 1996b), despite diversity in their geographic locations and dialect groups.
Chapter three proposed that in countries where overseas Chinese dominate economies,
Confucian ideals maintain a stronger significance. This apparent maintenance of
traditional cultural identity by overseas Chinese in multicultural nations has been
repeatedly reported in the research literature (Matsumoto, 2000:72). Bond (1996b) found
enduring Confucian philosophical values in societies of immigrant Chinese in Singapore,
Taiwan, and Hong Kong. Similarly, Lau (1992) found that students in Hong Kong and
Singapore placed a greater emphasis on collectivistic values than did students from
mainland China, and that this was particularly true for students from Singapore.
Furthermore, in a study of the attitudes of Chinese parents in Shanghai, Taiwan and
Singapore, Wu (1996) established that they were the most conservative and traditional:
that they placed great emphasis on the education of their children and the maintenance of
Chinese traditional values related to family and moral education. In an analysis of this
pattern, Matsumoto (2000) speculates that the immigrant groups bring with them the
culture of their native group at the time of their immigration. The immigrant group then
crystallises its sense of culture within a multicultural environment by maintaining the
traditional culture, yet at the same time their native country is undergoing change. This
may explain why immigrant groups eventually conform more to the vernacular Confucian-
heritage stereotype than contemporary Chinese. Indeed, during this research a senior
academic at my Singaporean University said to me ‘oh, we [Chinese Singaporeans] are
more Chinese than the Chinese’.

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Confucian-heritage socialisation and pedagogy

The supplementation of Confucianism with Taoist and Buddhist beliefs over time, has
been termed ‘neo-Confucianism’ (Chen and Chung, 1996; Chan, 1999; Ng, 2000), or
‘post-Confucian’ (De Bary et al., 1989). As mentioned above and in chapter three, the
pre-occupation by Chinese-heritage parents with the provision of a ‘quality’ education for
their children is an ongoing phenomenon in Neo-Confucian nations, including Singapore
(Leung, 2001; Frean 1998, cited by (Chan, 1999)). These practices and beliefs are clearly
linked to a heritage where even in ancient times: ‘degree holders enjoyed unprecedented
honour and prestige’ (Lee, 1989:109). In Confucian-heritage societies the continuing
belief that education will eventually lead to upward social mobility and enhance family
status has been shown by many researchers to remain a key motivator in the pursuit of
learning (Chan, 1999; Hoare, 1999; Pratt et al., 1999). In this pursuit of status, many
Confucian-heritage students are encouraged to aspire to ‘sam si or the three top
professions: medicine, law and accountancy’ (Chan, 1999) and as in ancient times,
degree-holding status remains ‘avidly coveted’ (Lee, 1989:109).

For centuries, success in examinations has been the gateway to opportunity in Chinese-
heritage societies. This has an historical basis in the Imperial Chinese examination
system (Stevenson and Lee, 1996). Promotion to the aristocratic ranks of the civil service
was accessible only through the Imperial examination system and was ‘often the most
reliable and impartial mechanism for the poor to move up’ (Lee, 1989). Much of the
Chinese high regard for education and family values can be directly attributed to this two-
thousand year exam tradition, and the requisite family support required for success (Ng,
2001; Li, 2002). As a result, there is little dispute that teaching and learning styles in
Confucian-heritage countries are founded on ‘rote/repetitive learning’ (Chan, 1999). The
surface nature of rote learning has been attributed to the fact that Confucius considered
everyone educable, and decreed that difference in intelligence does not inhibit one’s
educability, however incentive and attitude does (Lee, 1996). Consequently, in
Confucian-heritage cultures, education and learning are associated with effort, and failure
conversely associated with a lack of effort (Pratt, 1992; Biggs, 1996; Lee, 1996).
Another frequently cited reason for the supposed Chinese preference for rote learning is
the memorisation required to learn thousands of stems and at least 214 radicals in order
to read Chinese ideographs (Kember, 1996; Chan, 1999; Mok et al., 2001).

Research by Pratt et al. (1999) established that memorising or mastering the basics of
foundational knowledge was important to Confucian-heritage students and teachers, not

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just for the eventual utility of knowledge, but also for the discipline and persistence
required to commit the knowledge to memory. Pratt et al. (1999:12) also found that in
Confucian societies ‘…the power of the examination was evident not only in its control
over access to more privileged education but also in the power it held over authorised
knowledge’. They contend that in Confucian societies there seems to be little ambiguity
about what is considered authorised or ‘valid’ knowledge in a given subject. This concept
of ‘authorised knowledge’ is important in an analysis of ‘Asian’ pedagogies and will be
revisited later in this chapter.

However, in contrast to the image of Confucius as the progenitor of rote learning, is the
viewpoint that he was, in fact, an ‘enlightened’ teacher who used techniques such a
participative group discussion and open questioning (Ng, 2000), and was dialogical,
interactive and personal (Li, 2002). Chang proposes that it is more likely that the evolution
of ‘vernacular Confucianism’ (Chang 2000, cited by Biggs and Watkins, 2001a:297) has
lead to the current ‘hierarchical patriarchal system demanding unquestioning obedience’
(Ng, 2000:315) and ‘sycophantic Confucianism’ (Ng, 2001:71). In ‘vernacular
Confucianism’, attitudes to the nature of teaching and learning held by teachers, parents
and students are quite punitive (from a ‘Western’ perspective) and include beliefs such
as; ‘punishment is considered beneficial to children’, ‘children are spoiled if praised’ and
‘failure is the result of laziness’ (Gow et al., 1996; Watkins, 2000; Biggs and Watkins,
2001b; Ng, 2001). Such beliefs may stem from the grim Xun Zi (300-237 BCE), rather
than the more constructivist Confucius (Biggs and Watkins, 2001b:280). Nevertheless, in
Confucian-heritage cultures, study is a serious endeavour and some say that students
are not supposed to enjoy their learning (Leung, 2001). However, it is equally possible
that perceptions of enjoyment are different, and that East and Southeast Asians derive
their enjoyment, as Leung postulates, from ‘having put in hard work and having
knowledge of the subject’ (Leung, 2001:41).

Other major pedagogies in the region;

To this point the chapter has focussed on Confucian-heritage pedagogies. This has
occurred for two interconnecting and pragmatic reasons: Confucian-heritage people are
in the majority in Singapore, and there is a significant literature base as there has been a
great deal of research activity into Chinese culture and values in the past three decades
(Bond, 1986:xviii). However many families in Singapore share different educational
traditions. The following is an overview of the traditional approaches to educational
thought and practice for the remainder of Singapore’s cultural groups.

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Indian/Hindu educational tradition

Whilst most assuredly not all Indians are Hindu, a significant number (at least half) of
Singapore’s Indian community are Hindu (Ministry of Information Communications and
the Arts Singapore, 2003). There is a commonly accepted connection between Hinduism
and Indian cultural identity (Reagan, 2000). Hinduism differs from the religions we are
most used to in the ‘West’ in that it has no fixed minimum doctrine. There is no one God,
no single code of commandments; one can believe in ‘absolute reality, or in many Gods,
or be an atheist, and still remain a Hindu’ (Sinha and Tripathi, 1994:131). Indeed:

to insist that there is only one true religion is, from a Hindu point of view, a
sign of ignorance and self-deception. As the nineteenth-century Indian
teacher Sri Ramakrishna said, “all paths lead to God”. (Hulmes, 1989:132)

Epistemology is of deep concern in Hindu education, as human beings are believed to be

held captive by their ignorance. Education is instrumental in assisting an individual to
reach higher stages of existence (Chandras, 1977; Hulmes, 1989; Sinha and Tripathi,
1994). Unlike Confucian-heritage learners, Hindus have traditionally believed that not
everyone is mentally prepared to acquire knowledge (Chandras, 1977). However,
traditions, perseverance and application are seen as the most likely path to success as
‘there is no easy way to truth’ (Hulmes, 1989:128) Traditionally education was for boys,
who commenced formal education with a guru, living in the home of the teacher.
Admission to a teacher’s home was based on moral fitness and good conduct. To be
accepted, potential students, had to show certain qualities including ‘a calm and
unperturbed mind, self-restraint, self-denial and patience’ (Chandras, 1977:20). Once in
the teacher’s house, the student worshipped the teacher as his own father or God. In
return, it was the teacher’s responsibility to teach ‘the truth exactly as he knows it…to
love the student as his own son’ (Chandras, 1977:27), and to teach students to conform
to the demands of moral law (Hulmes, 1989). From this perspective, Hinduism also
displays elements of collectivism in that: ‘ignorance of what is right upsets the balance of
things…each individual bears some responsibly for the well-being of the community as a
whole’ (Hulmes, 1989:125) According to the Upanishads, swadhyaya or self-study was
futile (Chandras, 1977). The indispensability of the teacher in attainment of enlightened
knowledge was stressed. Teachers acted as role models who provided examples for
students to emulate (Hulmes, 1989; Reagan, 2000).

Traditionally, education for the masses employed an oral tradition, as written texts were in
Sanskrit, which was, and is, considered a sacred language. Whilst in ancient India,
people were able to transcend their place in the caste system through vedic learning; in

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recent history India’s caste system has made it impossible for the individual to change
from one class or varna to another (Chandras, 1977). Over time, education became
vocational and every person was educated according to the respective duties the caste
had to fulfil in society. Inheritance, rather than learning, became the determinant of
membership of the elite and priestly Brahmin caste. Knowledge of Sanskrit and the role of
teacher was reserved for the Brahmins, which helped them to maintain both their religious
and social status (Chandras, 1977; Hulmes, 1989). The oral tradition necessitated rote
learning through the chanting of holy songs and the repetition of texts as lead by the
teacher. Exams were mostly oral in nature and designed to test memorisation. However
some teachers also used interactive pedagogies (e.g. prashna-uttara: questions and
answers).

For the few who had access to elite learning, pedagogies were more sophisticated. Hindu
theologians and philosophers have identified six methods of knowledge intended to
provide direct knowledge of the ‘Absolute’. These include pratyakhsa (sense
perception), anumana (inference), Shabda (scriptural authority), upamana (analogical
reasoning) arthapatti (hypothetical supposition or ‘method of implication’) and abhava
(negation). Perhaps the most fascinating of these to the ‘Western’ university educator is
anumana. Anumana refers to logical argument and includes both inductive and deductive
reasoning. It includes a five-part syllogism:

• The thesis is to be established

• The reason for maintaining the thesis

• The example of the reason

• The application of the reason and example

• The conclusion (that is the thesis established)

Despite the obvious similarity, this syllogism precedes the development of syllogistic
reasoning in the West (Reagan, 2000). Arthapatti also has similarities to ‘Western’
pedagogical practice, in that it ‘involves the identification of a missing premise in a
dilemma or argument’ (Reagan, 2000).

The Buddhist tradition

There are two major streams of Buddhism – Theravada and Mahayana. At the core of
Buddhism is the ‘Triple Refuge’: ‘the Buddha, the Doctrine and the community’ (Reagan,
2000) wherein teachings cover three broad categories: wisdom, ethics and meditation.

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Theravada Buddhism emphasises the original Buddhist scriptural tradition (hence it’s
name; ‘Teaching of the Elders’). It emphasises the monastic life, is somewhat austere
and is found in Sri Lanka, Myanmar, Thailand, Cambodia and Laos. Mahayana
Buddhism gives greater freedom of devotional and metaphysical belief and is found in
Nepal, Tibet, China, Korea, Mongolia and Japan (Reagan, 2000).

Education in traditional Buddhism was within the context of the monastery - in the final
element of the ‘Triple Refuge’: the community. However monastic education by no
means meant that knowledge was jealously guarded, as the monastery was an integral
part of the community. Again, traditional Buddhist education was based on a close,
intimate relationship that existed between student and teacher in which respect for
teachers ranked immediately after respect for the Buddha, the Law and ahead of parents
(Ballard and Clanchy, 1991). The teacher/student relationship was, again, reciprocal and
obligations on both parties are substantial. Instruction was primarily oral and debate
played a central role (Reagan, 2000).

Islamic educational tradition

Islam can be translated to ‘submission to the will of God’ and the real focus of Islam is not
Muhammad, but rather, Allah (God) (Reagan, 2000). Muhammad is important in his role
as God’s prophet. Conformity to the will of God is both an obligation and a privilege, and
affects all aspects of human existence, which obviously includes education (Hulmes,
1989). God’s will is passed down through the Qur’an which ‘is believed to be an exact,
literal transcription of the words of God Himself, precisely as they were given to
Muhammad’ (Reagan, 2000). Therefore recitation of The Qur’an is ‘seen as sublime and
edifying, even when a Muslim does not intellectually understand its words’ (Reagan,
2000).

The Qur’an was the first Islamic textbook and, since the time of the Prophet, education
has been inextricable from the religious context. For Muslims, ultimately all knowledge is
made available by Allah. Thus the omnipotence of God as the source of knowledge
allows little place for critique. Hulmes supports such a contention with the observation
that:

Islam appears to make exclusive claims to be the one true religion for all,
and tolerates no other systems of belief, except in a subordinate way…In
requiring obedience and submission it appears to limit critical inquiry.
(Hulmes, 1989:32)

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Islamic educational philosophy includes an obvious concern and affection for children.
One of the best examples in the Islamic tradition of educational philosophers is the
theologian, mystic and teacher Al-Ghazali (1058-1111), according to whom, there are
actually two ways in which knowledge might be acquired; through human reason and
‘light from God’. Al-Ghazali believed that all children had the capacity to learn, however
the philosopher Ibn Khaldun (1332-1406) thought that ability was not given equally to all
people, and that there were innate intellectual differences among people (Hulmes, 1989;
Reagan, 2000). According to both Al-Ghazali and Ibn Khaldun the key to effective
teaching was the right relationship between the teacher and the pupil.

According to Islamic belief, children have a basically good nature and thus the purpose of
education is not viewed as one of ‘correcting’ but rather one of guidance, through gentle
advice rather than reproof (Hulmes, 1989). Teaching is seen as a social craft and Islamic
education is concerned with developing the unique characteristics of a person in such a
way as to allow him/her to adapt to the standards of society (which should share the
ideals of Islam) (Reagan, 2000). Despite the preceding ideals, in practice, Imams who
are employed by the community and who should model appropriate behaviours and
examples, undertake much of the teaching of Islam in the mosque. Imams are generally
not trained to teach, meaning that rote learning and old style pedagogies are the norm
(Hulmes, 1989). Discipline is strict and special attention is given to memorisation. Thus, a
good memory could be said to be more useful to the Muslim scholar than intellectual
analysis.

Whilst many Muslims today would agree that the old-fashioned pedagogies of the Imam
and the mosque are not longer adequate, simultaneously they may disagree with a non-
Muslim’s interpretation that the old ways of teaching encouraged learning by rote, and
discouraged free and critical inquiry. ‘What emerges from discussion on the point with
Muslims is the fear of the “corrosive” influences of Western scientific and technical
knowledge… that the authority of Islamic beliefs might be diluted if students are
encouraged to question in an un-Islamic way’ (Hulmes, 1989:52).

Culture specific pedagogical overviews: a rationalisation

The preceding discussion of culture-specific pedagogical heritage is rendered more

complex by consideration of the fact that Singapore has more recently than Australia
been subject to colonial rule. As a result, the British education system has also become
part of Singaporean’s teaching and learning heritage (and many aspects remain, as
described in chapter three). Therefore it is likely that both Singapore and Australia (but

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more recently and even currently, Singapore) have been affected by ‘left over power
pedagogies’, to paraphrase Fuller (2004:148), who observes that:

the authority and status previously found in colonial schools…continues to

be reproduced…The mass conditions and uncertainty inside the classroom
push the teacher to seek control, and to engage in rituals that signal
authority but which do very little to encourage learning.

Thus it is clear that the teaching and learning cultures of Singapore are complex, and the
above descriptions of pedagogical traditions are necessarily short. As Alexander (2001:3)
observed in relation to comparative education: ‘nobody embarking on a study of
education in other cultures ought do so without being acutely aware of how little, despite
their best endeavours, they end up knowing’. It is beyond the scope of this thesis to
analyse further the thousands of years of educational history underpinning the
pedagogies of Singapore’s ethnic groups. Nevertheless, despite its brevity, the preceding
discussion reveals some obvious and pervading commonalities that are shared by
Singapore’s major ethnic groups, including:

• a collectivist orientation;

• a high value placed upon education;

• respect for educators;

• an intimate and reciprocal relationship between educator and student;

• a high level of parental support for education;

• repetitive learning;

• respect for ‘authorised’ or expert knowledge; and

• education as a source of power and status.

There are also notable differences, (including the existence or absence) of:
• oral tradition;

• examination orientation;

• debate;

• general attitude toward the nature and education of children; and

• attitude toward the ‘educability’ of individuals.

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In brief, and as Biggs and Watkins (2001b) conclude, the crucial point in an examination
of traditional ‘Asian’ pedagogies and learning styles is the fact that [many of] these beliefs
and behaviours are current today.

‘Asian’ pedagogies: ‘Western’ responses

‘Western’ misperceptions?

‘Western’ observers consistently perceive that an ‘Asian’ socialised learning style is

steeped in a tradition of passive and rote learning (Hofstede, 1986; Ballard and Clanchy,
1991; Niles, 1995; Biggs, 1996; Seelye, 1996; Volet and Renshaw, 1996; Kelly and
Ha, 1998). This tends to be a persistently negative stereotype, however some propose
that ‘Asian’ learners are commonly misunderstood by Westerners (Gow et al., 1996;
Biggs and Watkins, 2001b).

Significant research pertaining to ‘Asian’ pedagogies (Chinese heritage in particular) has

been taking place in the last decade. Two volumes of research focusing on Chinese
learning and teaching practices have been published by the University of Hong Kong
Comparative Education Research Centre (CERC) in collaboration with the Australian
Council for Educational Research (ACER) (1996, 2001). Biggs and Watkins (Australian
academics who are or were working at the University of Hong Kong) have edited much of
research, although Chinese heritage teachers and researchers have written many of the
chapters. Much of this research has relied on ‘student approaches to learning’ (SAL)
theory, which uses both qualitative and quantitative methodologies, and assumes that
students’ learning styles are a function of their perceptions of the task and the
environment. One of the major findings by Biggs (1996) is that ‘Western’ observers
frequently misinterpret Confucian-heritage learning practices as rote learning (memorising
without understanding), when in fact what is occurring is repetitive learning (learning to
enhance future recall alongside understanding). Cultural differences in perceptions of the
relationship between memorising and understanding exacerbate this misperception
(Biggs and Watkins, 2001b). Biggs and Watkins (2001b) have proposed that whilst
Confucian students do frequently learn repetitively, this learning approach is an
interlocking process to ensure retention and to enhance understanding. Moreover, they
believe that whilst ‘Western’ students tend to use repetition to check memory and
perceive understanding as a sudden insight, Confucian-heritage students perceive
understanding to be a long-term process that requires considerable mental effort. Other
researchers agree: Lee (1996) extrapolates that ‘memorisation precedes deeper
understanding and is not an end in itself’ and Kember (1996) suggests that ‘the most

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important distinction between the two approaches lies in the intention, or absence of the
intention, to understand’. Reliance on memorisation in ‘Asian’ societies has also been
attributed to cultural respect for authority, and a response to a heavy content load and
English curriculum (Watkins, 1996).

The possibility of ‘Western’ misperceptions highlights another important difference

between ‘Asian’ and ‘Western’ approaches to depth of learning and underscores the
previously discussed Confucian-heritage attitude to ability (e.g. anyone can learn with
sufficient effort). Much of the ‘Western’ literature has tended to extrapolate from
‘observed’ rote learning, to an assumption of extrinsic motivation and surface learning on
behalf of ‘Asian’ students. In the literature, surface learning is generally taken to mean
‘attempting to commit to memory until it can be regurgitated in an examination’ whereas
deep learning; ‘an active engagement of material determined by the students themselves
to be of interest and relevance’ (Gow et al., 1996:121-122). Whilst SAL research (e.g.
Kember and Gow, 1991; Volet and Renshaw, 1996) has confirmed that Chinese heritage
learners are more achievement-oriented than ‘Western’ learners, it has not confirmed that
they are less inclined to deep learning. On the contrary, recent research would indicate
that ‘Asian’ learners do well in exams as well as developing understanding and making
meaning through deep approaches to learning (Gow et al., 1996), although the
observable behaviours associated with their learning strategies may not be not the same
as those of ‘Western’ learners.

Challenges facing ‘Western’ observers

Over the period 1995 – 1997, Kelly, Wong and Pratt conducted research in Hong Kong
universities, prompted by the observation that many dedicated ‘Western’ academics who
were apparently successful teachers in their own countries, expressed frustration and
disappointment with their inability to be effective teachers in Hong Kong (Kelly and Ha,
1998). The same dilemma has been reported by work-place-based adult educators
‘teaching’ adult ‘Asian’ students in multicultural Melbourne (Hoare, 1999). Evidently a
suite of paradoxes and sources of confusion face ‘Westerners’ interacting with ‘Asian’
learners.

The literature reports a list of issues that challenge the ‘Western’ educator newly arrived
in ‘Asian’ countries, with a frequency that has a definite pattern of predictability (Kelly and
Ha, 1998; Chan, 1999; Hoare, 1999; Ziguras and Walsh, 2000; Leung, 2001; Dixon
and Scott, 2003; Hawthorne et al., 2004). The following is an amalgamated list of some
of the common concerns:

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 • Passive and compliant behaviour that may present problems for those more used
to participative styles of teaching;

• Students not speaking in class;

• Lack of abstract thinking;

• Lack of curiosity;

• Lack of creativity;

• Requirement for close supervision and constant direction from teachers;

• Over-reliance on the opinion of ‘experts’ (e.g. lecturers);

• An over-emphasis on concrete examples;

• Inability to be introspective – instead trying to ‘guess’ the answer the teacher

wants;

• Students who are used to ‘spoon-feeding’;

• Constraints on behaviour presumed to be caused by ‘face-maintenance’;

• The need to compromise in group situations; and

• ‘Mis-use’ of support materials by students in order to rote learn.

Such a recurring list of perceived ‘deficits’ on the part of the ‘Asian’ learner underscores
the impact of cultural difference on pedagogical practice and the emergent dilemma
facing both educators and ‘Asian’ students in transnational education. Perhaps a little of
the (above) prescribed introspection is required on the part of the educators; after all, as
we have seen, ‘Asian’ learners have excelled both at home and as ‘international’
students. Challenges for both teachers and learners are clearly abundant, and the
strategies which could be used by both groups are further analysed in the following
paragraphs.

Learning styles
Read the book a hundred times and the meaning appears’ – Chinese
maxim. (Mok et al., 2001:161)

Learning style is imputed to be one of the bases of cultural difference which has
developed as a result of our past life experiences and learning environment: most of us
develop learning styles that emphasise some abilities over others (Kolb, 1984; Cushner,
1994; Gow et al., 1996; Rodrigues et al., 2000). As mentioned previously, in Confucian-
heritage cultures academic success is attributed to effort, and intelligence is not

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perceived as fixed. Learners have been brought up to respect wisdom, knowledge and
expertise, and to avoid challenging those in authority (Chan, 2001). As a result they seek
constant approval and confirmation from their teachers, paying particular attention to what
should be reproduced (Gow et al., 1996:115). In its turn, appropriate pedagogy is
expected to provide pupils with the information necessary to pass the relevant exams,
leading to results which allow access to social mobility (Gow et al., 1996). This tradition,
coupled with the desire to avoid losing face, contributes to the typical achievement
orientation and academic success of ‘Asian’ students (Gow et al., 1996:107). Students
are supported, encouraged and threatened by a collectivist framework: ‘a heady mix of
motivational steam: personal ambition, family face, peer support, material reward, and
yes, possibly even interest’ (Biggs and Watkins, 1996; Biggs and Watkins, 2001b). The
foreignness of those socialisation processes is evidenced in the previous discussion of
challenges facing ‘Western’ educators, whose own socialisation processes were often
much more individualist and their motivations more intrinsic.

Pratt (1992) found that ‘Asian’ adults had conceptions of learning that were qualitatively
different to Westerners. He used a phenomenographic research method, in which
nineteen Chinese Scholars (who were visiting Canada for one year) and thirty-eight
Chinese adult educators (who remained in China) were interviewed. The scholars in
Canada were interviewed when they first arrived, and again just prior to return, one year
later. Results were compared with the Chinese group and commonalities emerged.
Learning was understood as:

• The acquisition of knowledge or skill from others;

• The fulfilment of responsibility to society; and

• A change in understanding of something external to oneself.

Pratt found these conceptions to be compatible with, and possibly derivative of, cultural
factors. In Pratt’s work, the link between belief and behaviour is clear: these beliefs
contribute to our understanding of why didactic styles of teaching and learning have been
traditionally preferred in ‘Asian’ classrooms.

Teaching styles and classroom culture

The perception of traditional ‘Asian’ classrooms as conservative and expositional is not

isolated to ‘Western’ (mis)-interpretations. The Chinese themselves have sayings which
reflect this viewpoint; e.g., ‘cramming the duck’ in Hong Kong, or ‘mantanguan’ (literally,

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teacher-talk throughout the lesson) in Mainland China (Mok et al., 2001), or even cheem
(profound, too difficult for anyone other than an expert to understand) in ‘Singlish’.

Ho’s (2001) research sought to ascertain whether ‘Asian’ teachers actually are
authoritarian: the result being ‘yes and no’, depending on the context and the formality of
the situation. The following aspects of teaching styles are perceived as relatively common
in ‘Asian’ classrooms (Chan, 1999; Ho, 2001; Leung, 2001):

• Strict codes of behaviour;

• Formal classes;

• Use of punitive measures;

• A strong moral responsibility to guide students;

• Personal needs are not addressed;

• Lecture dominated;

• Teacher dominated;

• There is only one right way (e.g. to answer a question); and

• Limited questioning or discussion.

However, whilst the above teaching styles are related to the formal classroom situation,
Ho and others have observed that out of the classroom teachers (Kelly and Ha, 1998;
Chan, 1999; Biggs and Watkins, 2001a; Ho, 2001):

• Interact with students on friendly terms;

• Attend to students’ personal needs;

• Interact on a student-centred basis;

• Are expected to guide students;

• Interact with students with considerable warmth;

• See their role as extending well beyond the classroom itself; and

• Take a pastoral role as well as in instructional view of teaching.

Thus, as Ho (2001) found, ‘Asian’ teaching styles could appear very authoritarian or very
student-centred depending on the context. Chan (1999) also stresses that, whilst an

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authoritarian approach predominates in classroom settings, the relationship between
teacher and student includes considerable ‘hand holding’ and a high degree of mutual
respect and responsibility. This role duality is repeated throughout the literature (Ziguras
and Walsh, 2000; Biggs and Watkins, 2001a) and again provides a fertile ground for
cross-cultural misinterpretation.

Perhaps not surprisingly, it has been reported that South East Asian international
students (in this case, Singaporeans in particular) bring an expectation of these reciprocal
obligations to transnational education. Volet and Renshaw (1995:216) found that
Singaporean and Malaysian students in Australian universities placed a high value on
outside-class interaction with tutors and lecturers, and indeed this was found to be ‘a
major source of friction between the two parties when it became evident that Australian
tutors expect students to ask all their questions during tutorial time’.

Structuring constructivism

In a 2002 conference paper, Munro-Smith (2002) - an Australian lecturer teaching in

Singapore at SIM - reflected that effective teaching of adults that builds on current
knowledge through discussion and negotiation requires a constructivist approach. The
lecturer interviews and classroom observations in this research (chapters six and eight
respectively) indicated that most of the participating lecturers also favoured broadly
constructivist pedagogies.

Constructivism is a widely accepted meta-theory that has been investigated for its
transferability across cultures. According to constructivist theories, learners acquire
knowledge in predictable phases, ranging from the very concrete to the abstract (Bruner,
1990; Wilson, 2004). Knowledge is constructed rather than received, via the
development and interpretation by individuals of cognitive maps or schemata (Pratt and
Nesbitt, 2000). Constructivist learning environments emphasise active participation, self-
regulation, social interaction (Krause et al., 2003), and flexibility in thinking (McLoughlin,
2001). Constructivism was predated by andragogy, a particularly popular ‘theory of adult
learning’ that was largely responsible for the shift in ‘Western’ adult education from
teacher-as-authority to teacher-as-facilitator (Pratt and Nesbitt, 2000:3). In adult
education, constructivist theories are evident in the stress placed on critical reflection, and
along with andragogy, the move to learner-centred education (Pratt and Nesbitt, 2000:4).
Whilst pedagogies that employ constructivist paradigms are being exported to ‘Asia’ and
regularly used in multicultural environments, the great majority of research supporting
constructivist approaches comes from ‘Western’ educational settings. Researchers, (e.g.

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(Pratt, 1993; Paige and Martin, 1996; Chan, 1999; Hoare, 1999; Rodrigues et al., 2000;
Chan, 2001; Ziguras, 2001a) have questioned whether such approaches are effective in
non- ’Western’ and multicultural learning environments and how well they transfer across
cultures (not restricted to ‘East/West’).

In Asia, where ‘an effective teacher is viewed as someone who provides clear guidance
for students rather than letting them flounder when exploring for themselves’ (Chan,
2001:301), the idea that students should control their own learning and make meaning on
their own terms contradicts accepted ‘good teaching’ practice as well as broader cultural
values. Moreover, as education in ‘Asian’ traditions is considered important for its intrinsic
value, any attempt to reduce it to what is perceived as a surface approach, is subject to
criticism (Lee, 1996:34). To illustrate, Paige and Martin (1996) found that the use of an
experiential activity in a cross-cultural learning program did not work for some participants
who thought the activity did not leave sufficient time for reflection. They considered it very
likely that these preferences were culturally related. Indeed the literature proposes that
many ‘Asian’ learners might think that ineffective teaching is taking place if they are
continually asked in class to express their opinions or solve a problem by themselves
(Chan, 1999; Hoare, 1999).

Constructivist models (e.g. experiential learning, problem based learning) are generally,
by nature, inductive. For example, problem-based learning differs radically from traditional
‘Asian’ methods of education… ’it is exceptionally interactive, based on a capacity for
lateral thinking and critical reasoning’ (Hawthorne et al., 2004:5). There is evidence that
such inductive pedagogies may exacerbate cross-cultural discomfort (Bent and Bond,
1997). As Biggs (1996:55) contends: ‘In the West, we believe in exploring first, then in the
development of skill; the Chinese believe in skill development first‘.

Given the significant number of apparently substantive differences between traditional

‘Asian’ learning strategies and ‘Western’ pedagogies, it might be appropriate to consider
whether constructivist methods should continue to be employed in ‘Asian’ educational
settings. Yet their discontinuation would be an ill conceived and unwarranted reactionary
response. In fact, both recent literature and contemporary practice indicate that
constructivist pedagogies can be employed as effectively in ‘Asian’ cultures as they are
elsewhere. However, there are culture-based implications that must be considered. Used
too early in a class or learning program, experiential activities can create a stressful
learning environment for people from many cultures (Paige and Martin, 1996; Ng, 2000).
Chan (1999:303) found that in Hong Kong specifically; ‘to be effective, [approaches such

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as simulations and role play] have to be introduced slowly with clear instructions and
guidelines as well as adequate preparation time’. The following quotation, from an ‘Asian’
female teacher working in the USA, illustrates this structuring perfectly:

I have learned not to insist in a new learning situation that [minority group]
learners bring their experiences, in true Freirian and feminist fashion, to the
circle. I will only invite sharing when I sense that students trust the group –
and me – enough to risk something that seems to go against their
understanding of learning and teaching, as well as their preferred behaviour.
(Ng, 2000:317)

Ng’s example supports the work of McCaffery (1986): both authors provide a useful
illustration of how culturally sensitive sequencing and structure means that a learning
program may need to begin by using educational methods that are more familiar to
participants, and then gradually move to more constructivist methods. Paradoxically,
educators increase student-centredness by at first adopting methods which they have
come to believe to be outdated and even teacher-centred in their own society (Hofstede,
1986). The literature repeatedly shows the importance of such sequencing and structure
to ‘Asian’ learners (e.g. Ziguras, 2001a). Stevenson and Stigler (1992:198) observed the
‘stunning…widespread excellence of Asian class lessons’, and proposed that lesson
coherence would be improved by sequencing of activities, and an explanation by
teachers of the purpose and interrelatedness of lesson components. Like Stevenson and
Stigler, Biggs and Watkins (2001a) observed that Japanese teachers use ‘impeccable
sequence and timing’, while the Singaporean respondents to Volet and Renshaw’s (1995)
research highlighted their opinion that Australian lectures were not well structured.

Thus, the literature implies that the creation of a safe and trusting learning environment,
which is person-centred rather than content-focussed will encourage most learners to
participate in activities, and is therefore more cross-culturally appropriate (Paige and
Martin, 1996; Hoare, 1999; McLoughlin, 2001). In view of the above, coming to
understand the way things are done locally before seeking to change them would seem
logical but may not happen as frequently as it should, possibly because of the global
hegemony of ‘Western’ university doctrine. However, surely: ‘…to dismiss local practices
in other parts of the world without understanding them is fraught with danger’ (Ziguras,
2001a:16).

Group learning

Brislin et al. (1986) suggest that group versus individual preference for learning is [a]
potential difference in the way people learn best, and much research supports the notion

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that students from ‘Asian’ backgrounds thrive in small-group learning situations. This
appears unsurprising given the previous discussion of the collectivist nature of ‘Asian’
cultures. In ‘Asian’ learner groups much self-initiated group learning often takes place
outside the classroom (Chan, 1999). Both within and external to classes, ‘Asian’ students
seek cues in relation to assessment, and will self-initiate collaborative work to seek each
other’s cue perceptions and how to handle an unfamiliar situation (Biggs, 1996). ‘Seeking
help from a friend’ was found to be a much-favoured learning preference for Singaporean
students, especially in comparison to their Australian counterparts (Volet and Renshaw,
1995). Also in Singapore, Munro-Smith (2002:2) observed, as I did, that ‘students can be
seen [in the grounds of universities] sitting for hours around a PC belonging to one of the
group as they discuss their reports’.

In contrast to self-initiated group formation, there is evidence that when the teacher in
collectivist settings imposes small-group learning, it may be difficult to encourage the
commencement of discussion. This may be because ‘[in ‘Asian’ societies] members of
discussion groups often wait their turn and people will only interact once relationships are
defined’ (Chan, 1999). As forecast in Hofstede’s cultural dimensions (collectivism and
Power Distance in this instance) people in ‘Asian’ societies typically behave according to
social expectations of their role, particularly when a group leader is yet to be decided.
Hofstede further maintains that in collectivist cultures, students from different ethnic
backgrounds often form sub-groups in class (Hofstede, 1994a:62), which was, to an
extent, supported in the classroom observations of this research. It is also predicted that
both externally initiated and self-initiated groups will often have designated group leaders,
and that once the group task is concluded, the designated group leader will be expected
to announce the decision of the group (Hofstede, 1994a; Chan, 1999). It seems possible
that the designation of a group leader who reports back, but does not necessarily ‘own’
the group’s response, supports the previously discussed ‘face saving’ behaviours. Indeed
when we consider that in constructivist small-group learning situations, students are likely
to be challenged by a range of sophisticated interactions that are all taking place quickly,
and in a second language, including ‘smooth turn taking, identification of topics where
personal and group knowledge is weak or inadequate, and critical feedback’ (Hawthorne
et al., 2004), it is not surprising that the potential anonymity of a group is appealing.

As an example, the classes I observed in my fieldwork elected a ‘president’ as

spokesperson for the class, yet never in twenty years of adult education have I observed
this behaviour in Australia. This reinforced Chan’s (1999) proposal that in ‘Asia’ rank has
an impact even in informal group work, and that those employed in government positions

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are recognised as a result of their status. It is possibly but unlikely to be coincidental that
both BET class presidents were male members of the armed forces. Of course, like so
many other observations in this chapter, sub-group allegiances and leader designation
behaviour are not confined to collectivist cultures, and may occur in the individualist
Australian classroom. As always, it is a matter of degree.

Computer based learning: significant possibilities, significant

resistance

Previous research has shown that that ‘Asian’ students do prefer face-to-face contact with
lecturers and peers; consequently student reactions to the internet as a mode of delivery
have been generally negative (Lawley et al., 1999:78; Daniel, 2000:7). The student
respondents to this research, who placed a high value on face-to-face contact with
Australian lecturers, confirmed this. ‘Distance’ or ‘online’ education was perceived by
them to be a cost-saving exercise on behalf of the university or partner institution and the
least desirable learning methodology, which lacked both prestige and learning
opportunities. Munro-Smith (2002) and Ziguras and Walsh (2000) also report negative
responses to computer-based learning from adult Singaporean students. Ziguras and
Walsh’s article describes the difficulties experienced when transferring across cultures the
combination of a constructivist teaching style and computer-based learning. They report
on the establishment of an on-line notice board in a transnational program delivered in
‘Asia’. In their case study it was envisaged that students would use the board to ask
questions and initiate discussions, however this did not eventuate and students
commented ‘there was not much to see on the notice board’. They expected a flow of
information from the lecturer and were not interested in initiating public conversations
themselves (Ziguras and Walsh, 2000). Munro-Smith (2002:2) noted that the
overwhelming majority of Singaporean students ‘remained keen on handouts’, a finding
which was again replicated in this research. In summary, it seems possible that the now
familiar ‘Asian’ preferred learning patterns such as a desire for a closer relationships with
teachers; preference for small group learning, discussion and cue seeking; not wanting to
stand out from the group; education as a means of attaining status etc. may be reflected
in this resistance to entirely online modes of teaching.

The BET program mostly used computer-based learning as an adjunct to face-to-face

teacher-facilitated classes. For example, students could access reading materials or
overhead presentations used in class through online links on a subject web page, and
they regularly contacted their Melbourne lecturers by private, one-to-one, email. Even the

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two subjects which focussed on computer-mediated learning as subject content were
delivered face-to-face in Singapore by a Melbourne-based lecturer. The exception to this
rule occurred late in the BET program after I had returned from my data collection phase,
and was a direct result of the SARS outbreak in 2003. Because these instances were an
exception to the planned BET program brought about by an emergency, and they
occurred after my research phase was completed, I will not comment on them apart from
to say that even those lessons were delivered through teleconferencing so were not
purely on line. The experiences of BET lecturers and students during the SARS outbreak
will be reported in research being prepared for publication by one of the lecturers. This
instance does, however, point to another issue in transnational education that is beyond
the scope of this thesis; that of sustainability in times of crisis.

Assessment: invitation to deep learning, or propagator of surface

approaches?
‘What types of assessment will be used to compare the skills of persons
educated and trained in different corners of the globe?’ (Little, 1996:434)

The various forms that assessment can take (e.g. participation-based, collaborative or
individual assignment, ‘open book’ or traditional examination) are inextricably bound in
the socio-cultural and historical context of both student and assessor. Academics can
make assumptions about how common these forms of assessment are (Lee, 1998;
MacKinnon and Manathunga, 2003). However, whilst legitimate in their own cultural
context, many of these methods can seriously disadvantage those for whom the chosen
method is alien (Bates, 2001:6).

As previously discussed, highly competitive examination systems have long been, and
remain, the pre-eminent form of assessment in ‘Asian’ countries (Chan, 1999; Biggs and
Watkins, 2001b). Even today, teachers, parents and the general public judge students’
examination performance to be the most important indicator of good teaching and
academic achievement (Lingbao and Watkins, 1996). In addition to teachers, students’
achievements reflect on their family. If intrinsic motivation were at all lacking within this
pressurised collectivist framework, the exam looms as an extrinsic motivational tool. It is
therefore not surprising then that high anxiety levels have been reported amongst ‘Asian’
students. Thus anxiety and traditional respect for authorised knowledge may partially
explain the tendency of ‘Asian’ students to be more concrete or pragmatic in assessment
tasks than their ‘Western’ counterparts (Chan, 1999). In analysing the learning
approaches of Chinese people, Gow et al. (1996:111) took the view that, whilst deep

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learning is the goal of higher education, the process of assessment is often shallow (an
observation that could apply to other countries – both ‘Asian’ and ‘Western’). Gow et al.
(1996) further postulated that tight time frames, excessive amounts of material and
perceived difficulty of tasks have a negative effect on students’ locus of motivation and
their resultant capacity to adopt deep learning approaches. Gow et al. (1996) suggest that
students would be more likely to adopt a deep approach if they were given time for
contemplation and discussion with others, and if assessment tasks probed for
understanding of principles rather than the reproduction of facts and procedures.

Contemplation and discussion time would also ameliorate problems with the more
obvious and practical issue of language, which is a ubiquitous concern in the literature.
‘Asian’ students almost invariably reported to have trouble with written English and this
fact propagates a damning ‘incapacity to fulfil a foundational requirement of ‘Western’
tertiary education…[providing evidence of] critical thinking’ (Hawthorne et al., 2004:2).
The extent to which allowances should be made for varying levels of English proficiency
is yet another ongoing debate that is intrinsic to transnational education and part of the
argument surrounding perceived dilution of academic standards (Cummins and Smith,
1999; Hawthorne et al., 2004:2). Of particular concern in relation to ‘Asian’ students, is
the fact that the level of English required to provide assessable evidence of creative
thinking, for development of arguments and ideas, and for participation in academic
discourse can condemn students to incomprehension and force them to revert to rote
memorisation (Ballard and Clanchy, 1991; Chan, 1999; MacKinnon and Manathunga,
2003). As an added complication, academic language - governed by rules of evidence-
based logical analysis and structured debate - is quite different to the language of
business and government. Adult students, who are proficient in brisk, businesslike
professional discourse, ‘must learn to speak an academic discourse that is unhurried,
speculative, analytical and uncommitted…and until [they do] grades suffer’ (Northedge,
2003:24,35). These challenges make it difficult for any students new to ‘Western’
education and academic discourse, let alone written English, to move beyond a surface
learning strategy. The experiences of the BET participants in relation to assessment
reveal problems that the preceding discussion seems to forecast, and are reported and
analysed in chapters six to nine.

Chapter conclusion
Diversity and similarity are recurring themes throughout this chapter, which has shown
that many culturally-based differences are evident and should not be denied in

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transnational programs. The chapter has provided numerous examples of the ways in
which the participants were subject to the influences of culture at many levels. The
chapter has demonstrated that ‘Western’ constructs of ‘Asia’ and ‘Asian’ learners and
pedagogies have frequently been based on ‘deficit models’. It has also hinted that in the
rush to obtain the transnational education dollar, ‘Western’ universities may be reinforcing
the very learning strategies that many lecturers consider ineffective. An understanding of
this likelihood advances the principle that we need to be constantly wary of ethnocentrism
in order to participate in culturally inclusive teaching and learning. In awareness of
diversity, assumptions need to be questioned, reflection undertaken and changes made.

The following two chapters will report data collected during interviews with lecturers and
students. Chapter eight then reports data from classroom observations and begins
analysis of behaviours, whereafter chapter nine concludes the thesis with synthesis and
analysis of the various perspectives and recommendations for future practice.

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Chapter Six: Data from Lecturer Interviews
Introduction
This chapter is the first of three to report data gathered during the research fieldwork. The
chapter commences the discussion of data from interviews with lecturers, however
analysis of the content is limited to aspects of the data that are related to the lecturers’
group. Thus data analysis is constrained, pending the reporting of student responses in
chapter seven. Chapter eight will then report data from classroom observations and will
juxtapose the data from the three sources (lecturers, students and observations).

The analysis in this chapter follows a conceptual framework developed by Pratt (1999)
over decades of similar study, in which he attempts to build an understanding of different
conceptions of teaching across cultural variations. He proposes that any study of teaching
must address the essential constructs of learning and knowledge. Consequently his
original research framework focuses on epistemic beliefs, normative expectations and
pedagogical procedures. With co-authors Kelly and Wong (1999) Pratt supplemented his
framework with a focus on the role and value of ‘foundational knowledge’; the roles and
relationships of teachers and students; and attributions of responsibility. I found Pratt et.
al’s (1999) expanded framework to be useful as a skeletal structure on which to organise
the ‘flesh’ of data reporting, and thus have adopted the framework as headings for this
chapter.

As would be expected, lecturers’ individual responses varied and therefore, whilst

generalised patterns of beliefs and behaviours remained evident throughout the research,
it is certainly not the case that all lecturers were entirely in agreement on most issues.
Therefore where I report stories of general agreement in this chapter, I will also attempt to
provide a voice for differing opinions.

Terminology

The ‘lecturer’ respondents use a range of words to describe their work role, including
‘educator’ and ‘facilitator’. I have used the word ‘lecturer’ from the outset of this thesis
because that is the work-role-title used by the university and also by SIM and the
students. The tension between that term and those preferred by the lecturers themselves
provides one of many examples of the clash between university ‘corporate or faculty’
culture and sub-cultures. The masculine pronoun has been used throughout the chapter,
despite the fact that two of the five lecturers were female. This represents an attempt to

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preserve anonymity within a relatively small respondent field and should not be read as
negative gender-discrimination.

Normative experiences and expectations

Our normative experiences and expectations exist as a result of our primary socialisation
(Deaux, 1976 as cited by (Ward et al., 2001). As a result we acquire our core values early
in life and:

‘come to regard them as reflecting reality and therefore as absolutely true.

This may result in belief systems that are not universally shared and values
that are…cherished by their respective groups’ (Ward et al., 2001:10).

These culturally embedded reference points are then utilised in the formation of
conceptions (Pratt, 1999). The following discussion of normative experiences and
expectations aims to reveal some of the culturally embedded reference points of the
lecturers.

Early learning experiences

The lecturers’ recollections of their early childhood experiences were replete with positive
memories of families who encouraged learning by exposing their children to a wide
variety of stimuli. They spoke of ‘informal and educationally rich’ [84:1:69] backgrounds:
families that encouraged reading for pleasure, where ‘books were everywhere’ [84:1:60],
a ‘sense of curiosity’ [80:1:8] was fostered, ‘good conversations were shared’ [81:1:4],
and learning was ‘supported for learning’s sake’ [82:1:193]. Thus it seems highly likely
that positive formative experiences contributed to the lecturers’ common enjoyment of
learning.

These experiences served as in introduction to a continued appreciation of learning

throughout most lecturers’ years of compulsory education. For some, those sound early
foundations may have been advantageous when difficulties were faced and may have
served to ameliorate negative educational experiences in the longer term. Although one
lecturer spoke of teacher-dominated classrooms; ‘a complete absence of any audio visual
aids and very traditional methods‘ [84:1:63-64], he nevertheless reflected that the
experience had either suited or shaped his learning style because he thrived in the
environment and continued to embrace learning. Others recalled; ‘wonderful teachers,
experiences at university, brilliant…teachers’ college’ [80:1:6-12] and ‘found learning
relatively easy’ [83:1:0].

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However, the pathways to academia were not direct and foreseeable for all respondents:

If you had said to me…when I did my matriculation that I would do a

Doctorate…no way. Because I didn’t have those aspirations…There were no
role models, nobody encouraged me to do that.’ [83:1:79-83]

As would be expected, some respondents’ career paths were more direct than others.
However they apparently shared a sincere enthusiasm for their current work role.

Career histories and current work environment

Four of the lecturers had early careers as school teachers, one had also been a technical
teacher, and one had a background in scienctific research and management prior to
becoming a full-time academic. Therefore most of the respondents came to teaching
HRD from a compulsory-education background that led to the teaching of adults as
postgraduates. Additionally one respondent held an MBA, two had worked and lived in
international university colleges, one had taught in the Philippines and Thailand prior to
the BET program, and all had travelled extensively.

At the time of this research, all of the lecturers been employed by the university for years,
and had previously transferred from an institute that had amalgamated with the university
as a result of government policy and which had experienced radical downsizing. The
shared work history from that institute, which specialised in the education of adult-
teachers of technical and vocational education, would very likely have contributed to the
establishment of the strongly evident workplace sub-culture that some respondents felt
was under siege from the more traditional pedagogies and work practices of prevailing
university culture. This sub-culture was doubtless sustained by the fact that all the
lecturers and administrative staff had later transferred to the same Centre within the
education faculty of the university. The Centre specialised in adult learning and was
described by one respondent as a ‘hybrid…where nobody should claim exclusivity to their
expertise’ [84:1:140]. It may be relevant that for some time, including the period during
which much of this research was conducted, the new Centre did not have a permanent
leader. In the following citation from an interview, one of the respondents recounts
challenges facing the Centre. Aspects of his story, particularly the valuing of the Centre’s
unique cohort, are typical of most members of the group:

The Centre is getting smaller…not through any fault of its own, but I think
through lack of leadership, through lack of understanding of the cohort, and,
I suspect - from the faculty per se - a lack of understanding of [our] particular
students and disciplines. We’ve had a lot of flack thrown at us…because
there is a view that education has to take place in a school or educational

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 setting. So there’s some resistance to the sorts of things that we would
advocate and propose are worthy and of value. [80:1:43-50]

Given the above sentiment, it is not surprising that in this environment of ongoing
organisational change, evident frustration contributed to some of the more significant
differences of values and beliefs amongst the respondents. In general, whilst they were
positive about working in the university, lecturers wanted to preserve what they perceived
to be the unique educational values of the Centre. For example, one spoke of ‘our own
ethos’, which he described as ‘being nicely intact’ [81:2:574]. Whilst the Centre’s adult
learning ethos did seem to be intact, the responses of individuals to broader university
work culture were more varied. Some had embraced the university culture to a greater
extent than others. The former affirmed the requirement to adapt from ‘the old collegial
teaching culture into individualistic research’ [84:1:136] on the grounds that in order to
achieve in the university environment, ‘you have to be very specific about who’s done
what when it comes to, you know, the crunch. The rewards and incentives in academia
are about you and you alone’ [84:1:137-146]. Another, who had spent most of his career
in academia observed that:

…we are trained as individuals…a PhD is seen as appropriate training for an

academic. It focuses on your standing as an individual. Whilst in a
community of reference, it is still your individuality…and that has difficulties
when moving to other cultures’. [82:1:12-15]

As an outsider I saw in the Centre a complex overlap of the respondents’ (largely shared)
expressed desires. Despite the expression of a desire for more collaborative working
experiences, people rarely came together to work collegiately unless, for example; a new
program was being developed; there was an immediate requirement for ‘dealing with
different situations in a problem-solving kind of way’ [81:271-75]; or a second opinion was
sought on a decision such as assessment. Desires for collaboration were being
subsumed by heavy workloads, an individualistic university system and seclusion brought
about by professional specialisation. Respondents used the word ‘respect’ frequently to
describe this work pattern: respect for the individual’s professional expertise; respect for
people managing a high workload and respect for ‘each other’s boundaries’ [82:1:319].
This environment made reaching consensus difficult despite calls from within the Centre
for lecturers to present ‘a united front to students’ [81:1:155]. Consequently, individual
lecturers differed in their approaches to issues such as whether to accept assignments in
electronic format; the format and amount of feedback a student could expect; the relative
importance of technical aspects of essay construction, etc.. As one respondent described;
‘academics tend to be kind of ornery people – if someone says ‘here’s a mandated

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rule’…forget it!’ [82:1:320-321]. Thus, for reasons including a belief in democratic
individualism, lecturers’ idiosyncrasies prevailed in their interactions with students. At the
time of this research, the issue of what a ‘united front’ to present to students might be was
not agreed upon, and was perceived by some as ‘not manageable…in a human dynamic ’
[81:1:168-171].

Whilst this may be the case in most Western universities, the lecturer who reflected that
such an individualist culture might not transfer well cross-culturally was proven correct.
This would possibly have been predicted by Ward et al. (2001:15) who propose that:

when individualists and collectivists meet, they bring to the encounter

different social attitudes, moral values and behavioural inclinations. Their
cognitive styles differ as will the manner in which they communicate,
particularly in relation to how they express their emotions and wishes. How
they act will…differ as a result of their core value orientation.

The individualism/collectivism dimension is only one example of the many discussed in

the previous chapter (page 102) that are relevant to this research. However, Triandis
(1990) has identified individualism/collectivism as being particularly relevant to the
analysis of ethnocentrism. Thus it is important that, as with all cultural rules of behaviour,
many of the respondents appeared, at least initially, to be unaware of the possibility and
legitimacy of other ways of behaving or the potential impacts of the individualist nature of
their workplace.

Expectations of educators
Some [lecturers] go to extraordinary lengths to help individual students, give
of their time freely to help them overcome a range of problems in order to
achieve their learning outcomes. [82:1:120-121]

The above statement was made by one lecturer in reference to his colleagues and
epitomises the lecturer’s expectations of teachers. ‘Student-centredness’ and ‘good
teaching’ were very important to all the respondents and this attitude was reflected in their
positive appraisals of each other, and was also confirmed in my observations during
fieldwork. According to the lecturers, ‘good teaching’ called for the following attitudes and
attributes: a student-centred orientation, an honouring of ‘adult learning values’,
supportiveness, creativeness, preparedness to spend time guiding lower achievers, a
desire and capability to attend to different learning needs, a genuine interest in pastoral
care, and discipline-specific expertise. The effective lecturer was able to ‘unpack things
for students to make meaning for them’ [80:11:15-118] and provide ways for the student
to interrogate materials that may be strange or difficult. At the same time, it was the

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lecturer’s responsibility to ensure that the class could maintain an active and participative
interest in the subject. Some lecturers sought an ‘equal relationship’ [81:2:412-414] with
students and most spoke of themselves as facilitators of learning. Facilitation was
described as ‘building on students’ interpretations and supporting them while they
increase their understanding from their own perspective’ [812:466-469] and ‘engendering
insight and curiosity’ [80:1:18-121] during which the teacher was ‘one actor of many in the
learning process’ [82:2:177]. Whilst the extent of the facilitator role varied amongst
respondents, the group was clustered toward the ‘facilitative’ end of a notional didactic-
facilitative continuum.

Nature of teacher-student relationships

[Students] were tremendously hospitable, tremendously caring. My health
suffered during the BET teaching time and there were prayers to
Ganesh…Buddha…in the Mosque in Singapore… in every Christian
denomination in Singapore. That wouldn’t happen with your students here.
It’s that intensity of relationship that has really been a phenomenal thing for
me. [82:2:347-353]

The above quotation speaks of the intensity and overwhelmingly positive nature of the
relationships the lecturers formed with students in Singapore. However, the majority
experienced complications in forming relationships that were unprecedented in their
Australian experience. Relationships were clarified after significant reflection on
appropriate roles, ethics, and values, and were developed by way of a gamut of emotions
including discomfort and uncertainty.

Most of the lecturers spoke of their relationships with students in terms of their formal
roles at a given time (e.g. teacher, student, graduate). The nature of relationships was
very clearly linked to lecturers’ moral and ethical teaching values and their views on the
nature of authority. Apparently, whilst for most lecturers it was desirable to be friendly with
students, it was less acceptable for a close friendship to develop; at least whilst the
parties were in a dependent relationship. However, in practice, those role-dependent lines
blurred, and it appeared that the lecturers found it difficult and unnatural to avoid the
development of friendships when they and their adult students had interests in common
and enjoyed each other’s company.

Typically lecturers believed that ‘getting to know the students on a personal level’
[83:1:266] was an intrinsic teaching value and an important component of adult learning,
however this value was complicated by ethical issues, even in Australia. In Singapore,
this was one of the first issues that lecturers recognised as being a result of cultural

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difference and one reflected that ‘it puts pressure on you when there is a cultural norm
that is not interpreted in the same way as yours’ [81:2:129-35]. As this lecturer related,
whereas in the past he had purposely maintained a slight distance from students, for him
Singapore had ‘changed the ball game’ [81:1:56]. Lecturers needed to find an unfamiliar
middle-ground between professional and personal relationships, and this was challenging
given the preference of most for relatively egalitarian relationships combined with their
incontrovertible position of power (at least in relation to assessment).

Where roles were (apparently) clearly defined for both parties – such as meeting with a
student after hours on campus in Singapore to discuss the student’s progress – there was
little inherent confusion, however the Singaporean hospitality and predilection for
combining business with entertainment was a catalyst for misunderstanding. Frequently
the Western notion of appropriate roles and behaviours in a professional setting did not fit
the Singaporean practice (e.g. venue, who pays). For example one lecturer described a
meeting with a student that took place in what unexpectedly eventuated to be a relatively
expensive restaurant, and for which the student paid before the lecturer was alert to what
was happening (this was also something I experienced more than once. I would reach for
my wallet to find that the bill was already settled). The lecturer’s concerns were related to
the motivation behind the action; whether there would be an expected ‘quid pro quo’ in
terms of assessment: they wondered whether the student could afford it, and how other
students in the class would construe the lecturer’s actions. Other lecturers found
themselves in similar situations; ‘the hospitality of the students...was wonderful and
constituted a very positive experience…but [was] problematic in terms of the marks’
[80:2:85-88].

The clarification of roles and relationships was further complicated by lecturers’

eagerness to learn about Singapore in the most accessible manner available to them:
that is, through the students. In contrast to the discomfort brought about by circumstances
involving gifts or favours, the lecturers were very keen to accept invitations from groups of
students to visit Singaporean landmarks and cultural sights, and to share the experiences
of peoples’ daily lives. Furthermore, as ambassadors for Australia, the lecturers thought it
their responsibility to accept such invitations in order to show politeness and gratitude and
to share Singaporeans’ pride in their country. The outcomes of these ventures were
highly valued and tangible in terms of cultural learning and pedagogy, as portrayed in the
following quotations:

I am much more comfortable with Singaporeans because I got to know so

many of them very well...they are more likely to be open with me about how

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 they think and how they feel about things. So you have that awareness of
their culture…it helps me learn and helps them open up [in class] where they
are not relying on me as the expert, so I am just one of the group [83:2:21-
23,100,103]

I felt it was far better to learn by living as Singaporeans did, so I accepted

offers to go to people’s homes. I spent the time learning about their ways of
living and their social mores… diverse religious practices, and would avail
myself when invited to go along and see and learn…which to me means that
I’m gaining some respect and they can see that I’m respectful of them.
[80:98-105, 357-361]

These vignettes from reports of teacher-student relationships demonstrate one of the

significant intercultural challenges the lecturers faced. They wanted to learn, and to be
perceived as friendly ambassadors. However when in the role of teacher providing
pastoral care and academic support, they became uncomfortable when students
responded in ways to which they were unaccustomed [e.g. with gifts and favours]. In
summary, lecturers initially sought a way to accept Singaporean teacher-student
relationships on Australian terms and thereby to separate behaviours and responses
according to the role they were playing at the time. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this was not
terribly successful 1. Ultimately the situation became so uncomfortable for some lecturers
that the course coordinator took up the issue openly in a class forum and with S.I.M.. He
explained the university’s official standpoint on acceptance of gifts and favours, and the
rationale behind it. Eventually the situation was at least partially resolved through the
development of a class-based learning opportunity. A session focussing on ethics and
intercultural communication in transnational business was conducted during a subject
focussing on organisational behaviour. Analysis of differing cultural approaches to gift
giving and business practice ensued. Whilst some confusion doubtless remains on either
side, the situation was clarified somewhat and the lecturers’ cultural and ethical values
and confines were spelt out. Invitations from students continued, which was welcomed,
however from that point onward lecturers reported feeling more comfortable about
discussing issues such as who pays when dining. The lecturers hoped that the students
better understood the motivation for their behaviours, and doubtless everyone shared the
following sentiment:

1
As an aside, it is worthwhile mentioning that during my fieldwork the students were responding to
me in the same way. They were extremely generous with time, money and gifts. They had nothing
to gain from me in terms of the program, quite the opposite in fact: I was seeking their valuable
time, offering nothing but friendship and asking a lot of questions in return. I reassured the
lecturers to this end; however as the costs of gifts to lecturers rose above token levels, the
situation became unacceptable under university guidelines.

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 I felt a big relief when they graduate, because they’re adults, and now, I feel
the burden of my professional responsibility to do with marks can be left
aside. [81:2:121-125]

Lecturers’ initial expectations of Singaporean students

The lecturers’ perceptions of Singaporean students changed quite significantly during the
four years of the BET program. Initially, they tended to conceptualise a generic ‘Asian’
student, although they did so consciously and with reservations in most cases. Lecturers
had scant opportunity to authenticate their preconceptions prior to departure because the
university did non provide pre-departure or cross-cultural briefings, ‘not even basic stuff
like how to get from the airport’ [80:1:406-407]. Consequently the lecturers were left with
three main sources of potential information on which to base their expectations: their
experiences of teaching Asian students in Australia; in one case the experience of
teaching in Thailand and the Philippines; and in most cases the advice of other faculty
members who may have taught in Asian countries. This was a particularly unfortunate
set of circumstances as most of those reference points were at best negatively skewed
and at worst ethnocentric and ill-informed. This caused high levels of pre-departure
anxiety for some of the lecturers; a situation that will be revisited in a discussion of
‘cultural learning’ at the conclusion of this chapter.

One lecturer recalled the advice he received from a university colleague as:

The way to get to Asian students is give them…lots of materials, keep them
busy, make it tough, they expect it. And don’t do too much group-work; they
expect you to be up front, and them to be down there. And you give and they
take, and that’s it…that was… pretty close to what I was told. [80:2:173-183]

Fortunately the lecturers were perceptive enough to recognise the stereotypical nature of
these propositions, indeed one lecturer reflected that ‘in my endeavours to find out [about
Singaporean students] I was told some incorrect things that reinforced in my mind this
sort of colonial attitude’ [80:1:366-368]. Consequently he ‘listened but didn’t take heed’
[80:2:179-180]. Another reflected that ‘[the advice] didn’t resonate for me as I had no
experience‘. [83:2:109-110] Yet in abandoning these sources of (mis)information, the
respondents were left with only their pre-existing composite picture of an ‘Asian student’:
a generic Asian Singaporean from a ‘half-way house between Australia and India’
[81:1:226]. The lecturers’ reported expectations were customarily positive; ‘[I] consciously
had preconceived ideas of people from different races, but by and large they were…ones
that allow me to have a positive view’ [81:241-244]. However some reported concerns.
For example, one lecturer wondered if student time-keeping behaviours would be ‘rubber

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time like in the Philippines‘ [80:1:209-213]; and another; ‘what could I say and not say,
how should I relate to them as students’ [83:1:175-180].

In summary, based on their limited sources of information, the group expected that these
generic ‘Asian’ students would be:

• quiet, committed learners;

• meticulous, keen on note taking and reading;

• approving of, and comfortable with, assessment via exam;

• very reticent to get involved (e.g. in role play); and

• unused to thinking in different ways.

Lecturers’ later perceptions of Singaporean students

It is interesting that although the lecturers taught the same group of students, some found
them very different to their expected ‘generic’ model and others found fairly much what
they expected. Most of the lecturers who had sought pre-departure advice from
colleagues concluded that:

the original advice was wrong: [Singaporean students] did not want ‘more’,
fast paced, a lot of material thrown at them. They didn’t want that at all.
They wanted material, but they wanted to understand, they wanted to learn.
They wanted to get it from me, yes, that was certainly felt. But they wanted it
at a rate that didn’t fit with what I was told by any stretch of the imagination’
[80:2:413-416]. ‘And they are extremely anxious about exams so that
information was incorrect as well. [80:1:395]

Moreover, as opposed to their initial expectations, lecturers observed that Singaporean

adult students were:

Capable of operating at a variety of cultural levels…so they give me back

what they think Anglo things are. I get very little in terms of Confucian
thinking or Malay thinking back because they are constantly reading all the
stuff out of North America…even though I seek to understand them and use
the exemplars…I think they switch to Anglo mode when they are in
discussion in class or getting back assignments to me. [82:2:87-93]

Quite prepared to be very, very critical of their system in class, and I wasn’t
prepared for that. [82:1:220-223]

Prepared to challenge… [82:1:247-48]

Able to give negative feedback to lecturers elegantly, although indirectly…

[81:1:401-405]

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Thus, there was a general level of agreement that the students were more prepared to
speak out and ‘be upfront’ [82:1:246] than lecturers had been lead to expect and also that
the Singaporean students coped very well with new epistemologies and pedagogies once
they adapted; which lecturers gave the majority of students credit for doing relatively
quickly. Furthermore, lecturers discovered patterns of behaviour that they had not been
advised about before they arrived. Some found that the stereotypical ‘perfect, committed’
Asian student was also an inaccurate portrayal; ‘people in Singapore are not always
punctual, diligent…in some cases they knew how to play the system, to avoid, to string
things out a little‘ [80:2:17,66].

Another behaviour pattern that lecturers noticed was that they described students
‘wanting to be right…to be correct’ [83:1:198]. They observed that this difference affected
classroom pedagogies when students were ‘not speaking because they don’t want to
appear to be wrong’ [83:1:268] and when students sought and relied solely on direct
information from the lecturer as the primary source of knowledge. One lecturer’s
recollection illustrates the behaviours associated with this pattern and how alien he found
them:

[in my first session] I walked into the classroom and the person in the front
row had six tape recorders lined up…I said “you’re not serious, you’re not
going to tape all of this because I don’t lecture”…but they taped every little
bit, it was scary. [83:1:242-248]

Lecturers observed that the students ‘found it difficult initially that there wasn’t a correct
answer’ [82:2:209]. Possibly as a result of students’ apparent desire for a right answer, at
least half of the lecturers described the Singaporean students using terms such as
‘pedantic’ [82] or ‘demanding’ [83], and agreed that:

you had to be very specific about what you said in terms of instructions …
much more than you’d need to be with an Australian student. In what’s to be
done, how it’s to be done, what is due process…much more pedantic in
process. [82:2:106-111]

As another respondent recalls:

[students asked] what do I need to do, A, B, C, D, and that will give me E,

which will give me a first grade honours? So they looked at things in a very
logical, linear and rational manner…they had to learn that no it’s not a matter
of A, B, C, D and voila there’s E, because there were all sorts of ways in
which that might take them, so that was a new experience for them.
[80:2:349-354]

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Feedback-seeking behaviour is also related to discussion of ‘right answers’. Lecturers
unanimously recalled that Singaporean students were highly anxious and consequently
sought feedback much more actively than Australian students. Indeed, as one lecturer
said, they demanded it: ‘…a high expectation that you’ll give them lots of feedback…and
it’s not feasible to do so…I’ve had to learn to say I’ll look at a draft…but no more than two
pages’ [83:2:152-155].

Whilst lecturers found Singaporean students to be substantially different to their pre-

departure stereotypes, some observed that the stereotypes were partially accurate:
everyone agreed that Singaporeans were indeed courteous and polite, indeed one
commented that they were ‘overly courteous’ [80:2:89]. One described them as ‘uncritical’
[84:1:100] and another similarly reflected that; ‘I didn’t experience a great number of
students presenting arguments and thinking things through in a logical way…but it was a
delight when I did’ [81:2:246-250]

Finally, the majority of the lecturers observed that the students’ behaviours changed, as
evidenced below:

As they got used to me they relaxed, but still they were not as gregarious,
not as open in terms of asking questions in the majority of cases. [80:2:160-
162]

…at first they did not enjoy reflective learning, after a while, yes, but not
initially…they needed some confidence building. [80:2:428]

In summary, whilst lecturers’ perceptions of their students changed during the program,
they remained generally positive. This stands in contrast to similar studies by Pratt et al.
(1999) who found that expatriate Western faculty members in Hong Kong often
categorised their students in negative terms and concluded that they had ‘only an
instrumental view of education’.

Lecturers’ perceptions of student motivations

There is a market for the educational values that we espouse. And at the
core of those values is critique, and dissent, and the justification of one’s
point of view…these people have self-nominated for the course, so these
are people who are attracted to a Western model of learning, a qualification
and to the identity of the university. [84:2:59-60, 108-111]

Clearly the lecturer speaking above is convinced that a significant motivation for
Singaporean students to enrol in an Australian university is the attraction of a Western
model of learning and the status to be gained from attaining that qualification at a

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prestigious Western university. Not all the lecturers were equally convinced that this was
a key motivational factor. Some felt the motivations were pragmatic, and did not stress
the status or difference of an offshore degree. Certainly everyone agreed that the
students wanted to gain degree credentials in order to position themselves in the labour
market and that (for a minority) the BET program might be a starting point for further
academic aspirations. Others spoke of students who were seeking a way out of the
workplace into consultancy, and observed that ‘they want a qualification that’s relevant to
what they are doing at work’ [82:1:293-301] that would enable them to ‘go away with
something they feel they can actually use’ [83:1:115-119]. Finally, at least one lecturer
was unsure and was left pondering student motivations and their conclusions about the
program:

If they want and have sought a Western university, what is it that is different
… that they want? If they want some Western values then I have an
obligation to show them what they are. So to me…their expectation is that
they will be doing something different and it’s not necessarily an imperialistic
or a colonising set of values that are being imposed…but I haven’t gone
there uninvited…they might have their eyes opened a bit…and realise they
are being presented with something they might not want…. But I can’t do
anything about that. I am part of the whole deal in wondering that, as they
might wonder that. [81:2:293-312]

Discussion of normative experiences and expectations:

The preceding analysis of normative experiences lays a valuable foundation for

understanding of the beliefs and values of the lecturers, which in turn aids analysis of
their subsequent cross-cultural experiences.

As Pratt (1999, n.p.) proposes, ‘within each community of practice there is an accepted
identity or social role of ‘teacher’. Those who wish to adopt that role draw upon their
socialisation experiences and ‘learn scripts that will allow them legitimacy within that
community’. The lecturers’ primary socialisation experiences encouraged a positive
attitude toward learning, and that gave them legitimacy in their communities. The extent
and their awareness of culture-bound traits such as individualism differed, as did the level
of ascription to ‘facilitative/experiential pedagogies’. Nevertheless, the group respected
each other’s professional skills and colleagues’ differing teaching styles. Thus, the group
shared a teaching culture. However individuals were allowed and expected to differ from
the norm, within the boundaries of an ‘adult learning’ community.

Analysis of lecturers’ normative experiences and expectations suggests the view that
their primary socialisation and community of practice provided little to prepare them for

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teaching in an Asian country. This conjecture is supported by the difficulties that they
experienced both prior to arrival and in the social situations they encountered in
Singapore. Slight levels of ethnocentrism are evident prior to exposure to Singapore (e.g.
the comment on page 147 that Singaporeans did not think logically [whose logic?]), and
the presumption that Asians attended Australian universities as a preference and
because of prestige - whereas chapter three posited that the decision to study at an
Australian university is often a ‘fall-back’ position. However such difficulties and cultural
gaps between perceptions would be reasonably expected between any culturally different
individuals or groups. This issue is revisited at the conclusion of this chapter in a
discussion of culture learning.

Epistemic beliefs
According to Pratt (1999:n.p.) ‘epistemic beliefs are related to the nature of what one is
teaching, the aims or purposes of education, the nature of learning, and the kinds of
evidence that are acceptable when making claims about what people have learned’. The
following paragraphs explicate lecturer’s epistemic belief patterns and build further on the
picture provided by the discussion of their normative experiences.

The nature of learning

Individual interviews demonstrated that, epistemologically, the lecturers’ group had much
in common. Most recognised learning that emerged from ‘many pathways’ [80:1:38];
‘occur[ing] in a range of ways, not just formal school environments’ [83:1:5-6]. There was
significant agreement that ‘real’ learning was not generated by an ‘ethos of lecturing and
tutorials’ [81:76-77] but emerged through a cyclical process that includes analysis of
individual experience, group discussion, interrogation, critique and testing of ‘the
usefulness of theories through practice’ [81:2:339]. Knowledge was generally perceived
as something that was formed and consequently more transitory and dynamic than pre-
existing. In short, ‘real’ learning required thinking, adaptation and application.

In reading the lecturer interviews, the words ‘real’ and ‘true’ frequently prefaced the word
‘learning’. Moreover, it seems that ‘real’ learning is accorded legitimacy when anchored in
elements of self-knowledge. For some respondents, an individual’s experience and self-
knowledge were crucial foundations for learning. This philosophy corresponded with a
focus on ‘empowerment’ of the individual, as epitomised by phrases such as ‘learning to
speak for oneself’ or ‘giving their own view’ [81:2:341-344]. At the same time, however,
most of the respondents proposed that when learning occurred in isolation it was not ‘real’

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learning, ‘even if you have a fine intellect’ [81:2:125]. Therefore, for many lecturers, whilst
thinking, adaptation and application could occur in isolation, group interaction was
considered essential to deeper, profound understanding. ‘Real’, and ‘deep’ learning was
maximised through group discourse, which built on the expertise in the room. It was
associated with exposure to difference and diversity, and the product of a ‘really good
discussion’, which ‘rises above surface conversation’ [81:2:274-277]. Inherent in this
journey to deep learning were elements of discomfort and risk. Therefore lecturers
sometimes felt the need to ‘push people’ in order to enable them to ‘get a real taste of
learning’ [82:1:43]. Noteworthy however, is the tension between the discomfort and risk
that some respondents considered essential to learning. This point will be revisited later
in this chapter during a discussion of pedagogies.

The lecturers’ particular and recognisable learning culture was transmitted to students
under the sobriquet ‘learning how to learn’, which was considered to be very important.
Seemingly, ‘learning how to learn’ meant doing so in the well-intentioned learning
environment favoured by the lecturers. This transmission of learning culture was
recognised, accepted and enacted by some in full consciousness of its Western
educational properties [84:2:227]. But it is unclear, however, whether all the lecturers
accepted or recognised that they were attempting to transmit an inherently ‘Western’ or
foreign approach. It seems possible that in this context, ‘learning to learn’ could be read
as essentially ‘learning to learn as we do’, because surely it cannot be denied that people
from Singapore do learn and do think for themselves (and did so before our lecturers
arrived). As one lecturer proposed, the nature of learning in the BET program meant that
‘some processes might be more valuable than others’ [81:2:344]. While the preceding
comment was made specifically in relation to the construction of academic argument in
assessment, it could equally apply more broadly to a general view of epistemology and
pedagogy.

Another important concept in analysis of lecturers’ epistemological beliefs was the

interplay of application of knowledge with creation of knowledge. Herein opinions
amongst lecturers were somewhat divergent. Specifically, several lecturers considered
that an element of application was central to grounding of knowledge and transfer of
learning. This was typified by comments such as:

…make meaning in terms of being able to transfer that into their lives…I
don’t mean utilitarian… I mean you are now thinking, and applying and
understanding and being insightful…able to think, be curious… [80:1:116-
119,351]

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 The next level is that they can apply all those concepts. [83:2:94]

Application of knowledge as contextually based …your job is to help

[students] see the potential of that. [81:2:378-79]

They had very good applications of theoretical knowledge to their workplace,

some of them were quite brilliant. [82:2:231]

One way to interpret the above is that for the lecturers ‘real’, deep, higher level and
insightful learning happens when students are able to make meaning of theory through
application. Another view shared by some lecturers, however, was that application of
knowledge was not as important as creation of knowledge, for example: ‘I don’t have the
view that [assessed] work is application of knowledge, it is creation of knowledge’
[84:2:180-181]. This aspect of the teaching culture is an example of one point on which
there may be general agreement (e.g. that knowledge is constructed in the classroom)
with some deviation from the mean (e.g. on the issue of importance of application versus
a more theoretical stance). It is relevant to this research however, because of its impact
on pedagogy and therefore on students’ experiences of the program.

Locus of responsibility
I used the old Chinese proverb that if you give a man a fish you’ll feed him
for a day, you teach a person to fish and you feed him for life…and you
know one of the students who had been most opposed to this having to do
this work themselves came back later in the course to say: I have learned to
fish. [82:2:154-158]

The above quotation eludes to the initial resistance that one lecturer faced when
grappling with the issue of responsibility for learning. The view of most lecturers that their
role was that of facilitator implies a shared responsibility. For example, the quotation
which follows illustrates the extent to which a ‘hand’s off’ approach by lecturers was
intentional: ‘when they break into groups…make sure you don’t interrupt unless you
become an authority figure’ [81:2:432]. This illustrates the prevailing adult learning culture
in which the knowledge students bring to the class is regarded as valuable as that
brought by the lecturer/facilitator. Correspondingly, students accept a high level of
responsibility for their own learning, which is further evidenced by comments such as
‘discovering things for yourselves is an important part of adult learning’ [82:1:176], and
‘really it’s [the students] job to contextualise it and you’re only there to help them’
[82:1:186].

The lecturers realised that the self-directed learning they encouraged was more
autonomous than that to which many of the students were accustomed. Consequently,

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lecturers became progressively less surprised when elements of self-direction resulted in
discomfort and resistance on the part of the students (although in one instance – the
‘learning to fish’ case cited at the start of this section in which students were expected to
download and research journal articles rather than being given pre-printed subject-
readings– the strength and emotion behind the student resistance brought about not only
surprise but significant tension). Individual lecturers recalled that, early in the BET
program, ‘[students] wanted to get it from me’ [80:2:415] and ‘why didn’t I just give them
the articles [versus asking them to do a literature search]’ [82:2:157]. Despite initial
resistance, the lecturers maintained their self-directed ethos and accordingly the
pedagogies they employed were designed to support student self-sufficiency. The
students did adapt to this environment, although to varying degrees. As one lecturer
reported: ‘[student attitude] changes through the course from “I will sit at the foot of the
teacher and just learn from them” to that you learn from each other, from discussion, from
self-discovery’ [82:2:146-148].

The nature of what one is teaching

Delightful…leading people to be intensely engaged…it’s enriching.
[80:2:408-411]

These educational values, that we hold close to our hearts… [84:2:64]

To me it is very valuable work. [80:1:36]

Getting them over the hurdle…they’re very precious when you can do that.
[83:1:98]

The BET cohorts largely consist of diploma level students, most of whom are enrolling in
university-level studies for the first time. As a consequence, the nature of BET teaching is
often compensatory and lecturers spoke of ‘giving a second chance to people who may
have lacked opportunity through the normal channels’ [83:1:95]. The lecturers used
sundry building metaphors in describing the nature of their work including; ‘opening doors
[to application and new ideas]’; ‘building and extending [understanding]’, and ‘taking
[students] to the next level’. Possibly the expectation and accomplishment of ‘getting
people over hurdles’ was what kept the lecturer group motivated and contributed to their
considerable work satisfaction.

Validity…who knows, who learns, who judges?

As previously proposed, for many of the lecturers valid knowledge is that which is
relevant, current, engaging and, frequently, is actively constructed in the classroom.

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Therefore whilst academic knowledge, including the learning and understanding of
foundational theories, is considered important, ‘foundational, formal expertise’ is not
overtly reified. It is intended that teacher-centred and textbook-based cognitive inputs
combined with facilitative pedagogies will encourage curiosity and, thereby, development
of insight: emergent knowledge will be cyclically interrogated, translated, contextualised
and applied.

There was no clear agreement amongst the lecturers on the nature of ‘valid’ knowledge.
Further discussion surrounding the application and creation of knowledge is tied up in a
potentially prodigious philosophical discourse, and is beyond the scope and intent of this
thesis. However it is noteworthy that lecturers were slightly more aligned on the question
of what constituted ‘valid process’. For instance, one lecturer recognised that ‘learning
can be implicit and tacit…not just according to written objectives’ [81:2:471-472]. At the
same time, a ‘spirit of critique, interrogation of ideas and literature’ [84:2:228] and
‘learning to think for themselves’ [81:1:178-180] was expected of students, who needed to
display ‘valid process’ behaviours in order for lecturers to judge their own pedagogies as
successful. Perhaps there is a tension between lecturers’ espoused epistemologies (e.g.
facilitated, dynamic knowledge construction), and the somewhat linear ‘valid process’ of
‘reasoning, explanation and justification’ [81:2:336-344] that students needed to replicate
if their work was to be positively assessed.

This ‘valid process’ of knowledge creation, application and assessment occurred in the
traditional Western university culture. ‘Valid process’ could be perceived as of greater
consequence than ‘valid knowledge’, especially in terms of assessment of learning.
Possibly ‘valid process’ was important to lecturers because it preceded and surrounded
the construction of knowledge. Alternatively, maybe it was their role as assessors that
forced lecturers to discuss, debate and elucidate ‘valid process’. Whatever the reason, or
combination of reasons, it would seem that whilst knowledge was considered transitory
and malleable, the process required to actualise knowledge, or at least to prove or justify
its construction, was more concrete, and was required of students. In short, lecturers
expected students to think differently as an outcome of the BET program as well as
learning curriculum content.

What is the ‘right answer’?

It is axiomatic that if the lecturers regard the nature of knowledge as constructed and
transitory, then there was no single ‘correct answer’ to a question or assessment task.
This likelihood had interesting implications for both classroom process and student

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assessment and further supports the contention that ‘valid process’ was important for
students to replicate if they aspired to high grades. This chapter has already discussed
the fact that lecturers thought students somewhat ‘pedantic’, and it seems noteworthy that
in response the lecturers took a culturally relative standpoint in relation to the application
of concepts in assignment tasks. This cultural relativity seemed to exponentially increase
with lecturers’ exposure to Singapore, as the following examples illustrate:

You’ve got to decontextualise it…there’s much greater power distance in

Singapore…more hierarchical…much more rigid, …more formal in all their
processes than we like to think of ourselves. We would think that is bad
management practice; they would think it’s good management practice. You
have to take that into account…’ [82:2:218-219]

There might be some answers I’d cringe and say, my goodness, that sounds
highly militaristic. But understandable, that’s the culture in that particular
workplace and the person is illustrating his understanding in this way…the
only time I would say it is not correct is if its been interpreted in a very limited
way… [80:2:319-333]

If they are not bothered by a hierarchical workplace, why not…it may be that
a clan basis or a guanxi basis actually is more supportive of work based
learning than a Western model or a flatter participative model workplace.
[84:2:192-195]

In assignments students had to demonstrate meaningful learning by sharing

how constructs and concepts are lived in their world…And in some cases
rightly, they felt that their approach was more suitable…for their particular
circumstances than what I was suggesting. And that’s fine, and I’m open to
all those sorts of things. I need to learn too. [83:2:300-307,372-376]

As is evident above, if there were no ‘right or wrong’ answers, and knowledge and
application were contextually based, then as long as an argument could be justified and
supported through appropriate and valid process it would be assessed in culturally
relative terms.

Whilst, from a Western perspective, such flexibility may seem appropriate and admirable,
it seems that students did not necessarily share or even comprehend lecturers’
assumptions about the nature of knowledge. Indeed as we recall from page 146, students
‘found it difficult initially that there wasn’t a correct answer’ [82:2:209]. In other words, it
seems likely that while lecturers considered it unrealistic to expect a right answer,
students were nevertheless trying to find one.

Summary: epistemic beliefs

The preceding discussion of epistemologies suggests that lecturers shared a

recognisable teaching and learning culture based on epistemologies that were reflective

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of Western educational paradigms, which – building on the discussion of normative
experiences - is unsurprising. In general, the lecturers held to the belief that learning
emerged, and was constructed in the classroom. Whilst there was some disagreement
surrounding the issue, the general consensus of the lecturers’ group was that application
of knowledge was an important component of the learning process.

The lecturers, either consciously or unconsciously, attempted to transmit their learning

culture to students in Singapore, however some of their epistemological beliefs were
foreign to the Singaporean students. A self-directed milieu in which responsibility for
learning was shared between teacher and student; the supposition that some processes
might be more valuable than others, and the notion that there was no ‘one right answer’
apparently combined to produce ambiguity for students, at a time when certainty was
what they may have been seeking. Once again, there was an inherent cultural clash in
this initial mutual lack of insight into another culture’s motivations and values. These
normative and epistemologically-based values, beliefs and behaviours, combined with the
responses of the student cohort, are inextricable from eventualities within and outside the
classroom. These eventualities will be reported in the ensuing discussion of pedagogies.

Pedagogy
Preferred processes and the factors that shaped them

As would be expected, the lecturers employed individual teaching styles, that had been
developed through significant career experience. There was an explicit acceptance and
valuing of the fact that everyone would teach a little differently. However pedagogical
preferences were clustered predominantly around a constructivist and/or experiential
learning culture: ‘values centred around adult learners, with an experiential façade’
[84:1:131]. Whilst three of the lecturers characterised their pedagogies as constructivist,
other typical descriptors included; inclusive, facilitative, participative, interactive, nurturing,
experience-based and student-centred. As one lecturer recalls, the application of these
constructivist type pedagogies in Singapore required a comprehensive set of skills
employed by competent practitioners:

It was very difficult initially, particularly the first group…the first year, first
subject…to have them ask a question or respond to a question when I threw
an overhead question to the group. There was a pregnant pause, so I had to
help. Or someone would sheepishly say something and I’d say “oh, I can’t
quite hear”, so I’d move down the room and say “well [this student]
said…what do you think?”…group process was particularly difficult.
[80:2:154-158]

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Consequently lecturers had to utilise their full repertoire of facilitative techniques and also
develop new skills in order to effect the desired learning environment. In such an
environment, the lecturers’ ability to ‘draw out what was in the room’ [84:1:227-228] was
fundamental to success. Implicit in this ‘drawing out’ of the class was a requirement for
the lecturer to make judgements about the level of students’ verbal responses and
interactions. In order to increase the level of verbal interaction, lecturers reported a
versatile range of elucidation techniques including:

• carefully judging appropriate times at which to ask questions;

• paraphrasing questions and comments from quiet students and reframing those
inputs for the whole group in order to facilitate further discussion;

• monitoring group intensity;

• judging opportune times in group process to break the class into syndicates;

• posing focus questions that would facilitate discussion;

• deciding whether or not to have small groups report back to the main group;

• giving tactful and encouraging feedback to groups and individuals in the

classroom whilst reinforcing theory; and

• inviting the group to contextualise theory to their national and cultural context.

At the same time, in order to facilitate discussion, lecturers recognised the need to create
a generally ‘comfortable environment’. Such an environment would encourage students to
make comments; ask questions at any time; critique theories, the lecturer and each other;
and practice constructing and supporting their arguments: it was a classroom where
lecturers could ‘see [students] thinking and applying, not necessarily agreeing with [the
lecturer]’[80:2:383-385]. In short, at least half of the lecturers would be expected to have
concurred with the following observation: ‘I tried to ensure they would be happier and
comfortable, because when we’re not happy and we’re not comfortable I suspect we’re
not learning, so I think that is important [80:2:408-409].

As previously mentioned, however, there is possibly a tension between lecturers’

espoused epistemology and espoused pedagogy. As already discussed, initially the
Singaporean students were not comfortable with a constructivist pedagogical milieu. Thus
student comfort and expected verbal interaction were inextricable issues, to which
lecturers responded differently. Compare for instance: ‘I am not keen on people lurking in
silence. I know they have a right to do it and all the rest of it but I do try to draw out what’s

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in the room’ [84:1:227-228] with; ‘I am conscious that there’s a lot who don’t speak so for
them it’s…I don’t get them to report back as they are uncomfortable with it, but have
groups just so that they can have the conversations and learn from each other’ [83:2:267-
269]. While the lecturers would have agreed that the ability to respond to students’
different interests and learning modalities were foundational teaching skills, several of the
lecturers also believed that it was their responsibility to expose the students to a range of
different pedagogies. At least initially, therefore, the resultant state of disequilibrium could
not easily be reconciled with student comfort. As a consequence, several lecturers
encountered a dilemma when considering the extent to which they should adapt their
teaching style to suit the different needs of the Singaporean students. Achieving a
balance of student comfort and cognitive input alongside constructivist and experiential
learning, was an ongoing challenge. This was exacerbated by a third factor which
inevitably affected pedagogies: the actual structure of the program.

Most lecturers considered that the program structure was unsatisfactory for a variety of
reasons; both pedagogical and practical. At the time of this research the staff members
who had developed and negotiated the first BET program were no longer employed at the
university. Throughout the program, a senior lecturer held the position of course
coordinator. The coordinator’s duties were primarily related to liaison with staff and
students on academic and pedagogical matters, while faculty generalist managers
conducted the contractual negotiations. However, in practice, the course coordinator was
the primary contact point with the partner institution and once the program commenced,
the coordinator was essentially a project manager for all matters, academic and
otherwise. Somewhat frustratingly for the coordinator however, non-academic university
staff regularly altered the structure and delivery modalities of the degree during the
negotiation process with the partner institution, leaving the coordinator and their
compatriot at SIM to negotiate ‘around’ the contract in order to meet unexpected
eventualities and emerging needs. During the negotiation process, the degree program
had been shortened in order to render it more marketable in competitive and impatient
Singapore, where the time required to complete an offshore degree or post-graduate
program was progressively becoming a selling point and consequently increasingly
abridged. Accordingly the university was faced with

…a dilemma because if [we] don’t condense it into an eighteen month

program, we would not get a [sufficiently large] group [to make it financially
and pedagogically sustainable]. So we had to trade off some of the
pedagogy in order to the get the program to happen, and then adjust the
program to make it fit the students later. [83:2:160-167]

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Accordingly, several of the lecturers commented that the program was ‘too pressured, not
pedagogically sound’ [83:2:160]; ‘the pace rolls on, one subject after another’ [80:1:288];
‘allowed no time to reflect and it works against syndicate activities and dwelling on things
that help shape understanding’ [80:1:292]. Furthermore three lecturers commented that
the pressured nature of the program may have encouraged students to cut corners, which
lead to some plagiarism issues. Lecturers also complained that the structure resulted in
them not having enough time to get to know the students; (e.g. ‘too many names, getting
people confused’ [83:2:262], struggling to do justice to the same subjects in less time,
and hindering their preferred student-centred approach). Some lecturers found that these
factors resulted in them needing to be more content-focussed and favour task over
relationship: thus several lecturers observed that the course structure forced them to be
more didactic than they would normally prefer. For the students’ part, as one lecturer
reflected; ‘considering they are under pressure to write in English in a short space of time,
to a high quality, when you think back on it, [their achievement] has been pretty
impressive really’ [83:2:160-167].

Perhaps the lecturers should take more credit for the students’ achievement. As the
course coordinator observed, where the program was successful it was largely due to
staff goodwill. Many time and workload related issues also affected pedagogies and had
to be resolved by lecturers, above and beyond those that they faced on a day-to-day
basis in Australia. The time difference between Singapore and Melbourne meant that
after a long flight, ‘[teaching is] draining…7:00 to 10:00 at night, which for me is late…the
first night I’m always really, really tired, and I hesitate over words and feel a bit vague, I’m
just so tired…it takes a few days before I can adjust’ [83:2:410-406].

Lecturers tended to compensate for the compacted nature of this program through
increased email contact with students, very frequently in their own time, and via
numerous meetings with students in Singapore at all hours of the day, night and
weekend, when they were supposedly ‘off duty’. After observing the lecturers’ work in
Singapore, my initially somewhat romanticised view of their international work changed
considerably and I find it unsurprising that they described the work as ‘draining’. Indeed it
is to their credit that the program continued to the high praise that it did over a six-year
period with the same staff throughout.

Evolution of pedagogies

Thus we find tired lecturers teaching a program which they considered fraught with
inherently undesirable pedagogical restrictions, in a hitherto unexplored physical,

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national, and cultural environment, to a cohort of students who did not respond as their
experiences predicted. Therefore it is perhaps not surprising that, although some
experienced conflict about the desirability of changing their pedagogical preferences, they
did make changes; although some were more significant than others. The following
stories illustrate some of the challenges that encouraged lecturers to reflect on their
pedagogical practices:

In the classroom fewer [students] were comfortable working in groups.

Fewer felt, and I can only go by, they didn’t exactly say I’m not learning as
much, but I got it from their facial expressions, or they way in which they
responded, that they felt that this was a bit of fun, and not a serious method
in terms of approaching learning. That the way in which you do learning is,
we all sit in our desks, and [lecturer] facilitates, and we maybe ask a few
questions and maybe not, and then we go away. [80:2:145-151]

Silence. I could not get them to comment, and then the realisation struck me
that culturally, they’re not going to speak out in a way that they might lose
face or offend someone or it might get back to somebody else. You know,
it’s all of those things, it just hit me that here was something really, really
important, that in any future class I just have to take account of. [83:2:44-50]

I have a divergent and unstructured style...But if you need some structure to

get started with, I’ll give you some structure…but I am never sure the degree
of structure I should start with…or whether I should throw them in the deep
end. [81:2:409-416]

As a result of a multitude of new and perplexing stimuli such as those above, lecturers’
teaching styles changed, however slightly. Most lecturers adapted to the Singaporean
students by providing more structure and formality early in the program and then moving
to a less structured, more facilitative milieu. Whilst this may also occur in Australia, one
lecturer recalled that; ‘in Singapore I hang on to the structure a bit longer’ [84:2:234].
Another adapted his teaching style by staging progression and incorporating more formal
modalities before concluding with a facilitative style; ‘they like lectures so I give them
some mini lectures, then we practice about it, then apply it ‘ [83:2:206].

The issue of group-work was a topic of focus during discussions on pedagogy. Again,
there was no shared preference: some lecturers used group-work more frequently than
was usual in the Australian context, particularly small-group syndicates, and some less.
Clearly the degree of change described would be dependent on the percentage of group-
work lecturers used in the first place, which naturally varied according to their teaching
styles. Those who used less group-work were in a minority and reported that they did so
because;

• The structure of the program required it;

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 • Students did not seem to value syndicate learning;

• They spent more time explaining words and concepts in Singapore which allowed
less time for activities; and

• There was less time available therefore they encouraged students to work in
groups after class time.

Others found whole-class guided discussion relatively unproductive. Either few students
would respond or it would always be the same people who volunteered to. Thus lecturers
increased their use of small-group-work because they found that syndicate work readily
encouraged students to enter into dynamic discussion. In spite of these difficulties, as the
following story shows, lecturer insights and resulting adaptations to pedagogies were
ongoing, and the learning curve continued until the final days of the program. One
respondent recounted his surprise when, after three years teaching in Singapore, he tried
to convene a plenary discussion to conclude the days work. During the preceding
syndicate work the students were ‘on track…really engaged and very motivated…they
produced some really terrific stuff’ [83:2:41-44]. However when he tried to facilitate a
plenary discussion he once again elicited only silence and evident discomfort. He decided
on reflection that ‘they were more open to discussion in small groups than large
groups…maybe whole-group-work doesn’t work because they are expecting to have to
give the right answer ‘ [83:2:75].

Other lecturers, on reflection, thought they may have been overly cautious in the early
days of the program and subsequently made fewer accommodations to perceived
Singaporean learning styles as their experience of the program increased. A lecturer
reflecting on previous experience concluded that in future he would ‘probably be less
accommodating to the local view in order to engage more intellectually’ although he
added he would do this whilst remaining ‘sensitive to the background of the learners’
[84:2:26-35]. This particular lecturer taught a diversity-focussed subject and had found it
more difficult to gain group engagement with issues that were sensitive in Singapore;
‘with the potential for gender analysis for example’ [84:2:327-328]. He had come to
consider that it was nevertheless important to confront local paradoxes. By way of
example, he considered that Singapore was a country with ‘appallingly high capital
punishment rates…the Lee dynasty locked in…and at the same time having some sort of
gay pride festival…those things are interesting for me politically and they would fire me up
to take a more interrogative stance in future…’[84:2:42-46,50-51]. For him, the
questioning of political and social mores in Singapore was not cause for concern: a

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stance he defended with a strong argument in support of the epistemological values of
critique, dissent and justification, which he believed the program had a responsibility to
encourage.

The political and cultural environment in Singapore provided challenges for another
lecturer who nevertheless demonstrated that it was possible to overcome very high levels
of student anxiety and resistance to particular pedagogies - to the eventual surprise of the
students themselves. This lecturer had proposed an independent project focusing on
organisational change management. The proposal was met with anxiety and high
resistance from students: ‘Initially students thought ‘there’s nothing I could do that would
produce change in my organisation in Singapore’ he said ’…As it happened, that wasn’t
the case…the end results that came out were really very interesting, some of them were
quite brilliant.’ [82:2:221-232]

(Re)forming a curriculum
I was concerned about the nature of the materials I was going to take to
Singapore, because it was ostensibly derived from the West…from England
and the USA…how meaningful would they be and would they be applicable
in such a society? [80:1:195-200]

When I first talked about 360 degree assessment [in class], I realised it was
not a good concept in Singapore… you don’t do it, you can’t implement that
because you don’t criticise those who are above you. And what could you
expect from those below you? It’s not a culturally appropriate assessment
tool. [83:255-262]

As the quotations above demonstrate, several lecturers went to Singapore with concerns
about the nature of their subject content or developed those concerns early on in their
transnational experience. Most were conscious that the majority of their foundational
theories had an inherently Western bias and some were concerned that because they
were from a ‘Western’ background, students would perceive a superior, ‘colonial’ attitude
[e.g. 80:1:369] in their presentation of ‘Western’ literature. Furthermore, they worried that
this could be exacerbated by their inability to contextualise the content due to their limited
understanding of students’ work and life experiences. However at the same time, as one
lecturer recounted: ‘I know that in terms of application of knowledge, the subjects I teach
have fantastic scope’ [81:2:364]. Thus it could be concluded that several of the lecturers
arrived in Singapore open to learning about the local context, and willing to contextualise
and make adaptations to the content of their programs. Others were less concerned or
aware about the cultural appropriateness of their program content, however after teaching
several programs, all the lecturers had been forced to confront the issue. Once in

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classrooms, content was evaluated and the emerging learning was contextually
embedded, in other words: ‘[in the Singaporean context] we are not making adaptations
to theory, but we are making adaptations to application of the theory’ [82:2256-258]. In
the course of this interpretation, adaptation and re-construction of program content, the
lecturers’ common view that both teacher and learner were egalitarian actors in the
learning process became particularly pertinent: essentially both parties needed to
collaborate in order to ‘make meaning’. Making meaning meant crossing bridges of
cultural understanding; both national cultures and workplace-based cultures. Herein, it is
noteworthy that while one lecturer held an MBA, none of the lecturers had held
management positions outside of school or university environments, nor had they
performed HRD roles in business organisations, whereas most of the students had done
so and/or were doing so at the time of the BET program. Therefore, if an element of
application was required in order to facilitate learning and ‘make meaning’, then lecturers
and students were all the more mutually dependent. In fact, discussion of the student’s
workplace-based anecdotes gave meaning to the lecturers’ theoretical expertise. The
following quotation, in which the speaker uses the word ‘language’ metaphorically,
illustrates this translation of content beautifully:

In a sense you have to find a common language that is a pidgin of symbols

and images, and it’s kind of constructed with the purpose of communicating
something. And then you have to translate out of that common language
back to your language. They translate out of that common language back to
their language. [81:304-307]

This mutual reliance was particularly the case for the lecturers in the first iteration of the
program. By the third iteration they had learned more about the Singaporean context and
felt more self-confident and self-sufficient. Several of the lecturers increased the
incorporation of Singaporean theoretical examples as the classes progressed. Local data
would be presented by the lecturer for class discussion (e.g. in a planned manner using
Singaporean authored academic literature or relevant Singaporean government policies
and programmes, or simply on an ad-hoc basis using relevant articles from ‘each day’s
edition of The Straits Times’ [82:2:197]). Lecturers reported that this was well received by
students and that they were thanked for incorporating more accessible examples of local
data. Alternatively, class input would be used to provide local examples and thereby
contextualise content. In either case, a process followed whereby lecturers would seek
the students’ ‘qualification and exemplification of issues…and then I might say “oh well
that’s similar to…” and therefore I’m making meaning and they are making meaning and

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we connect as a group’ [80:1:337-342]. Through these processes both Western and
Singaporean examples were included in what became a truly internationalised curriculum.

Whilst inclusion of Singaporean materials was well regarded by students, as previously

observed, they were used to operating on a range of cultural levels. Although lecturers
recognised that local data was meaningful to local students they were also aware that
there had been some complaints from students about two subjects that were taught by
local lecturers, on the grounds that the content was too local. Therefore, some lecturers
used local content to build bridges to understanding, however they were also keen to
make parallels with Australia, look for similarities and thereby embrace both countries in a
‘little comparative study’ [83:2:269]. Transnational research (e.g. Hofstede, 1994a) was
also referred to in order to enable the class to reflect on global as well as local and
Australian contexts [82,84].

Assessment

The preceding discussion of pedagogy has been mostly classroom-focussed, however, of

course assessment is a key component of pedagogy, and is largely enacted out of the
classroom environment. Three key issues in relation to assessment and feedback have
already been discussed. They are: that lecturers considered students demanding in terms
of structure and feedback; that students were attempting to provide the ‘right answer’
whereas lecturers were probably seeking the ‘right process’; and that examinations had
been recommended as the ‘assessment process of choice in Asia’. These issues will
now be briefly revisited from a pedagogical point of view.

Examinations

Examinations had been included in the BET program against the better judgement of
most of the lecturers. Exams were not used in the Australian version of the program and,
in fact, several of the lecturers had never set an exam before they had to do so for the
Singapore program. As already noted, senior staff at the university had recommended
that exams were a respected form of assessment in Singapore and were favoured by
students and teachers alike. Although there was some disagreement in my interviews
with staff members from the Singapore Institute of Management (SIM), it appears from
University records that SIM may have initiated the inclusion of exams. A senior SIM
manager conceded to me that although Singapore was moving away from an
examination centred teaching culture, exams were still publicly considered to be an
important criterion for student evaluation. She felt that some element of examination

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remained important for a program to have credibility. Thus, in spite of their reticence,
those lecturers who were unable to mount a strong enough case for the exclusion of
exams from their subject included one examination and one essay per subject
(successful arguments for the exclusion of exams included that the subject was ‘too
philosophical’).

In response to the mandating of examinations, lecturers attempted to adapt the

examination process to an ‘adult learning’ milieu. Examples included making the
examination ‘open book’; allowing student notes in the examination room; providing a
range of topic choices sufficient to suit a range of interests and learning styles; and
writing the examination once in Singapore after having had the opportunity to judge the
cohorts’ level of knowledge and ability. Despite their adaptation to exams, without doubt
the lecturers preferred a formative/summative assessment format that allowed feedback
and reinforcement between a first and final essay for each subject.

As it eventuated, lecturers found that exams produced a somewhat paradoxical effect on

Singaporean students: they raised their already high anxiety levels, yet students ‘seemed
to value exam results more’ [than essay results] [81:2:43-44]. Eventually, during the
three iterations of the program, the number of examinations was reduced due to disfavour
with both students and lecturers and with the approval of all parties.

Essays: challenges and standards

It does seem to be the case that, while lecturers quite easily developed cultural relativity
in relation to contextualised knowledge, some faced a significantly higher level of
discomfort in relation to culturally relative process. The Centre had issued all students
with a ‘writing guide’ booklet addressing conventions of essay writing. However individual
lecturers’ focussed on certain technical conventions more than others. Some were more
likely to penalise students over technical aspects and written English. For others, issues
such as analysis, argument, creative thinking and spirit of critique were the core focus of
assessment.

The diminution of academic standards due to ‘poor English’ was a particularly vexing
issue for some lecturers. Lecturers reported ‘a very mixed experience’ [80:1:237] in
relation to students’ English language ability ‘from really struggling, to Masters or Doctoral
level writing’ [80:1:236]. Certainly there was an acknowledgement that ‘they’re having to
come to terms with writing in the English language in an academic format when the

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content is new…that’s a lot to ask in a short space of time [80:2:171-173]. One lecturer,
cited below, relates his significant personal struggle with the issue:

Their English is a pidgin English, to communicate verbally…to get the

business done….not English that allows for abstract thoughts to be
discussed in depth…and that’s a disadvantage, but to say so is
offensive…and that might be so but…why are you enrolling? While you are
in Singapore, accept the Singapore standard of writing of English? It doesn’t
take away from the fact that they are bilingual and I would be at a total loss if
I were in their shoes…but I still have a responsibility to point out what the
standard of good English is once they leave Singapore as they might not be
taken seriously…so there’s a task to be done even though it’s
unpopular…so I might be becoming more firm about this rather than pensive.
[81:1:362-364]

The lecturer above ultimately decided that grammatically correct standards mattered and
should be required. Another viewpoint, possibly taken more frequently, was that; ‘You can
allow for someone who has come from a very poor background…English is not good,
we’ve got to be flexible while still adhering to our processes’ [82:2:312-214]. In summary,
this issue illustrates the fact that lecturers regularly and consciously struggled with
choices between culturally relative standpoints and their own values, or the values of their
organisation. In some cases local values won out, in others the lecturers’ or university
standards were considered worthwhile maintaining and bridges were crossed to a new
middle ground.

Taking it all back home

I am actually teaching diversity in diverse environments, so on one hand
that’s high stress, on the other hand if you can pull it off its incredibly
enriching for a variety of other contexts because you have unlocked a way to
do it well. [84:282-293]

The efficacy of the BET program as a staff development exercise cannot be

overestimated. One of the strongest patterns to emerge from the lecturer interviews was
the positive impact that their experiences of teaching in Singapore had had on their
professional and personal lives. Everyone recognised that the experience had changed
their practices. They had learned to adapt their pedagogy and content to suit a different
audience and subsequently found that this had direct application in Australian
classrooms. Moreover, as one lecturer who was teaching assessment observed; ‘most
organisations are multicultural, so if you go applying a Western concept, it’s going to
offend some people’ [83:2:284-287].

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The lecturers had increased their repertoire of case study examples and consequently
were able to widen the inter-cultural context of all their classes. Some reported feeling
more confident and credible in the multicultural classrooms of the Australian university;
‘[in one of my classes] of twenty students, nine are international…l have used some
pedagogies that work in Singapore with international groups here…so it has implications
for what we do here’ [83:3-50]. They found that case studies based on experiences in
Singapore and/or Singaporean literature engaged and interested all their students. They
also discovered that they could communicate more easily and comfortably with
international students in Australia, particularly Singaporeans. In addition, as one lecturer
mused, ‘[the Singapore experience has] firmed my interest in cultural difference…in a
fantastically positive way. It has provided me with the opportunity for a deeper re-
examination of cultural difference as it effects society and forms of government’
[81:2:507,603]. Finally, and this can only be significant in a university that overtly values
internationalisation of the curriculum: ‘Singaporean examples are good when the concept
of globalisation comes up…and at a personal level [teaching overseas] makes
globalisation and associated issues of our time a little bit more engaging, not just
theoretical ’[81:2:327,553].

Pedagogy: discussion

In the preceding paragraphs the lecturers describe the use of pedagogies they have
selected and developed throughout their careers and the application and adaptation of
those pedagogies in a foreign environment. These pedagogical choices reflect lecturers’
normative experiences and epistemological philosophies. Initial analysis of key points
from discussion of pedagogies reveals a recurring and interlocking pattern of change and
conflict. In terms of change we see the development of new skills, alterations to program
structure, alterations to pedagogies, negotiation of new roles, adaptations to application
of theory, increased repertoires of anecdotes and case studies, and internationalisation of
the curriculum. We also see the lecturers faced with conflict and discomfort in relation to
issues such as the dilemma over whether and how they should adapt their pedagogies to
suit the apparent desires of the Singaporean cohort; the difficulties of teaching after time-
zone changes, to a group of students who don’t respond as they expect; dissonance over
the potential Western bias of their program and the related concern over being perceived
as ‘doing the old colonialism act’ [80:1:369]; inability to contextualise content; and difficult
decisions about standards of assessment. These conflicts and changes to behaviour are
typical experiences of individuals experiencing acculturation.

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Learning a new game: lecturers as sojourners learning
culture
Acculturation, as defined by Redfield, Linton, and Herskovits (1936, 1954) (as cited by
Pham and Harris 2001) is ‘a process of adaptation to a new environment as a result of
two independent cultures coming in contact with each other’. Berry (1986) described
stages of acculturation to which the lecturers’ experiences correspond very neatly:
contact, conflict due to differences, and adjustments made to reduce perceived conflict.
In the past, acculturation was viewed as a unidirectional process, which assumed that the
optimal outcome was assimilation to the dominant culture (Pham and Harris, 2001).
Berry (1986) describes four levels of acculturation strategy, the most desirable of which
for sojourners (‘between-society culture travellers whose stay is usually temporary’ (Ward
et al., 2001)) would be ‘integration’. In ‘integration’ (or 'bicuturalism' Pham and Harris,
2001), rather than assimilating, individuals accept both their own cultural values and host
cultural values. In order to relate in this bicultural manner, acculturating individuals must
confront two issues: whether to maintain or reject their own cultural values and whether to
accept or reject the host culture’s cultural values. This focus on values supports the
views of other researchers who have noted that unidirectional (e.g. assimilationist)
models of acculturation do not account for individuals’ own cultural values (e.g. Mendoza,
1984; Kim & Berry, 1985; Sodowsky, Lai, and Plake, 1991 as cited by Pham and Harris
2001).

Acculturation theory is a useful key to understanding the experiences of both lecturers

and students in the BET program. In transnational education the nature of ‘the dominant
culture’ is open to interpretation. Lecturers are travelling to Singapore, yet students are
also moving to the new culture of a Western university. In the final chapter, it will be
argued that one predictor for successful transnational programs would be the adoption of
successful acculturation strategies by both groups. At this juncture, it is evident that
whilst lecturers did experience conflict through contact, and whilst many chose to make
adaptations and thereby acculturated, in some instances they also chose to conserve
their own cultural values (e.g. they did not move significantly from their constructivist
pedagogies; they found ways to encourage the students to acculturate to Western
learning styles and assessment paradigms; and to a large extent they managed to reduce
dissonance regarding assessment ‘whilst still adhering to processes’). In short, they
proved that ‘it is possible for the acculturating individual to engage in appropriate social
behaviour in two independent cultures without a loss of cultural identity’ (Pham and
Harris, 2001). However like many acculturating individuals, the lecturers learned the hard

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way – on the job and open to the judgement of themselves and others. Their difficulties
could possibly have been ameliorated by learning some of the rules of the game before
playing it.

Bochner (1986) draws the analogy that learning to be effective in a new culture is like
learning a new game, in which one party (as in the case a sojourner entering a foreign
host culture) or even nobody (in the case of mutually foreign territory) actually knows the
game. Sojourners initially find themselves in the former situation, where they must first
learn the rules, and then develop expertise in playing the game itself.

The BET lecturers are sojourners who have been culture contact game learners
throughout their time in the program; a situation which many of the writers in the field
regard as a major, stressful life event with potential outcomes ranging from mild
discomfort to severe, debilitating anxiety (Ward et al., 2001). It is therefore not surprising
that the initial lecturer interviews reflected varying levels of anxiety, for example; ‘I was a
bit scared about some of the situations…’ [82:2:9-10]; ‘I knew absolutely nothing about
Singapore people prior to going’ [80:2:7-8]; ‘…[you need to deal with] unanticipated
difficulties beforehand…the same would apply to Singapore and there’s the additional
overlay of whether its going to be culturally different or not’ [81:1:226-236] and ‘I was
terrified I wouldn’t be good enough’ [83:1:165].

Such anxiety is probably entirely natural and certainly predictable. Indeed Bochner (1986)
suggests that contact variables for inter-cultural contact predict the main dimensions that
will contextually affect the intercultural interaction. The following discussion briefly
considers BET lecturers’ experiences against Bochner’s contact variables.

On whose territory the interaction is taking place: in this case the lecturer sojourners are
clearly visitors to Singapore and therefore are typical ‘game’ learners. However it
could also be argued that the students are in the foreign culture of a transnational
classroom – in which case both groups would be learners and the context further
complicated;

The time span involved: lecturers visited Singapore in one week to ten-day blocks, in
some cases returning several times a year;

The purpose of the sojourn: lecturers were visiting for business purposes, as ‘experts’
and also as representatives of the university and the Australian Education system;

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The relative status and power of participants: clearly lecturers were sojourners in
positions of significant formal power;

The frequency, degree and intimacy of contact: as previously discussed, lecturer-student

contact was frequent, even constant. The contact was described as ‘demanding’
and sometimes both intimate and sensitive. This was particularly the case in
pastoral care situations (which, as well as the more usual student difficulties,
included dealing with the unexpected and tragic death of a popular student and also
the SARS outbreak in Singapore); and

Any visible distinguishing features: lecturers appeared different – they were white Anglo
Australians, which differentiated them from the class and SIM staff. Moreover, whilst
both lecturers and students spoke English, most lecturers were not bilingual,
whereas everybody in the class spoke a mother tongue other than English, and
occasionally used those languages and ‘Singlish’ in the classroom.

The preceding analysis amply demonstrates that, in the context of Bochner’s criteria, the
lecturers experienced the full gamut of contact variables that can potentially contribute to
inter-cultural discomfort due to a lack of awareness of the rules that govern interpersonal
conduct in a given culture. The reaction to these experiences has been called ‘culture
shock’ and was originally described by Oberg (1960) as being precipitated by anxiety that
results from losing all our familiar signs and symbols of social interaction. These include
the ways we orient ourselves to daily life and include words, gestures, customs and
norms that we acquire in our primary socialisation. Until quite recently analysis of culture
shock was based on a clinical ‘psuedo-medical model’ (Bochner, 1986) which tended to
stigmatise sufferers due to a diagnosis of perceived personality deficit (e.g. rigidity,
intolerance of ambiguity). Apart from unhelpful stigmatisation, culture shock theory also
carried overtones of ethnocentricity and assimilation, wherein inability of the sojourner to
adapt was seen as a weakness and the goal of ‘treatment (e.g. intercultural training)’ was
to resolve differences through their elimination. However, Bochner (1986) and Ward,
Bochner and Furnham (2001) suggest that, whilst on the most basic level ‘culture shock’
can be attributed to the absence or distortion of familiar environmental clues, the most
fundamental difficulties experienced by cross-cultural travellers occur in social situations.
The lecturers’ experiences mirrored this dilemma as typified in the following reflections:

I didn’t feel relaxed about asking just anybody in the street about where
something might be or so forth…I had this impression they were just so sort
of busy…that I’d be interrupting…In Melbourne I might look at a person and

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 say ‘hmm, that looks like a person I could approach’…but I noticed a
difference in body language. [80:252-62]

You have to pay attention to things that happen just while you’re living…in a
food court…giving of business cards…cultural signing and signals. [81:2:87-
88,93,101,286]

You have to check your understanding of things with the locals. [82:2:76-78]

It’s really only come through doing it, through learning by mistakes and
successes and interacting…so you know it’s understanding, getting much
better and getting inside the culture. [83:2:111-113,385-90]

As the quotations above illustrate, the lecturers would probably agree with Ward et al.
(2001), who propose that ‘culture shock’ should not be viewed as a deficit model; that
salient aspects, or ‘rules’ of these social and behavioural situations can be learned. The
major problem is, however, that, people are generally unaware of these rules because
our primary socialisation fails to teach us that others do ‘it’ differently, consequently rules
are only recognised when a transgression occurs. In this chapter there have been many
examples of what Bochner (1986) calls ‘culture learning’, which have occurred as a result
of transgressions. The gift-giving issue discussed on page 142 is one illustrative case
study of a situation where both parties were unaware of the rules governing the other.
Another example occurred when a well-meaning lecturer was posed a question from a
student via email. He subsequently forwarded the question by email to the entire student
cohort, thinking that the question posed and his response would benefit the group. The
reaction from the originating student was very strong, very angry and doubtless involved
loss of face. The lecturer recalls;

Often they’re not going to tell you their problem. They’re less open about
their issues than students here would be…and so you use the
networks…using an intermediary, you’ve been the major source of
that…[respondent was referring to researcher at this point] but you can’t use
other students…I made that mistake once and caused loss of face and I had
to go through giving a formal apology in front of the class…and that’s not a
problem, just me being culturally insensitive. So having an intermediary,
having a person who understands and is a friend of the system and the
people, yes that’s been important. [82:2:321-330]

It would seem possible that some of these in-situ and transgression-induced culture-
learning situations may have occurred because the lecturers initially did not realise the
significance of the cultural gap between themselves and their students. Fox, (1997 as
cited by Ward et al. 2001) suggests the view that when people from two different cultures
meet, they will have difficulty in communicating with one another to the extent that their
respective ‘codes’ differ. As discussed in chapter five, the cultures of the lecturers and the

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cultures of the students in fact varied greatly along most empirical dimensions.
Consequently one would expect those ‘codes’ to differ significantly. However the
lecturers (whose pre-departure preparation included reading Singaporean government
websites and tourist literature, and whose previous sojourns were as tourists to
Singapore’s shopping precinct and high rise hotels), may have expected a monocultural
Singaporean who was a borderline Westerner. The fact that English is the business
language in Singapore may have served to reinforce this perception, however as Triandis
et al. (1972) propose, shared language may actually serve to obscure cultural differences.
In fact, the lecturers’ learning curves increased exponentially with their time in Singapore,
as eloquently described by the citations below:

[The Singapore Government] are trying to create some sort of artificial image
of culture that doesn’t actually exist …and they’re not sure what it is
anyway…You see a front that initially looks very Western, and that is not
Singapore. That’s the tourists’ Singapore, and you’re going to have to be
humble enough to let the students show you the real Singapore…then you
realise it’s a myriad of cultures and there’s multiple levels of culture within it.
It’s the subtlety of differences in culture I’m beginning to understand
somewhat. [82:2:7,11-18,361-368]

…so there’s lots of importation of those American dreams and ideals in

Singapore. And those sorts of things are felt in everywhere in every country.
But that’s superficial… [80:2:249-251]

Whilst all the lecturers experienced significant culture learning, and even personal
revelation, a realisation of the subtlety mentioned above and the complexity of cultural
difference was experienced to a various extent. One common, and unsurprising pattern
was that learning increased with the amount of time spent in Singapore. Lecturers
reflected that:

Cultural awareness happens over a very long period…my sustained time in

Singapore has enriched my appreciation of cultural difference yet
again…whereas if it had been an ‘in and out’ situation I wouldn’t have had
that…time has allowed me to relax and engage…when you feel comfortable
enough to be receptive. [81:2:14-57]

I think that for [the students] time has to pass and they have to know and
trust as well…before they begin to say some of the things that irk them…and
part of the deepening of my appreciation depends on their ability to say
some of those things. [81:2:199-209]

Over time I have found myself being much warmer to them because I am
comfortable in the fact that I understand them a lot better and I’m not going
to offend anybody or say the wrong thing…I can actually engage with
people. [83:2:25-30]

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However, as Bochner (1986) highlights, increased contact does not necessarily reduce
hostility, and people generally prefer to interact with similar rather than dissimilar
individuals. Again, the extent to which the goodwill and openness of the lecturers and
students contributed to the positive outcomes of this program should not be
underestimated: discussion in recent paragraphs elucidates that there was ample
capacity for bad feeling and misunderstanding. Such a negative outcome was all the
more likely given that the lecturers shared with many in the business sector a perfunctory
(or more usually in this case, non-existent) pre-departure training and no ongoing
systematic during-sojourn support (other than my presence during the fieldwork period as
a cultural mediator who was also learning) (Ward et al., 2001).

Chapter conclusion
Sheer familiarity dims the keenness of our perception, and we cease to
notice a good deal of what goes on in our daily lives…in order to shake
ourselves into awareness, we must experience new or contrasting
conditions. Cross-cultural comparisons can help us discover characteristics
of our own culture that we fail to notice because we are so familiar with
them. (Stevenson and Stigler, 1992:16)

This chapter has reported the experiences of the lecturers venturing on their first forays
into the terrain of the transnational educator. We have seen that they departed not as
‘empty vessels’ but as individuals with all the preconceptions, values, beliefs and general
cultural baggage that we all carry. In some instances they shared much of this baggage
with their colleagues and in others they stood alone. Whatever the case, they were
people with ‘good intentions’ however they were generally not well supported toward the
development of an effective biculturalism by their normative experiences, their community
of practice, or their employer. When they attempted to transmit their culture of teaching
and learning in Singapore, they met with varying levels of conflict and resistance which, to
paraphrase Stevenson and Stigler (above), shook them into cultural awareness. They
learned a lot in a relatively short space of time, and they often learned in a difficult,
‘thrown in the deep end’ transgression-induced manner. That the program was
successful at all is at least fifty percent to the credit of the lecturer-sojourners who
managed to negotiate this uncharted territory.

The next chapter will report the views and responses of the student cohort in a similar
manner. Following this, chapter eight will portray the culturally ambiguous territory of the
classroom, through the reporting and analysis of class observations. Thereafter, chapter

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nine will conclude this thesis with recommendations for future programs and future
research.

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Chapter Seven: Data from Student Interviews
Introduction
This chapter is the second to report data gathered during the research fieldwork, and
following the format of the previous chapter will report and commence discussion of data
from interviews with the BET students, however analysis is limited to aspects that are
relatively unique to the students’ group. Further analysis is constrained until the following
chapter, which will combine the ‘third perspective’ gained from classroom observations,
together with juxtaposition of responses of student and lecturer groups, thus allowing for
‘thick description’ and a more holistic analysis of the program.

As in the previous chapter, the masculine pronoun is used and the conceptual framework
proposed by Pratt and colleagues (1999) is followed broadly. The chapter also
commences with the foundational consideration of normative experiences: this time the
culturally embedded reference points of the students.

Normative experiences and expectations

The influence of the extended family

The students’ recollections of their early childhood influences reached beyond the nuclear
family and included extended family and society in general. In the majority of cases, BET
students came from lower socio-economic backgrounds. A minority had received minimal
educational encouragement from their parents and usually this was because, despite
their aspirations, parents had not been able to financially support their children’s
education; ‘My dad told me it is not possible for me to do A-levels as I had three other
siblings…that was tough…for the first fifteen years of my life I never reflected, the intent
was to bring money home’ [35:1:54-61]. Typical stories told of parents, most frequently
the mother, who were uneducated and often married at a very young age (e.g. thirteen).
Fathers were educated to basic level in the mother tongue but not in English, making it
difficult for them to earn a living. Families were often quite large with, for example, up to
sixteen children. The lack of any social security system meant that trouble in the family
(e.g. illness or the separation of parents) resulted in children having to give up education;
‘quit school to work…to play son and daughter’ [44:1:242]; ‘my brothers and I had a family
to sort out, and I needed to start work at the age of thirteen’ [66:1:163-167] and ‘help to
run the family business’ [46:1:46-49].

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In the experience of the respondents, both as children and as parents, a pressured
lifestyle with a focus on career left less time for family learning activities; ‘…in Singapore,
the economic focus means it’s career first, not family first’ [64:1:322]. However, at the
same time the focus on career reinforced the place of education as a means of ensuring
success for the family and following generations. It was generally agreed that; ‘if you are
not from a wealthy family, it is very unlikely you will have opportunities’ [22:1:167-174].
Indeed, Singaporean society, including access to education, was considered by the
students to be clearly stratified along class lines; ‘those who are rich you are one gang;
those who are poor you are another gang’ [66:1:159-60]. Due to this stratification,
significant effort was required to bring about a shift in a family’s economic status.

Some students described their parents as strict, but not overly punitive; ‘just say you have
to work hard, that’s all’ [64:1:38]. This pattern was recurrent and a matter of degree. As
one student stated, ‘the typical Asian parent would use the cane’ [when faced with poor
school performance] [3:1:226]. In the opinion of another respondent, the ‘Western’
manner of parenting was ‘not quite focussed…the hardship kind of family produces good
students’ [40:1:953]. Thus, families did encourage students while they were in school and
the strict Asian system was perceived by many as being worthwhile in the longer term (as
forecast by the research reported in chapter five). In the case of the adult BET students,
much of the encouragement to enrol came from spouses, and even children. They spoke
of how important this support was; ‘families are very very important…my husband is very
very proud…tells his friends what achievements his wife has’ [66:1:142].

The adult students’ own parents were held in the highest respect, for even when students
had been denied education as children they acknowledged their parents’ battles against
overwhelming odds. During interviews, two students related a story that illustrates the
passion of feelings about parents. It would seem that during a BET subject, an Australian
lecturer had said something similar to; “all assignments must be in on time, even if your
parents was to pass away there is no extension” [49:1:488]. In any culture, this would be
a tactless comment (in Singapore, it was described as ‘crude’ [49:1:487]). As a result the
lecturer totally lost the students’ respect. The strength of feeling about this incident is
revealed in the following quote that came from a student in a different intake to that in
which the incident occurred (and who, therefore, was not directly affected):

If your mother is ill, it’s your mother, not just anybody…definitely you will not
be motivated to go on with an assignment…As an Asian you would just give
up this class even if it meant totally failing the whole course. And then you
would lodge a complaint. Because this is nonsense, this is not, cannot be
acceptable. [64:1:322-329]

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Early learning experiences

When considering the following discussion of the early learning experiences, it is

important to recall that the respondents were adult students. As they frequently
highlighted, their early experiences would likely be different to those of a cohort of
younger students in Singapore today, and during the research period the government
was planning changes to the education experience in Singapore. However, as discussed
in chapter three, whether those changes will occur quickly remains open to debate, and
indeed social stratification in Singapore is viewed by some as becoming more
pronounced (Tan, 2003). As one respondent reflected: ‘The Ministry of Education say
they want to change, they want to do more project based, not so exam based. But it
seems that now they are doing both, so even more pressure!’ [70:1:341-342]

Certainly ‘pressure’ was in integral part of the students’ recollections of formative learning
experiences, along with discomfort, structure, lack of control and negativity. The interview
questions that brought the following responses were in no way leading, yet the contrast
between the students’ recollections of early learning and the lecturers’ could scarcely be
more stark.

‘They just throw and you pick up’

In a strong and consistently recurring theme, the majority of students referred to their own
learning experiences as being rote-based. ‘Spoon feeding’ was another recurrent term.
Moreover, the students reflected on what they had come to consider as the surface
nature of rote pedagogies, for example; ‘it’s memorised, doing more on the surface’
[20:1:114]; and ‘they say you must study two, three times in order to remember. This is
based on memory rather than application’ [26:1:53-55].

Pedagogies were described as ‘one-way’, and aspects of one-way pedagogy included

lack of explanation, reasons and rationale; teacher-centredness; and not being permitted
to ask questions. This was succinctly summarised by one respondent as: ‘they just throw
and you pick up’ [22:1:51]. Several recalled that they were; ‘trained to listen to the teacher
and you are not supposed to interrupt’ [49:1:81]; ‘…at school you are taught…when your
elders speak you do not answer back. It’s a respect thing…’ [74:1:372]. Whilst some held
the value that this was appropriate respectful behaviour; ‘…always respect the teacher,
whether he is right or wrong just keep quiet. Ok, that is the right thing to do’ [36:1:217],
others found that it had a limiting effect on their learning as adults and trainers, for
example: ‘They just teach, that I thought was the only method’ [22:1:132]; and

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 We are just supposed to listen and learn from the lecturer. We don’t want to
waste anybody’s time with what we think…even when I was attending the
BET, there is a question that I want to ask and I am thinking…“should I ask,
or should I not ask?” Me, I think that’s the way I have been brought up.
[49:85-90]

Respondents reflected that their early learning experiences had been very structured; a
series of hurdles that must be passed with little encouragement of divergence or creativity
[66:1:148], or even interest; ‘just pass and then proceed to the next level’ [70:1:38]. It is
noteworthy at this juncture to revisit the reflection of one of the lecturers (page 146) that
students were seeking an ‘A, B, C, D….first grade honours…’ [80:2:349-354] formula for
success from him. His comments were mirrored almost verbatim in one student’s
recollections of the education system; ‘I was not allowed to do anything differently, you
know, you had to do A, B, to get to C, … pass examinations and get all this knowledge
which I hardly use now’ [71:1:39-42]. Not surprisingly, examinations were ubiquitous in
students’ memories. Typical of these reflections was the opinion that Singaporeans of
their generation were ‘exam smart’ but ‘may not be good at applying’ [40:1:697-703].
However the students agreed that in Singaporean society exams were still considered the
main proof of learning, and that the much discussed ‘meritocracy’ in Singapore rested on
promotion by exam results.

The role of the teacher, unsurprisingly, was significant in students’ memories. On the
whole, responses were as predicted in chapter five. Whilst there were positive memories
of teachers who helped to build confidence, provided pastoral care, and motivated
students, these were most frequently referred to as ‘young teachers’. Possibly many of
the adult students’ primary school experiences occurred when teachers in Singapore
were not subject to the same qualification regulations as they are now (as discussed in
chapter three, Gopinathan and Ho, 2000a; Gopinathan et al., 2001). Whatever the
reason, these ‘older teachers’ were the subject of derision. Stories about teachers
‘throwing chalk at my face’ [20:1:99], ‘getting a beating with a ruler on the hand’
[20:1:139-141] and ‘flying dusters when she gets angry’ [76:1:98-99] were related.
Teachers were described as ‘Tai Tai, (a Chinese term for a wealthy, materialistic
woman)…just want to come in and get the day over, and say “wow I got a new
handbag”…’[66:1:187-188]. This resulted in passionate emotions and negative
evaluations of learning that were imprinted at a young age; ‘my bad experience really
leaves an impression to this day. I guess it was the teacher who makes a difference. I am
absent from the class because I hated the teacher’ [20:1:99]. In fact a resultant dislike of

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what was described as ‘academic’ learning and subsequent truancy were relatively
common outcomes of early learning for student respondents.

As a result of all of the above, the typical BET student did not have positive memories of
their foundational learning. Unsurprisingly, many had not excelled in the Singaporean
school system, although one respondent did reflect that although; ‘certain learning
outcomes can be painful…the process as well as the outcome…eventually I am lucky that
I did all those things’ [51:1:22-28].

Late bloomers get (almost) no second chance

For late bloomers, your destiny has been predetermined’. [30:1:382]

One finding of this research, possibly unique to Singapore, is that several of the male
respondents positively recalled the foundational learning experiences they had in the
armed forces during their two-year compulsory national service term. Most acknowledged
the reformist nature of national service, for example: ‘you have to learn what they want to
teach you, in spite of if you don’t want to’ [10:1:26] and ‘most guys who have gone
through national service, they are bound to be changed’ [36:1:85]. Some simply waited
out their time in national service; ‘just wanting to finish and get back to normal civilian life’
[76:1:214]. However a significant number of others related that national service provided
teamwork and communication skills that were life changing in that they opened up
personal and career opportunities that were hitherto unavailable. It seems that national
service gave some male BET students their chance to transcend socio-economic
boundaries. Several respondents reported that that the egalitarian nature of national
service broke down class barriers, and that access to educational opportunities and
overseas placements provided by the Ministry of Defence gave them a second chance at
learning or their first exposure to the training that was to become their career; ‘the military
gave me a chance to upgrade myself’ [8:1:87]; ‘the MINDEF selected me to go to a
diploma course…so that was my starting point of learning again’ [26:1:113-115] and ‘I
served in the United Nations Force in Angola…it had a tremendous impact on my
perception of life…I just want to know more’ [51:1:44-93].

Female students, however, did not experience national service. Most of the BET students
remained somewhat resentful of the uncompromising nature of their school system; ‘there
are human parts that our education system neglects’ [76:1:40]. The students were
insightful about the education system’s pervasive sociological impact. Ultimately, the

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consensus amongst the students would be akin to a belief that the education system
taught people not to think independently, as the following analogy illustrates:

The teacher says today I want you to draw an apple, and she would say, no,
no, no, this is the way you must draw. And so that hindered his creativity...
So in time he went to another school…and someone say “ok, I want you to
draw on your own”. He needs someone to actually tell him what to do. This is
what the Singapore government is doing. [66:1:207-215]

Both the pedagogies and curriculum of primary and tertiary education were negatively
evaluated and were considered to have an ongoing restrictive influence on ‘the fabric of
Singaporean society’ [30:1:456-463]. As another respondent reflected, the ‘baggage’ of
the school system was still with the BET students; ‘so you want to do creative thinking, fat
hope! Very hard because we have not been exposed to this before and therefore it can
take a long time and create tension between [Australian teachers and students]’
[30:1:456-463].

The ability-based educational streaming system described in chapter three was thought
to reinforce the socio-economic constraints many of the students had experienced. Whilst
respondents considered that streaming was predicated on ‘good intentions’, respondents‘
personal experience, and in some cases the experiences of their children, lead them to
believe that streaming decided their fate much too early in life, providing no freedom of
career choice, ‘labelling’ [49:1:116] children and establishing lifelong inequities.

Some of the older students had not personally experienced streaming. However at least
three of these felt they had been ‘part of an experiment’ [4:1:57-60] in which students of
their generation had been were processed into technical schools to suit the needs of the
economy. They were promised jobs, which did eventuate, but one was left wondering
‘whether I wanted it or whether the government made it such… after several years I
realised I don’t enjoy what I am doing’ [4:1:57-60]. The struggle to gain access to
education and climb the ladder of socio-economic success resulted in and supported the
existence of myriad tutoring centres to ‘supplement the normal education so [children] will
be better off’ [22:1:473]. However, whilst extra tuition may help a child in the highly
competitive system, those who possibly needed it most were obstructed from obtaining
any advantage because; ‘the poor just lose out because financially they are just not able
to keep up…it’s just too bad, that’s the truth about our society’ [22:1:469-481]. Moreover,
the pressure of the combined school and tuition systems meant that ‘children don’t have
much experience of play’, being sent to ‘piano class, ballet class, music class…parents
really start banging a lot of learning so young!’ [70:1:322-332].

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The over-riding focus that the Singaporean education system placed on mathematics was
another pervading theme, and maths was a subject in which many of the BET students
did not excel. Unsurprisingly there was quite a high level of resentment amongst the BET
students who again spoke of stifled creativity. They felt that they had been excluded from
the opportunity for success because they did not fit the ‘government model’ and that they
could offer different skills and abilities, which had gone unrecognised by society. As one
complained; ‘I was taught like a computer. How I am taught now as an adult I feel really
short-changed for all those years I spent in school’ [71:1:39-41]. In short many felt
undervalued and unable to contribute as fully as they would like to society, which in a
collectivist environment was disheartening.

Motivating factors behind students’ enrolment

‘Big time paper chase’

OK, it’s a degree. Big time, you know, paper chase. [10:1:211]

As the students repeatedly reported; ‘In Singapore, actually having that piece of paper is
important’ [68:1:91]. Credentialing oneself to the degree level was seen as crucial to
‘where you sit…’ [20:1:184]. As one middle-aged student recounted; ‘without paper you
really can’t survive. Even if you are having thirty year work experience and are a subject
matter expert…with the paper you go forward, without it’s the end for you’ [33:1:160-164].
It was broadly agreed that potential employers would want to see a hard copy of a
testamur attached to a written application and that often recruitment decisions seemed to
be made based on such documentation in isolation. The students felt that interviews in
Singapore were often, to quote one respondent, a ‘formality…they just want to make sure
you have two eyes, that’s the colour I want, alright you are in’ [10:1:372-380].

Clearly then, the realisation of degree holder status is considered crucial to success in
Singapore. Most BET students either held or aspired to human resource development
roles when they enrolled in the program. Apart from, or as well as, this ‘paper chase’,
their motivations for enrolling tended to fall into one of the following three categories: job
security/ promotion; credibility/ status, or self-actualisation/contribution to society. Of
course, these categories were also interwoven, in that promotion would increase
credibility and status and potentially lead to self-actualisation. The following sub-headings
discuss these categories in greater depth:

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Job security and promotion

I think we are very practical people, as in “this is where the money

is…OK”…you can’t take this economic aspect out of learning. [4:1:232-234]

[I want to know] how this information can apply in the workplace. And that is
basically it…[22:1:11-12]

Job security and promotion was the most frequently mentioned motivator for undertaking
the BET program, and most students referred to this at least once during the interviews.
The spiralling unemployment rates and retrenchments that were occurring in Singapore
during this research (chapter three, page 31) were a source of concern to most of the
students, and many spoke of ‘equipping ourselves in case we are out of a job’ [4:1:243].
They saw the possession of a degree as a making them ‘more marketable’ [190:1:190], a
‘good selling factor for myself’ [10:1:213]. Others were expecting the possibility of
promotion on completion of the degree, or had enrolled with that goal in mind but had
since changed or lost their positions. The clear link between degree-holder status and
promotion meant that, despite demonstrated on-the-job experience, ‘having a diploma is
holding me back’ [71:1:197]. As well as hedging bets against unemployment in a
competitive work force where ‘everybody’s taking courses’ [8:1:95], the possession of a
degree was directly linked to salary as; ‘those with a degree get very well paid’ [44:1:252].
Consequently, study was pragmatically calculated as an investment and the economics of
enrolment carefully considered, much like one might purchase stocks and shares:

I might not get my investment back …this course costs us $24,000; after
graduation you must actually find a job that pays you $1000 for every extra
year and then in twenty-four years you break even. I will not get my money
back in terms of the value of the course that I have actually incurred.
[22:1:242-249]

Apart from monetary return, students hoped that the BET degree would provide a
professional qualification that was directly transferable to the workplace. Some sought
this independently, whilst others were encouraged (and sometimes financially supported)
by their managers and HR departments. Almost without exception, the students sought
learning that they could ‘apply straight away in the workplace’ and that would enable them
to see ‘the workplace in a different perspective’ [30:1:302].

Credibility and status

I was looking at my friends’ business cards, and you have a string of

degrees after the name. [23:1:113-116]

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The students frequently recounted that undertaking the BET program gave them
‘tremendous self confidence’ [51:1:94-96]. In general, this occurred as a result of
increased credibility in the workplace and/or status as a degree holder. In practical terms,
credibility meant being able to justify why ‘things [were] done that way…[supporting an
argument by reference to the literature]… ‘this theory, so and so, say so’ [51:1:94-96].
Several people candidly spoke of the added advantages of being able to convince
colleagues of the merits of an idea by ‘using correct languages…seems a bit
scientific…since they are not willing to go and browse through a library and come up with
something else’ [76:1:177-184].

Like HRD staff in many countries, BET students were often teaching others because they
were subject matter experts, however they recognised that they had no foundational
educational knowledge; ‘because we know a certain job it is assumed we are able to
teach, which I think is a big fallacy‘ [76:1:54-56]. These students were also seeking
credibility, but for them application of learning was sought at what was possibly a more
sophisticated level; ‘[I] really do not have any grounding to be able to say, “I have a theory
behind this”…BET opens a new view and the books correlate things’ [28:1:25-30]. In
other words, in many cases self-confidence grew because BET learning was validating
students’ practice and providing formal recognition of their prior learning experiences.

The ability to converse with management as an intellectual equal was also linked to self-
confidence and another frequently mentioned benefit of BET learning. As one student
shared; ‘I deal with a lot of school principals…sometimes they kind of look at you like, oh,
OK, you are not the same level…My boss will say “Bloom’s taxonomy”…well before, God
knows what is Bloom’s taxonomy! But sometimes I understand now ’[36:1:95-99].

Apart from status and credibility in the workplace, status in society was also discussed.
Respondents said that status in Singapore was important. They referred to their current
or past roles (e.g. trainer, waiter) as low status and sought the titles of higher status jobs
such as ‘consultant’ or ‘professional’. The feeling that society would ‘look at me differently’
[26:1:165] because of academic credentials was quite ubiquitous.

Self-actualisation and contribution to society.

It must be said that this category was in the minority in comparison with the preceding
two, however quite a few of the students had more altruistic motivations for undertaking
the program. These students spoke of wanting to acquire knowledge; becoming
enlightened and seeking self-actualisation, taking time out for reflection and ‘looking from

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a different point of view [which] will help me think better’ [46:1:91-100]. Several of these
people were also in community groups (predominantly religious or ‘uniform groups’ such
as boys/girls’ brigade) and wanted to ‘be a better person…help other people…it’s more
like a vocation’ [74:1:149-151]. Others were seeking ways to pass on their years of
knowledge and experience to others in society; ‘I still have another sixteen to twenty
years of my life I can contribute’ [35:1:26]. It was also this group of respondents who
were more likely to refer to their learning as enjoyable; ‘you feel good about it’ [74:1:120].

Some, although relatively few, of the respondents spoke of a desire to continue on with
studies after the BET program. They spoke of Masters studies and PhD studies in terms
of ‘a dream’. At the time of the research some students were just beginning to consider
further study, often to their own surprise.

Choice of program

Given the previous discussion about streaming in compulsory education leading to lack of
choice in study topics and therefore career, it is perhaps not surprising that a pervading
reason for the choice of the BET program was that the students were actually interested
in most of the subjects. Despite (as one student observed) the fact that students were in
a buyers’ market, where they could potentially chose any number of business related
courses for a significantly lower financial outlay, the subjects that made up the BET were
seen by many as directly relevant to their current and future work lives and therefore
interesting. Moreover the nature of the course content, which was perceived as easily
transferable between global organisations was seen as a positive, as is beautifully
illustrated by the following, typically Singaporean, food analogy:

The subjects I could use for any industry...it doesn’t mean the chopsticks
can’t be used for noodles and rice only, you can use for anything, barbeque
too! [35:1:176-181]

Why ‘The University’?

Students related a range of reasons for choosing ‘The University’, most of which would
doubtless disappoint the university’s marketing department. Whilst some (in fact a
minority) of the students researched the course via the university’s website, the most
popular sources of information were (in ranked order); friends, previous students, and
Singaporean government departments (as predicted by a Senior manager of IDP, and
reported in chapter three). Students did have concerns about whether the course would
be recognised in Singapore. The previously mentioned ‘phantom’ approved universities
list (chapter three) was sought out, and friends in the civil service had been approached

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for advice by at least a quarter of the students. As they said: ‘…our government always
looks at the recognised degrees…the list is unofficial because the MOE don’t want to
commit themselves’ [8:1:106-109], and ‘there is no use…to register at a university and
later find it is not really recognised, or maybe the quality might not be there’ [20:1:298-
310].

Very few respondents related that the decision making process actually rested on the fact
that the course was at ‘The University’. Those that did were of the opinion that ‘The
University’ was a ‘reputable’ or ‘very credible’ institution; one mentioned that it was ‘one of
the top ten I think’ (this information had in fact been presented during orientation
[BET3:1:116]). However, where prestige was a consideration, others clearly would have
preferred to have attended a Singaporean university if they had had the chance; ‘of
course, if you are NUS or NTU student [level of prestige and recognition] is different’
[8:1:188]. Several respondents thought that the BET program was the only HRD degree
available in Singapore. In fact this was not correct, as there was one other program that I
was able to identify. Only one respondent said he had considered that program and he
did eventually choose to enrol with ‘The University’ because it was ‘more prestigious’
[35:1:186]).

Of note however, is the position of the Singapore Institute of Management (SIM) in the
decision-making process. The fact that SIM was the partner institution was mentioned
favourably by around half the respondents and for many ‘SIM obviously is my first choice’
[4:1:99]. The students had faith that ‘SIM is a recognised body, so they couldn’t just
collaborate with any a,b,c university, it would reflect back on them’ [20:1:382]. Students
were of the opinion that in the partnership between the university and SIM, SIM would be
the arbiters of quality, to ‘ensure the standard must be there’ [8:1:121]. In fact some
students relied solely on this, placing their faith in SIM because; ‘I am not sure what is a
good Uni, so I just chance SIM’ [44:1:378]. Still others were diploma graduates of SIM
and ‘just carried on with them’ [66:1:411].

Other factors that informed the selection of the university included; pacing of the course,
match with lifestyle, ability to commit time and money to the course, articulation to
Masters level and, finally, ‘this seemed to be the easiest one to acquire’ [22:1:227].

Discussion of normative experiences

It would seem then, that for the BET students, whilst the Singaporean economic focus is
posing challenges to the much-discussed ‘Asian family values’, nevertheless family bonds

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remain strong and, as forecast in chapter five, the possibility that education could break
through social barriers and provide status to the entire family was a key motivator. For
many of the student respondents who came from ‘migrant stock’ (chapter three, page 39)
socio-economic constraints and class barriers initially posed significant disincentives to
the quest for further learning. Such difficulties, however, were not seen as insurmountable
and, even if many years passed before the opportunity arose, the chance to gain a
tertiary education and possibly improve the family’s economic and social situation was
taken if it was at all feasible.

Frequently however, the students’ compulsory and foundational learning experiences had
resulted in learned passivity, which in adulthood and the workplace they had come to
resent. Similarly, many of the students had left formal schooling with a very negative
impression of the role of the teacher and as an unsurprising outcome of the combination
of these factors was that they often discounted academic learning as constricting,
uncreative and a hardship that must be suffered along with other pressures in life. In light
of this discussion it may be surprising to the outside observer that the students enrolled in
the BET program at all. However it is important to the author that the difficulties
discussed in the preceding paragraphs should not be read as a litany of complaints from
the students. These stories were simply interpolated in the interviews along with the
positive and the bland. The students seemed to just ‘get on with it’, no matter what the
potential cost and whether the learning experience was likely to be pleasant or otherwise.

Although students were predominantly pragmatically focused on the betterment of their

socio-economic status and the immediate application of their learning and degree-holder
status to their working lives, the students nevertheless enrolled in the program with a mix
of motivations. Whilst a host of factors played a role in selection of a university, in this
aspect the BET students behaved in a manner that could be predicted for a collectivist
society, relying predominantly on the opinions of those close to them. Prestige was a
factor for some, however the local institutions were in fact seen as the most prestigious –
although unattainable – options, and therefore local institutions were relied upon as
arbiters of quality.

Once enrolled, students sometimes found that the program validated their current
practice and prior learning. This gave them increased confidence, which in turn enabled
them to establish greater credibility in the workplace and reciprocally reinforced their
higher status. Therefore, for the majority of students, aims in attending the program were
at least partially realised. This did not mean, however, that they were entirely satisfied

185
with the learning as a process, nor that they could not make excellent suggestions for
improvements to the program. These points will be the focus of the remainder of this
chapter.

Epistemic beliefs
The nature of learning

When considering the students’ epistemologies, it is worthwhile noting that they were
actually enrolled in a course which taught about different epistemological and
pedagogical approaches, and that in most cases this content was taught by lecturers who
modelled constructivist, ‘adult learning’ behaviours. Therefore learning was occurring on
several levels and a change in epistemic perception during the program would be
expected; as one student explained ‘[I was] learning new things…and I also learned a
different style and mode of learning’ [26:1:18-20]. Certainly some students moved more
towards favouring a more constructivist paradigm during the program, whilst others
remained more comfortable with their familiar learning experiences.

The past experiences of many students still acutely affected their thoughts about learning.
The words ‘hard’ and ‘hardship’ were used several times to describe the journey to
acquisition of knowledge, which could be expected to involve ‘some sacrifice’ [4:1:35] and
‘very hard work’ [33:1:376]. For some respondents, those who learned were perceived
altruistically as a ‘better person’ and were ‘holders of wisdom…[which] money cannot
buy…you have something that is going to bring you on the next journey of your life’
[26:1:526].

In undertaking this learning journey, typical BET students eagerly sought new knowledge,
which it seems that the majority viewed as something that was essentially received: either
transmitted by the lecturer, through the literature or other formal means. This initial
‘reception’ was very important to most students and, for them, an understanding of
foundational knowledge was seen a crucial step to be undertaken prior to the later
development of deep and critical learning. For many, only once knowledge was received
and digested could it be checked against students’ own experiences to see ‘whether it
makes sense or not’ [22:1:9-10]. This finding supports the work of Pratt et al. (1999) and
will be revisited in the concluding chapter.

The students’ epistemologies were very clear in relation to the interplay between
knowledge creation and application. Once foundational knowledge was received from

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experts, a process of understanding and contextualisation seemed to culminate in
application. In short, for the majority of the students, without application, learning was not
highly valued; ‘we are after some value add. We are after something that we can apply in
the workplace. It’s praxis actually’ [28:1:456-465]. Typical comments supporting this view
include that learning was made ‘real’ and interesting by application and that you do not
‘really learn’ until you have applied knowledge. Indeed, the teacher who could provide
‘real life examples that he or she has experience with’ [35:1:568-569] was valued as a
translator of learning. A minority of students discussed application in a more holistic
context; ‘learning should be applicable to our life…not just work work work’ [46:1:18-20].

Several students spoke of the importance of reflection and valued the opportunity to
examine their own world view in relation to those of others (particularly ‘experts’). In fact,
people typically described learning as an opportunity to access different perspectives;
‘looking beyond what I have in capacity just by me’ [26:1:5]. Vision-related analogies were
used to describe changes in perspective through the acquisition of knowledge, for
example; ‘eye opening’ [44:1:10], ‘seeing things in a different light’ [19:1:16] and ‘a new
view’ [28:1:28]. In this context, learning was perceived as something that was always
going on, ‘never static’ [28:1:9] where one ‘consciously tries to learn every day’ [74:1:12].

Locus of responsibility

As recounted in the previous chapter, students were initially resistant to self-directed

learning strategies. The interviews recurrently indicate that students came to the program
with expectations that the teacher would be the central source of learning. Moreover, it
was the teacher who would motivate the students, ‘make it easy for us to be interested’
[40:1:792-793], reduce ambiguity and ‘make me think’ [20:1:635]. Provision of literature
in the form of subject readings and in-class handouts was also viewed as the
responsibility of the lecturer, who was expected to supply; ‘a bag of references….don’t
send us searching for it…you have taken your years to look at certain authors and say go
for them’ [40:1:796-797]. Furthermore, it was viewed as the lecturers’ responsibility to
ensure that references from the literature were linked to classroom discussion and
ultimately to requirements for exams. The following comment illustrates the thinking
behind this: ‘bring relevant readings in, then it makes sense, this reading belongs here
and for this reading I can extend my thought…[if the teacher] just tell the framework and
ask us to read…sometimes we don’t see the connection [30:1:198-200]. Ultimately, apart
from the need to follow directions and ‘work hard’, the responsibility of the student was
notable for its almost total lack of discussion. In short, this component of the interviews

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certainly supports the stereotype of the ‘passive Asian student’, at least at
commencement of study. This issue will be further considered later in this chapter.

What is the ‘right answer’?

Reduction of ambiguity

Given the students’ previous discussion of early learning experiences, it is unsurprising

that they reported high levels of discomfort with ambiguity. For example; ‘where there is
too much diversity of opinion…if the readings are all different and they disagree with each
other…I felt was it overwhelming…for my background this is not good’ [22:1:70-87]. After
all, the students were used to ‘being told how to draw an apple’ (page 179). Consequently
many expected that the role of the lecturers was to make the ‘right answer’ clear, and
certainly not to exacerbate ambiguity by introducing conflicting theories, confusion and
argument. As one student said, it; ‘turns me off when you have something that is very
ambiguous…worst off if it’s the lecturer can’t explain to you thoroughly’’ [35:1:32-35].
Another spoke of the stifling confusion she felt when faced with her inability to reconcile
conflicting concepts and theories; ‘in one subject [mimes a huge pile of papers] pages,
still you don’t know where it goes…I really cannot!’ [66:1:306-308].

Authorised knowledge

My diploma is closed book [exams]….Ok so we memorise a lot of

concepts.... At first I felt like, oh good with the open book [exams] you can
find the answers, but that assumption is wrong! Because it is more on your
thinking ability and how you apply it…so I find this thing is hard. [70:1:143].

The above quote illustrates the watershed realisation of one student that ‘the right
answers’ may not exist. For students who had a teacher-centred locus of responsibility;
who believed that knowledge was received as something external to oneself; who lived in
a society where government monitored public critique; and who sought a thorough
foundational knowledge of a topic prior to analysis or application, the following comments
are not surprising:

Take this view, there are certain considerations…take the other view… If
there are so many of this views then you had better watch your idea… we
are really new to this learning! For example, when discussing sensitive
things…we are also being very cautious, so we will not dare to pick one so-
called strong views about it and try it on unless it has been proven and has
been shown…other people, you start to evaluate from their mistake.
[22:1:74-87]

I actually find I am correct according to the book…by reading the book I find
solace in that. [76:1:134-136]

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 I would rather if the lecturer says very specifically this is the necessary
background that we need, what we can draw the conclusion…these are the
theories you must know, go and read about it…[40:1:279-282]

These quotes demonstrate aspects of the same previously reported phenomena:

students were cautious about their own thought processes and tentative in forming
opinions. They seemed to seek ‘authorised knowledge’ and to have their thoughts
legitimised by the lecturer. As another respondent explains; ‘With exams, the threat of
‘right or wrong’ needs to be removed, then I am free to argue my case’ [30:1:470-71].
Clearly, this epistemological stance is inextricably linked to assessment and will also be
revisited later in this chapter (please see page 200).

Epistemology: discussion

In summary, knowledge was viewed by the students as something that had the capacity
to be transformational: to make one a ‘better person’. However it was not something that
was gained easily or without sacrifice. Whilst foundational knowledge could be gained
from exposure to different perspectives, interviews suggest that, at least initially, students
sought knowledge in an instrumental form; efficiently transferred from the storehouses of
‘the experts’. Learning then needed to be internalised before ‘real’ understanding and
subsequent critique could take place, and the ultimate proof of understanding and
mastery was application.

Apart from the need to follow directions and ‘work hard’, the responsibility of the student
was notable for its almost total lack of discussion. In short, this aspect of these interviews,
including the observations of the students themselves, support the stereotype of the
‘passive Asian student’, at least at commencement of the program. Many students sought
to reconcile and find harmony in the opposing viewpoints. Indeed it came as a revelation
to many that there was, in fact, frequently no ‘one right answer’ that lecturers were
seeking, and it is likely that some never actually realised that.

Thus it would seem that students were influenced by their normative experiences and it
stands to reason that, in general, they were tentative about forming opinions. They
preferred knowledge to be presented in a clear and unambiguous manner and it seems
likely that they would have preferred an ‘efficient transferral’ mode of learning if such a
thing were available. However they were about to embark on a new learning journey
delivered by people who, in many respects, held quite different epistemological and
pedagogical assumptions. Hence, both parties were entering new cultural territory.

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Pedagogy
Program design and cohesion

It is appropriate to discuss students’ comments about the overall design of the BET
program at this juncture, as this directly relates to their responses to pedagogies.

Programs equivalent to the BET in Australia offered twenty-four contact hours per
subject. However the offshore programs’ contact time had been compacted from an initial
eighteen hours to approximately fifteen hours per subject (the difference was supposed to
be made up in individual reading time). However, as one student highlighted; ‘if the class
starts ten minutes late, we break for half an hour and finish ten minutes early, we only
have two and quarter hours of class…at the end of the day it is actually only twelve hours
or so’ [30:1:216-222]. In addition, other administrative and evaluative tasks predictably
took time. As a consequence, the majority of the students would agree with their
classmates who said that whilst subject classroom time was sufficient to pass an
assignment, it was definitely insufficient for ‘total understanding…[which would] take
much longer..[22:1:204-213] nor ‘to ever be able to internalise in such a short space of
time’ [28:1:1151-1160]. In fact, there were a significant number of comments about the
course being ‘…just surface…just run through theory…not much in depth’ [66:1:295-298].
The following quote from a student interview illustrates one respondent’s thought
processes and resulting concerns about the depth of learning:

In lecturer A’s assignment I had to use some of lecturer B’s work… So I had
to go in and pick up his notes and then look at it again…so there had been
no internalising. And I thought…you didn’t teach me, you know? And I
stopped and asked myself; ‘am I on the right track’? [35:1:144-154]

This was not an isolated comment. Others expressed similar concerns, e.g. ‘sometimes I
am not too sure, are we learning?’ [8:1:250-254] and ‘I am supposed to know a lot of
things, but in reality, no’ [76:1:432-473]. This concern about lack of depth and
opportunities for internalisation was almost always mentioned in the context of the
compacted nature of the program. Another frequently-mentioned issue was the break
between subjects. This break period was about two weeks on average, and several
students commented this was insufficient to allow them to ‘retire and reflect’ [19:1:36]
before commencing allocated reading for the next subject. In reality, many had overdue
assignments backed up and were trying to read for the next subject before completing the
previous one, so subjects were ‘really one after another…really at the end of the day, do
you think we can possibly think?’ [30:1:411-422].

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Finally several students also commented that they did not understand the ‘big picture’ of
how the subjects should link together. They wanted to know ‘this is what we are going to
share with you…how it will fit in relationship to your organisation and…how it is going to
be driven’ [22:1:376-379] and as one observed; ‘I am trying to link this module to other
modules but I haven’t been able to until today’ [3:1:108-112]. Respondents (correctly in
my view) highlighted that some foundational subjects seemed to be scheduled after more
advanced subjects, and that subjects that should naturally follow each other would have
an unrelated topic inserted in between, hence the entirety of the course had no logical
consistency and ‘you forget and you’re totally lost’ [14:1:195]. However, the students
recognised that all these comments were made with the benefit of hindsight. They
recognised that they had been their own worst enemies and talked about marketing
education in Singapore as a nightmare. In their own words:

At first we thought, oh better, even faster [completion]….I think now all of us

regret that. [14:1:186-187]

So now I’m saying that we would like things to be compact but we are not
ready for a compact program. It’s conflicting demands. And I’m very sure if
the program was four years we would say; ‘Can you shorten it’? [76:1:423-
430]

Preferred pedagogical processes

Consequently we enter discussion of students’ responses to pedagogies in the context of

the preceding discussion of normative experiences, the epistemological stances they had
developed as a result of their life experiences and the program’s compacted design. As
would be expected each had a different impact on each individual, and as with any group
of students in any country, responses to questions about preferred teaching and learning
styles were varied. The style of one lecturer would be admired and idealised by one
student, yet disliked by another. Certainly, as one student observed, and many of their
classmates agreed; ‘different styles suit different groups and different content’ [30:1:401].
Nevertheless, there were significant patterns of agreement in the students’ pedagogical
preferences, as the following paragraphs will relate.

In commencing discussion of preferred pedagogies it is worthwhile remembering that the

respondents to this research are probably an atypical group of ‘Asian’ students, in that
they were either professional corporate trainers themselves or aspired to be so. As such,
in their workplaces they had practised and/or been exposed to a broad range of
pedagogies and learning technologies. Indeed, Singapore’s globalised work force and
economic focus meant that quite a few of the students, especially those who worked for

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multinational companies, had experienced an impressive array of contemporary HRD
methods from around the world. The following ‘dot point list’ is extracted from interviews
and is not exhaustive but representative of the breadth of students’ work-related learning
experiences:

• on-the-job learning;

• outdoor adventure learning;

• mentoring;

• training and assessment centres;

• interactive ‘games’;

• traditional classrooms in the workplace;

• computer based learning of various levels of sophistication;

• Japanese learning technologies (e.g. morning ‘stand-up meetings’, and ‘JUKU’ - a

Japanese term that translates to ‘extracurricular school’ (Russell, 1997));

• role play;

• focus groups;

• Toastmasters;

• residential programs; and

• video feedback.

Possibly as a result of students’ resistance to their early learning experiences, quite a few
had embraced many of the above-mentioned contemporary ‘Western’ HRD methods and
spoke of favouring experiential type activities. However there was some tension between
the methodologies they said they appreciated as trainers, and the way they reacted to
constructivist and self-directed pedagogies as students.

BET students typically spoke of wanting to escape the restrictive learning of their past, yet
aspects of that background remained evident when they discussed their preferred
pedagogies as students. Several respondents were well aware of this contradiction. As
one reflected; ‘Singaporeans among ourselves we like to say, that we’re very open…and
then when people observe us the answer is that actually it is not true. So I think it is a
different standard…a different yardstick’ [49:1:340-343]. It does seem possible however,
that the BET group may have commenced the program more acculturated to Western
learning paradigms than any other randomly selected group of adult students. As one of

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the students suggested; ‘let’s say if you were teaching accountancy for example, they
would be less participative’ [68:1:230].

Therefore, whilst students accepted that teacher-centred pedagogies were entirely

suitable in some circumstances e.g. ‘there are times when you need to be didactic…’
[35:1:268-272], by the time they commenced the BET program they generally disliked
what they considered overly theoretical and didactic pedagogies, which they considered
‘boring’ [23:1:287]. The following examples illustrate:

• I personally don’t like lecturers who focus on PowerPoint…and especially lecturers

who read from the text. Of course it still depends on how you solicit the process.
But reading out I don’t like because I would rather read the book myself. [51:1:33-
35];

• To do a very theoretical or very lecture based…can be quiet effective…but is quite

boring. [3:1186-188]; and

• One who just stand at the rostrum and talk about it, ak, ak ,ak, heh…then you are
just listening and after that you will just slump. [20:1:329-330]

The students thought it fundamental for a lecturer to; ‘engage with the students…there
must be communication’ [20:1:337-340], and this was a key motivator for attending
classes rather than taking on-line learning. Especially because classes were quite late at
night, after work, and on Saturdays, students preferred lecturers who were able to ‘ask
questions that make me want to respond and get you alive’ [74:1:68-69] otherwise ‘it’s so
easy to loose track of what’s going on and just daydream. And you just like, listen
zombified and you are thinking; “what is he talking about?”’ [14:1:73-75]. Engagement
with the lecturer and other students was seen to provide a higher quality learning
experience. Increased understanding was seen as a benefit of experiential technologies;
‘experiential you can definitely remember better because you are participating and
experiencing and nothing can replace that…the “aha” [74:1:17-20].

Small group processes

By the students’ own accounts then, engagement was crucial to learning.

Correspondingly, small-group exchange and the processing of learning was consistently
recommended as a pedagogical tool for a variety of reasons: it encouraged engagement;
it had the capacity to break through after-work boredom; it enabled sharing of
experiences; and, if used judiciously, was viewed as a means to help with the problem of
lack of time for reflection and reading, for example:

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 • …listening to the lecturer is one thing, but I am very sure with my needs I have got
to read it at least three times to get a feel for what is happening [23:1:320-322];
and

• … you go away and do a little bit of class discussion and presentation – that’s
good…everybody reads an article, that’s also a good thing because we can never
read everything. [40:1:819-824]

The sharing of views in small groups was described as ‘providing insight’ [46, 34], and
was consequently valued and considered important. However such sharing of experience
was clearly not perceived as being ‘real learning’ if it was independent of lecturer input
and immediate feedback, as the following comments attest; ‘don’t do it all the time just
with groups, because if you don’t point us the way and come back…you must go and find
out the answers’ [40:1:810-812], and ‘he wasted our time, wasted the whole module!
Every lesson break into groups and discuss. Discuss what?!…’ [20:1:778-781].

It also seems very likely that many students experienced frustration when syndicate work
lead to what they perceived as an ambiguous outcome. This seems related to the
preceding epistemological discussions of authorised knowledge. Students apparently
believed that the transfer of learning would be improved if immediate critical feedback (as
to whether the group’s response was ‘correct’) was more forthcoming from lecturers. In
fact several spoke of a desire for negative feedback, rather than ‘polite’ interactions from
the lecturer; ‘then I will be able to tell whether OK you guys are weak in this, all I need to
focus more on this’ [23:1:161-165], and; ‘…right or wrong, steer us you know? We may
be fifty percent wrong but we still learn’ [40:1:288-289]. However, it must be said that in at
least one case (e.g. refer to case discussed on page 170) this claim was not supported by
group behaviours and consequently it would seem that in fact, constructive criticism,
whilst possibly appreciated, would need to be delivered with great sensitivity, especially
in a group situation.

Perhaps paradoxically, despite the perceived importance of small-group work, it is

noteworthy that the majority of students did not desire a predominance of small-group
methodologies, especially not to the exclusion of lecturer input ‘contact time’. By way of
illustration, several respondents commented that they did not want to spend time that
they considered ‘wasted’ on preparation for group presentations in class:

…contact with the teacher is precious, our contact time is only limited hours,
really what we need is a contact with [the lecturer] more than the process
among ourselves. Three hours of contact time in class just to do preparation

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 is a waste of time. Because lecturer contact time is meaningful…it really
makes you think. [20:1:624-627, 635-643]

Evidently therefore, students wanted lecturers to use stimulating methods that would
maintain their interest. They sought the opportunity to share, compare and validate
work/life experiences with classmates, as well as the learning that emerged from that
process, but at the same time they were anxious for the lecturer to provide sufficient
cognitive input to enable them to develop understanding and subsequently get them
successfully through the upcoming assessment tasks. Consequently, while they valued
small-group interaction, they valued interaction with the lecturer even more. It seems
likely that the apparent paradox found in students’ respect for small-group learning,
contrasted with a desire for less of it, is explained by the combination of pressurised time
frames and the previously-mentioned need for access to ‘authorised knowledge’.

However, there was one aspect of small-group work which most of the students would
agree was crucial: the majority of respondents reported that they were significantly more
likely to actively participate when in small groups rather than in the combined class.
Moreover, most participants agreed that individual participation was important and at the
same time, difficult to obtain, in the ‘Asian’ classroom. Many also struggled with their own
frustrations over this, as the following citations reveal:

• Nobody says anything because everybody is so afraid to give a wrong

answer…whenever the lecturer asks a question I don’t respond because…I am
not sure…I may be misleading my fellow course mates. [14:1:600-603]

• Oh, better not speak because people might laugh at me, I might say the wrong
thing. [68:1:234]

• It’s either he doesn’t know so he doesn’t get involved, or he knows but he can’t
manage an argument, so he doesn’t get involved. So in that silence is a win-win
situation. [49:1:372-374]

• I just hang there and think; ‘if someone says something I can carry on with that’. I
piggyback sometimes, unless you direct a question to me…if nobody says
anything everyone just keeps quiet. [14:1:604-608]

• If you do not know, you don’t say so, then nobody knows you are incompetent.
[49:1:360-362]

• [During small group work] I will step in and give a lot of my questions then…
[14:1:611]

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Consequently it seems that small-group work provided an opportunity for otherwise silent
students to discuss their learning in a ‘safe environment’ and several respondents
reported that they saved their questions for small-group opportunities. This ‘saving of
questions’ also correlates with the desire for lecturer validation of small-group work. In
seeking immediate lecturer feedback, answers to questions could be sought in an
anonymous manner, which would ameliorate issues of embarrassment and ‘face’ saving.

‘Linking’ and structure

Related to the importance of feedback from lecturers was the fact that a significant
number of respondents believed a key responsibility of the lecturer was to validate or ‘link’
classroom discussion to ‘authorised knowledge’. Furthermore, many respondents also
thought the lecturer should explicitly link classroom process and subject content to
upcoming assessment tasks, for example:

• It is very important for the lecturer to complete everything and I can get the full
picture…if I am given drips of the picture I cannot give you my opinion because I
have got no picture… [14:1:609-613]

• Start with an intent and purpose…what are we doing here in the first place?…I
would be very uncomfortable in a learning setting that does not tell you why you
are here, what are you learning for. [22:1:286-298]

Another form of linking that was highly valued was to ‘real life’ or the workplace:

• It’s all about how you link it to theory and the workplace. [49:1:368];

• If you can see an immediate application I find that the most rewarding. [36:1:156];
and

• Singaporeans are looking for things…that they can relate to…they want to take
away something really useful…so you have got to ensure that that happens.
[35:1:551-555]

It seems likely that both types of ‘linking’ are related to a desire for clarity and
understanding that is accessed through structure (hence reduction of ambiguity),
authorised knowledge, and application. Students notably appreciated lecturers who could
discuss theory, explain complex concepts in clear and uncomplicated terms, link theory
and course content to real life examples, and point out whereabouts in the literature
further authorised knowledge could be found. Students in fact noted that whilst they
considered some lecturers ‘poor’ at delivering such structure at first, individual lecturers

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‘improved’ and were able to provide more appropriate structure as the lecturer’s familiarity
with students’ needs increased.

The responsibilities of teacher and student: self-directed learning

We would have appreciated self-directed more if we have more time.
[19:1:661]

Whether or not the time constraint issues so frequently mentioned by students are valid in
the context of comparison with students in other nations (and some lecturers suggested
that Singaporeans may not be any more pressured than mature-aged students in
Australia), the above quotation summarises perfectly the response of the group to self-
directed learning strategies. Students observed that lecturers came to Singapore; ‘using
methods they used in Australia and thinking that adults all should be self-directed’, but as
another respondent highlighted, ‘not everybody is. It requires time for us to go through
that mode’ [20:1:681-682]. Evidently, in the Singapore context, time constraints were a
defensible factor in two ways: it took time for students (and lecturers) to adjust to the new
learning culture, and it also took time to undertake the tasks that self-directed learning
requires (such as independent reading, reflection and research, particularly when English
was not the students’ mother tongue, and academic English was all the more foreign).

By their own description, students were used to being ‘spoon fed’ when it came to the
issue of access to literature. In their view, they had paid a large sum of money for the
course and consequently expected each subject to be preceded by the arrival of a
comprehensive kit of readings and preferably learning aids that would help them to
translate key concepts in the literature, because; ‘We are working adults, we do not sit in
front of computer. We need those notes to read while travelling, while working, you
know…’[10:1:237-239]. The concept of self-directed research was relatively alien to them,
and whilst some students purchased and avidly read recommended texts (and many had
read the latest ‘management guru’ best sellers) it is doubtful that the majority of students
spent any significant time in the library, although there are notable exceptions to this
observation. However the latter point is not something that is peculiar to Singaporean
undergraduate students and whilst individual self-directed study may have often been
alien and challenging, notably many of the BET students organised after class study
groups entirely independently, some of which were highly valued by their participants.

In relation to individual self-directed study, there was initially a great deal of resistance to
requirements to conduct on-line literature searches. There seemed to be two pragmatic
reasons for this. In the first instance on-line access was interpreted as computer based

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learning (which was considered a less valuable learning alternative and not what students
had paid ‘top dollar’ for). Secondly, many students reported having technological difficulty
accessing the university’s website and downloading the materials. The following
comments explain:

…we want to put our valuable time to read…[encouraging self-direction

through online research and downloading articles] doesn’t really work…we
have to rely on one of our best friends who has done all the hard work for
eleven hours [downloading and printing]. [20:1:90-108]

I think it is a load of crap…to me I don’t buy that [students should know how
to download literature due to copyright restrictions]…we were very perturbed
with that approach by a well established university to come and tell us to do
it on the web…don’t get us wrong…I have done a lot of [computer based
learning]…but I have got to go there and tackle a slow modem… [28:1:139-
234]

As can be seen in the first quote above, students found a way around the intention that
they learn how to find an article in on-line journals; they simply arranged for one class
member to do it and then everyone photocopied the articles: perhaps another collectivist
solution to an individualist problem.

However, whilst there is no doubt in my mind (having witnessed the difficulties first hand)
that internet speed and the failings of the university’s website to load in a realistic time
frame in Singapore were real issues, it is also likely that some of the resistance to self-
directed methodologies was a result of a Singaporean predilection for everything to be
provided in a quickly and easily accessible format. This issue caused much angst
between the class and lecturers and has been discussed elsewhere in this thesis (see
pages 91, 151, 198), however in terms of self-directed learning, it demonstrates rather
well the extent to which misinterpretation of motives based on cultural assumptions (in
this case, ‘the way things are done’ and the role of teacher and student) can sully the
waters of well intentioned pedagogies. Ultimately, many students did learn to conduct
independent literature searches and recognise that this was a valuable academic and
professional skill, but it took time.

Inductive versus deductive learning

Another strong pattern of preference from the student interviews indicates that the
majority of respondents had a preference for inductive rather than deductive pedagogies.
This finding seems logical in the light of the earlier suggestion that the students generally
thought of knowledge as external to the self and sought a transferral of foundational

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knowledge from experts. Interviews are replete with quotations that suggest such a
preference, as the following dot point list demonstrates:

• I must understand the formula in order to apply it. [23:1:78];

• You would expect a lot of info first, a lot of notes… [19:1:607-615];

• Give a little of the theory…after that have experiential time. [49:1:365-369];

• Give a solution, right, don’t just leave them alone and in the lurch. [64:1:187];

• I have to really understand the subjects through and through before I can make
any comment or may any sense of it. [23:1:65-66]; and

• In terms of problem-based facilitation…if the learners don’t have time to go and

get their base knowledge and do the necessary research it is going to be back to
square one, and be very lecturer-driven. [49:1:286-288].

Building relationships and credibility

Student interview transcripts regularly suggest that lecturers needed to understand

participants and that students appreciated lecturers who made the effort to get to know
group members and consequently understood their work roles and learning needs. This
was a frequently-mentioned expectation and was intrinsically related to lecturers’ ability to
customise pedagogy; ‘You have to know the kind of class you have, you have to adapt it
to the needs of the group’ [19:1:569-572]. Students reported that this enabled lecturers to
provide examples that would illustrate complex concepts and translate them to a
student’s ‘real world’ at the personal level. Consequently relationships were considered
important, both within and external to the classroom, as the following quotations
demonstrate;

You should catch up with your students before your course starts…meet up
with them, that will help, and say this is what we are going to do. [14:1:540-
542]

[Lecturer] is teaching…he doesn’t really relate…I don’t think he has time to

find out what we do. [Another lecturer] does relate, and try to find out what
we do. He will start a new point and say; ‘for example in your company…’
and you will start to relate. That’s where I see the light. [64:205-213,225-227]

We need examples we can relate to. It’s very important because examples
are the most important when you learn difficult concepts…if we cannot relate
then we cannot understand it.[68:1:258-261]

Reciprocally students also wanted to know about the lecturers’ work lives. Whilst this
desire was in large part due to the students’ genuine and generous hospitality,

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friendliness and curiosity, it also extended beyond the formation of friendships to a more
practical level. In the classroom, the provision of examples via the relation of the
lecturer’s professional work-life experience to the subject matter was considered
fundamental to interesting and high-quality learning. In essence, the lecturers’ ability to
relate illustrative ‘stories’ from personal work experiences increased student
comprehension of complex concepts. Several respondents spoke of the desire for
lecturers to; ‘bring your experience and tell from your learning and examples’ and reacted
badly when it was not available; ‘oh go to this website and check this out, go to that
website…it’s like, I don’t want a directory, I want personal experience’ [10:1:83-84]. The
ability to meet this need provided certain lecturers with increased credibility and respect.
Unfortunately, where this capacity was lacking, it was definitely noted by students; ‘I think
the lecturers do not have enough experience outside the educational environment…the
whole idea of adult learning has to be relevant to what they are doing. Unfortunately
some lecturers failed to do that’ [34:1:53-62].

Unfortunately, the latter statement about lack of relevant experience was consistently
reinforced by students’ negative appraisal of several lecturers’ presentation skills. This
point was mentioned frequently and should be considered from the perspective that many
of the students were trainers whose daily life involved effective presentation skills.
Consequently lecturers who ‘broke all the rules of presentation’ [22:1:312-329] lost
credibility. According to students (and I also noticed this during classroom observation),
skills as basic as the ability to use overhead transparencies with readable content and
place them on the projector confidently, were sometimes lacking and this seemed
incongruous to many of the participants. As one commented; ‘I hate to attend those
training whereby they are teaching trainer how to be a good trainer and they themselves
don’t practise it’ [66:1:261-262].

Assessment

Contrary to the advice lecturers received prior to leaving Australia, examinations were not
a comfortable assessment milieu for the majority of BET students, even though (or
perhaps because), they had been so frequently exposed to them during compulsory
education. Several students agreed that; ‘if you took the exams away I don’t think [our
learning] would be any worse for it and we would be quite happy’ [74:1:308-310].
However, as previously mentioned, Singaporeans society still considered that
assessment was not really meaningful without exams. Whatever the format, however,

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assessment was fraught with challenges for students, as indicated in the following
paragraphs.

Time constraints were also raised as a problem by students in relation to exams and
assignments. Time frames for exams were set at the behest of the lecturer. Exams
usually occurred a week after the final class of each subject and ran for either two or
three hours. Several students complained that the two-hour time frame was
unreasonable. This does not seem to be merely a predictable complaint about exams, as
none of the students complained about the three-hour time frame. The two-hour exams
caused students significant difficultly and several questioned the pedagogical reasoning
behind the shorter time frame:

Very very rushed…are they trying to test your speedwriting? I am very very
disturbed by this. I can’t finish the last question and I am not sure what is the
purpose of this giving such a short time. Because you need to first think
through, second to express, third to make sure you phrase it correctly…
[8:1:275-291]

As is obvious in the preceding quotation, learning was not the only thing being tested
during exams: the concomitant requirements for English language translation and cross-
cultural interpretation of concepts evidently hampered some students’ capacity to excel,
particularly in the shorter exams. For many the prospect of an upcoming examination
raised anxiety to a level of ‘panic’, which as one respondent reported, resulted in ‘inability
to know what we are thinking about’ [3:1:299]. Assignments were also sources of
anxiety, although not to the same extent as exams. Assignments were due after the
conclusion of each subject and one subject rapidly followed another. Therefore, as
another student reflected, the program’s assessment focus was contrary to reflective
learning and resulted in him taking a pragmatic, narrow view of topics; ‘for my assignment
I must just focus on that particular topic…the rest that is related, I won’t consider. It is very
natural…I just need a degree’ [3:1:173-175].

Again, it seems likely that students’ assessment-related anxiety was at least partly due to
the previously-discussed search for a ‘correct answer’ or correct interpretation of
authorised knowledge. Whilst it could easily be argued that any student facing
assessment is likely to be anxious about interpretation, a major difference was that the
BET students’ search for a correct response was undertaken in the context of cross-
cultural assessment. Indeed it is at the point of assessment that students most frequently
mentioned cultural difference, which then became a matter of intense concern. It was as
though assessment brought students face-to-face with the requirement to interpret the

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‘alien’ thought patterns of the lecturers and they consistently spoke about struggling to
understand what the lecturers expected.

This struggle for understanding may explain why some students believed that increased
exposure to local examples and case studies would have been helpful. One student
explained that he wanted to see examples of how somebody had implemented the issue
at hand in Singapore, e.g. did the theory work in his context? Without such
contextualisation, for some students assessment became somewhat of a guessing game.
For example; ‘I will try to write it to suit your culture, not to suit my culture…but to write an
assignment for the culture of Australia you will be crippled’ [33:1:279] and ‘it is very
difficult for me to convert my experiences to your way of looking at things. It is completely
different way…so when I interpret is very difficult’ [26:1:448-450].

It would seem likely that this issue of cultural transferability further undermined the
pedagogical foundations and learning goals of assessment and reinforced a myopic
focus. Consequently, as a result of either their own perceived lack of capacity to
implement theories introduced in the course, or a disbelief that concepts or theories
would actually work in the Singaporean context, several students confessed that their
assignments were fictionalised accounts of workplace experiences, which simply reflected
what they thought the lecturers wanted to read.

Cultural issues were also raised in relation to questions and case studies in examinations.
The following comment (from a student in relation to a case study which the student
considered to be culturally biased) reinforces the need for those setting questions across
cultural boundaries to be particularly vigilant to assumptions about understanding; ‘I need
to imagine and presume they do that…I am not really understanding the background,
what she is doing in the case study…therefore I don’t really know how to explain’
[4:1:299-304].

Another finding from student interviews is related to the issue of freedom of choice and
flexibility in assessment (examples include ‘open questions’, ‘open book exams’ and
individual interpretation). Whilst the lecturers may have been thinking that some flexibility
in terms of assessment options would allow students the capacity to provide a range of
interpretations and thereby reduce anxiety, it would seem that paradoxically, it confused
and perplexed some of the students:

Teaching material and examination must have a link…it’s an open question

you know, I can write anything I want. [The lecturer] must look at which angle
[he is] talking about… [26:1:486,489]

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 The questions asked are very, wah, very wide and I’m trying to think what
should I write and what should I not write? [8:275-291]

As already discussed, some students sought examples of direct links between subject
content or likely exam or assessment topic content from lecturers. In terms of assessment
this was explained as an anxiety reduction strategy which actually allowed creativity: ‘we
want examples which will remove the ‘threat of right or wrong’ and allow [us] to focus
more on arguing a case. People would be much freer to think then’ [30:1:472-475].
However this also reinforces the view that students still assumed that their assessment
task was reproduction of ‘right or wrong’ authorised knowledge according to what they
imagined the assessor wanted.

At the same time, other students recognised that the pedagogical reasoning behind the
assessment methodologies had the capacity to maximise learning and as such was
notably different from the old Singaporean system; ‘in terms of problem-solving…you
cannot just memorise’ [19:1:148-15], and ‘it’s a valid process; they will ask you why you
do. If you can answer and support your argument you get points. There is no right and
wrong answer. You have to support what you say’ [33:1:137]. Of note however, is the
observation that an understanding of the requirements of the assessment system seemed
to come from the students who then expressed the most self-doubt. They made
observations such as; ‘The Australian system is based on a lot of thinking capabilities,
which, might be lacking [in me]’ [23:1:64-65], or ‘the open book concept is more on
application and you must be very fast thinking…I am weak at it…’ [70:1:111-121].

Student/lecturer interaction as a result of assessment

Such lack of confidence brings us to a discussion of sharing amongst students, and

ultimately to a discussion of ‘plagiarism’ (I place the world plagiarism in inverted commas
because there was disagreement amongst lecturers about what constituted plagiarism).
In response to such confusion, students reported that ‘within the class we share notes,
we share results, we share a disaster’ [40:1:879-881]. However this sharing was related
to examples of what did or did not constitute ‘valid process’, and was reported as
occurring ‘after the fact’ of assessment. Confusion on the issue of plagiarism continued
throughout the program, despite the fact that, as one student pointed out ‘three separate
teachers did teach us how to do referencing…we just don’t have a very good memory
about that’ [28:1:405].

Perhaps the students ‘lack of memory’ (or confusion) is not despite the fact that three
separate lecturers taught the students about academic presentation, but because of the

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fact that every lecturer had different expectations. The volume of references to this issue
throughout the interviews is very significant, but in summary, issues related to what
constituted appropriate academic writing, and in particular referencing and citations (and
therefore plagiarism), caused a great deal of angst. The following quotations represent
three slightly differing student perspectives on the issue:

Many of [the students] until today doesn’t know correct referencing because
every lecturer sets a different standard… better if everyone learns together,
the standard will be the same. [Some lecturers are] looking at very minor,
minor things, which I think shouldn’t be the case. Look at the content of the
essay itself, is that there or not there? … [26:1:388,395]

Different standards in marking, so my concern is it’s a very different kind of

perspective where the lecturer says, “this is good”, another guy says “this is
not very good”…the amount of effort I put in, for all the lecturers, all
assignments more or less very equal…and if the grading is very close, I can
accept you know, but if it’s H1 and H3 it’s a world of difference. [10:1:131-
137]

And [the lecturer] says our grammar is suspect…this is not what adult
learning is all about. We want you to come and tell us, be frank, I mean if we
are no good in English fine, we will improve on grammar and all those, but
don’t harp on the point…we want value added, tell us substance. We may
not be as articulate as Americans or as Australians to give you strong
bombastic words, but this is not a literature class… [28:1:456-465]

The above citations explicate the issue at hand eloquently enough to eliminate the need
for any further labouring of the point. It must also be stressed that students were not
entirely unrealistic about the issue. They generally accepted that; ‘yes, you must teach us
some academic style…some orderliness in presenting a paper that is universally
recognised…’ [28:1:1052-1054], and ‘if I am going to be a good graduate I should follow
standards', however they simply believed that ‘[the lecturer] has to little bit give way too’
[26:1:543-546].

Discussion: preferred pedagogies

Many respondents found that when they were in the role of undergraduate student they
struggled to shed the norms they had internalised as a result of their early learning
experiences. A case in point is the issue of engagement: students frequently spoke of
wanting to be engaged during class, however when in the role of student many did not
feel sufficiently comfortable to be able to vocalise questions or actively participate in the
main class. Correspondingly, small-group work emerged as a favoured pedagogy, but not
to the exclusion of direct lecturer input. This suggests that the BET students experienced

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a tension between the two pedagogical ‘worlds’, which impacted on their preferred
pedagogies.

Despite acculturation to constructivist methodologies, didactic milieus were still valued

because they were seen as a method for providing clarity and understanding that is
accessed through structure (hence reduction of ambiguity), authorised knowledge, and
application. This reinforces the notion that the students were seeking foundational
knowledge and relied on the lecturers as interpreters of theory and concepts. Inductive
methodologies were therefore preferred and lecturers who had relevant industry
experience were valued for their ability to illustrate complexities through stories. In the
view of the students, some lecturers were lacking sufficient ‘real world’ experience, which
consequently meant they were unable to make such translations.

Like most mature-aged students, the Singaporean students struggled with the competing
pressures of tight time frames and busy lives, but this was compounded by unfamiliarity
with independent learning strategies, and in many cases difficulty with English,
particularly academic English. Moreover many of the students were initially resistant to
self-directed learning. It would seem that, at least initially, many did not comprehend the
pedagogical motives behind self-directed strategies and interpreted these as an ‘easy
option’ for lecturers and the university. Consideration of these reactions suggests that
independent learning strategies, which inherently require critical and creative thinking,
may be somewhat antithetic to previous Singaporean educational norms and some
students responded to self-directed pedagogies by relying on the resources of the
collective. Despite the obvious challenges, it would be untrue to say that all students
shared these concerns, and many who did nevertheless eventually came to recognise at
least some of the benefits of independence.

As is entirely evident, assessment was an enormous concern for students and was the
most obviously problematic pedagogical process encountered during the BET program.
Students were grappling with a range of valid issues, and in my view were not incorrect in
their perception that the program’s assessment pedagogies encouraged a narrow focus
and limited learning. Lack of intercultural sensitivity, flexibility and hegemonic thinking
were more obvious during discussions of assessment than at any other time in the
program. The anxiety brought about by students’ inability to reconcile different lecturers’
idiosyncrasies undermined the capacity for applied learning. As a result, where genuine
transfer of learning could have been maximised through assessment, it was instead
subsumed in a mire of misunderstanding that resulted in fictitious projects and guessing

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games. The university lost credibility in this area of the program more than any other.
This could have been ameliorated by some standardisation amongst lecturers, and by –
as one student suggested – a ‘subject zero…that teaches us a lot of things that the
university needs us to practise’ [26:1:386-387]. Such recommendations will be revisited in
the final chapter, however for the iterations of the program that were the subject of the
research, in light of this discussion it is perhaps not surprising that some students
resorted to desperate measures: ‘…the internet, I love it so much. I just key in one
keyword…’ [66:1:335-336], and; ‘If you’ve got no idea what the person wants then you
just copy passages’ [30:1:477-478].

Negotiating new terrain: student suggestions for

lecturers
Explain it just like raw meat…. you must cook; make sure it is very nice and
delicious for them. They will accept it because you have changed it.
[26:1:276-279]

This section is replete with student quotations rather than paraphrases, as their voices
explain this issue so eloquently. The students had a range of suggestions for Australian
lecturers, whom they acknowledged as facing a significant challenge teaching in an
unfamiliar cultural environment. Notably, the pre-eminent suggestion was that lecturers
should realise that even for locals teaching in Asia; ‘you have to find how to penetrate the
Asians’ way of thinking, and it is very difficult’ [26:1:276279], ‘so as a person coming in I
think you must be ready to accept that’ [71:1:428].

Many of the respondents recognised that culture played a central role in translation of
both practice and content. Students recommended that the Australian lecturers should
first understand the background of the students, subsequently acknowledge that the
learning environment would certainly be different and probably challenging, and that
consequently lecturers should be flexible in terms of their expectations of themselves and
the class. The following quotes exemplify this thinking:

• So if I understand they come from a perspective of rote learning, they come from
spoon feeding and so on, that tells me to manage my expectations of them and
their expectations of me. [30:1:454-457];

• I think it is Asian culture. When Australian lecturers come, don’t expect us…it
takes us a bit of time to warm up. And then you will find that, yes, we are able to.
[74:1:378]; and

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 • We Asians are very conservative and we are not very open…We are very quiet
and it is difficult to see whether they have learned or not…So sometimes methods
don’t click. They wish to have all, a one-week, you teach me, that’s it. [26:1:249-
254].

The students were themselves experienced presenters and quite a few had taught in
other countries in the region (e.g. China) where they been faced with similar challenges to
the lecturers. There was general agreement on the points that; ‘there is no best way [to
teach] ...it depends on your participants and the content’ [4:1:163-175], [30:1:401],
[35:1:255]; ‘its really situational... you need to be flexible and you really need to be a
subject matter expert’ [35:1:272]; and, similarly; ‘…you must be very
knowledgeable…and come up with some kind of combination…you cannot focus on one
style of teaching’ [70:1:210-212]. Therefore flexibility, knowledge of the audience, and
technical expertise, were highly recommended attributes.

The specifics of ‘flexibility’ related to cultural sensitivity and consequently, adaptation.

However there was no indication that students thought lecturers’ preferred pedagogies
should not be employed, simply that participants needed to be given time to adapt; ‘I
would still try to do experiential learning, but I would do it a different way…it comes down
to their culture and look at their interests…’[68:1:251-253]. Students recommended
micro-skills which would be useful in any environment but which also had the capacity to
improve cross-cultural pedagogies. Examples included the following, some of which
illustrate the difficulties that students themselves had experienced in their roles as
educators:

You must actually prompt [students] to open up. Say; ‘yes what do you think
about it’…you don’t ask that they would just keep quiet and close their
books, go home. That is normally what Singaporeans… definitely there are
some of them that are much more open that like to voice up their views…but
the majority of Asians they would just keep quiet unless you tell them to
open their mouth’ [66:1:469-474];

Seek eye contact…but then let them pause for a while and mentally prepare.
[66:1:480-481];

You need to be sensitive to face. Don’t show that he doesn’t know….ask him
what we should do. I will put it as if I do not know, but actually I do know.
[26:1:368];

If you use words that they don’t understand then obviously they won’t know
what you’re teaching’. [4:1:173-174];

I guess at least for a start you need to adopt a bit more conservative style
until you know the students…. Because being Asians people are always a

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 bit uptight, especially getting them to open up and share the point of view,
then you can use some new methods...Because even for me as a trainer I
always face that challenge. [71:1:426-432]; and

If the technique doesn’t work, change it…but it can be applied in Singapore I

am not saying no…then only thing we have to change is the dimension, you
have to make sure the correct words are used so that people will not
misinterpret, they will know what is this theory for me and they will learn from
that. [26:1:231-234]

In terms of ‘knowledge of the audience’, students’ recommendations were refreshingly

straightforward:

You need to know something about the local environment and learning
habits of the people here…understand what inhibits them…their
perceptions…it’s important or else everything will become very artificial.
[49:1:406-411];

If you come into class and say something in local dialect, this is very good.
You will get the whole class even if you can speak just one word, like
“Alamak” (“a general and popular exclamation of dismay”(Choo, 2002)), then
you will break the ice. [51:1:322-325]; and

Before you go to any country…experience it...learn about it, pick up the

characteristics that Singaporeans do, how they congregate, how they talk,
pick up the language a bit so when you come you’ve already passed the
main barriers... And as you teach, ask them to relate back to experiences
and working life…. because if you are going to come to Singapore without
any knowledge about how things are done you might get a bit shell
shocked’. [14:1:535-545]

Students also had some quite logical suggestions as to how such knowledge might
realistically be accessed:

You can ask Singaporean lecturers to come to ‘The University’ to have a

talk. What is this environment, the culture, what is students’ behaviour, what
is the do’s and don’ts? So the lecturers’ will get first hand information. In
class they will not use the words that are going to be insulting…or wrong.
That’s one thing that should be done before lecturers come. [26:1:437-445];

Western lecturers might misconstrue the underlying cultural stuff…it would

be very helpful for those lecturers to attend a workshop on our culture.
[68:1:249];

…would be good if [Australian] lecturers could co-facilitate with a local then

they might understand the local context. [36:1:289]; and

Let the lecturers stay here for a year, do an exchange program with the
National University of Singapore, why not?… NUS is recognised in the
international community. [51:1:333-335]

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Therefore it is obvious that students were recommending lecturers be provided with some
type of cross-cultural briefing and/or mentored experience before teaching in Singapore
or another country. This is predicated on an overt acceptance that culture makes a
difference in teaching and that Singaporeans were aware of, and acutely affected by, the
difference between Australian culture/s and their own:

There is a lot of difference between Singapore and Australia…a lot of

difference.[14:1:559];

Even with the different races, we still have our own culture. You can’t hide
away from that. A lecturer who thinks that, OK, that you can just come here
and just teach us the way you teach Australians, it may not work. Especially
for older students… [49:1:509-512]; and

Some racially-based issues are very sensitive…so the lecturer has to be

very aware in what he is going to mention…just like right now if you mention
about these [Islamic] things after September 11th …dress codes…male and
female, you know? The lecturer must be very aware of this, not only if he
uses as illustration, even as the lecturer talks with the group. It’s very
sensitive, so like find out about the culture. [49:1:468-485]

Interestingly, and contrary to my expectations and the concerns of some lecturers, many
of the students thought that the program content was ‘rather applicable in most countries’
[4:1:193], although certainly some were concerned when they realised that; ‘to my
horror…a lot of good ideas…but when it comes to applications in my particular
organisation it is not working’ [74:1:241-243]. In response to issues of trans-cultural
transferability, students sought to learn through exposure to other country’s theories and
practices and then make adaptations to suit their context which is something that, as one
participant highlighted; ‘Singapore has done well, looking at other country’s positive
experiences’ [64:1:271-273]. Indeed it would seem that the students were experienced at
translating cultural content and were ‘conscious that [theories, methods] are all American,
European…definitely you cannot follow, but at least you can understand why they arrive
at these things and then you can put in your own context…I think you should be able to
relate’ [19:1:518-520]. In fact many said things like; ‘we will improve it to make it
localised…you can’t apply wholesale’ [28:1:665-687].

Some students did point out that ‘the readings we receive are all basically more
Australian system…it is important to know the Singapore system and compare it’
[3:1:288-295], and consequently ‘what needs to change is the examples. Using examples
of local situations is much better…. local names or local case studies would certainly
help’ [68:1:204-205]. However others acknowledged that ‘some of the Australian lecturers
have done quite a bit of work’ [on researching and providing local examples] [23:1:243]

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and ‘it is quite difficult for lecturers to come to know everything about Singapore within a
certain period of time…very difficult’ [26:1:460-463].

Ultimately, many students empathised with the lecturers, and certainly most genuinely
liked them. One asked, ‘Are they overworked are they Lyn? You can tell yeah?’
[10:1:207]. And another observed;

I think they have done a fantastic job…it’s really nice to see a totally different
approach that they have taken in educating us and in running the
program…they have been very concerned and some of them are really
aware… [71:1:446-453]

Chapter conclusion
This chapter has attempted to report and partially interpret the views and experiences of
the student participants in the BET program. We have seen that they came to the BET
program despite significant disincentives in many cases, and that they were successful
despite significant challenges. Like the lecturers, the students were navigating uncharted
cultural territory. The fact that all the respondents to this research eventually passed the
course and gained their degree, is something for which they and their lecturers are to be
congratulated. They are also to be congratulated on the level of goodwill that exists to
this day between the two groups despite, as this chapter has demonstrated, ample
opportunity for misunderstanding and negative feeling.

The next and penultimate chapter will bring a third perspective to data reporting: that of
classroom observations. Data in the following chapter will be interpolated with analysis of
the data reported in this and the preceding chapter, and will underpin the final discussion
and recommendations in chapter nine.

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Chapter Eight: Observations; a third perspective
Introduction
As forecast in chapter four (methodology) this chapter adds a third, observational
perspective to the research, from the standpoint of ‘observer as participant’ (Merriam,
1998; Walsh, 1998). It draws upon observations that were carried out as per the
schedule on page 81 of the methodology chapter and relies on field notes which, as
Walsh (1998) advises, required that some selection be made at the time of writing: thus it
does not masquerade as a verbatim record of interactions. This chapter reports and
analyses aspects of classroom interactions, and in doing so aims to corroborate or
supplement the previously reported respondents’ reflections. Behaviours that contributed
to, or distracted from, effective teaching and learning are also identified as a result of this
analysis. Thereafter, the chapter concludes with a discussion of preliminary findings,
specifically those that are directly related to interactions within a transnational classroom.

Elements of lesson structure

Punctuality and timing

Perhaps counter-stereotypically, it could not be said that Singaporean students were

punctual, although there were, of course, some students who were always at class early.
Field notes record that most classes commenced ten to fifteen minutes late. For
example, the orientation program for the new BET 3 students was scheduled to start at
6.45 pm. By 6.40 pm only half the members of the group were present and the remainder
were (on average) more than half an hour late. This pattern was repeated on the first day
of the second subject for BET 3, when only nine of the fifteen students were present at
the time that teaching was due to commence. Fifteen minutes into the lesson, thirteen
out of the expected fifteen students had arrived. On the second day of teaching, fewer
people arrived on time and the class commenced fifteen minutes late. This became a
relatively established pattern. Indeed it was regularly observed that lecturers had to
provide an overview of the session to students who arrived up to half an hour or more
after the lesson had begun.

A tea break was provided during each session, which generally took a little longer than
the scheduled twenty minutes. Predictably, therefore, some classes ran past the
scheduled conclusion time (10:00 pm) as the following excerpt from field notes illustrates:

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10.00pm No one is answering [lecturer’s] questions and people are packing up, but
nobody leaves.

10.10 pm. Students are talking and fidgeting.

10.15 pm. An OHT describing the first assignment is shown. People copy down the
content.

10.20pm All [lecturer’s] classes have gone far over time, people are really making a
lot of noise. ‘Cognitive resource allocation theory’ at this time of night…no
hope of people taking this in.

10.20pm One person walks out.

10.25pm Lecturer: ‘I am sorry I am running a bit over time…’.

10.30pm No statement from [lecturer] that class is finished, but people are just
getting up and going. [Lecturer] still talking … ‘just give me two
minutes…’.

10.35 pm Class members make eye contact (roll eyes, look at watches) with class
president. It looks like class president is about to say something when
lecturer says class is finished. Most students leave hurriedly [C1:347-389].

In contrast, another lecturer ran significantly over time, but he was more overt about it,
asking students’ permission to do so prior to ten o’clock. In that instance, students were
still paying attention at 10.25pm, until a SIM staff member announced that they were
locking the building. The lecturer then said he would leave another complex theory ‘until
next time’ (it therefore seems possible that he had been considering covering that, at
10.30 pm).

One general pattern from classroom observations was that lecturers who used a greater
degree of interactive small-group work had a tendency to run late, predominantly because
they would often have to extend the time allowed in order to complete group activities,
and the subsequent debriefing could bring up unexpected issues. However this tendency
was not restricted to those lecturers and it would be fair to say that it appeared that more
often than not lesson structure and content was bartered against available time. As a
result, one can only wonder how much ‘learning’ was taking place at 10.30 pm, after a
crammed lesson and a full day’s work.

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Learning spaces
Physical location

The Singapore Institute of Management (SIM) is located in an obviously costly, marble-

clad, light-filled building of five floors surrounding two atria containing koi ponds. In other
words the architecture and facilities of the SIM location reinforce Chinese heritage cultural
symbols indicating prestige and status. It has a clean, modern, corporate feel with
modern, comfortable classrooms and lecture theatres replete with the latest audio visual
technology. Learning spaces are sizeable and air-conditioned (with temperature
seemingly set to ‘freeze’ which certainly encouraged wakefulness).

Seating arrangements

With the exception of the orientation program, the Australian lecturers all used
classrooms rather than lecture theatres. Two of the Australian lecturers left the rooms as
they found them, with desks and seats in rows facing the front. One moved the tables and
chairs into a ‘U’ shape along the walls of the room and another organised the room in
‘café’ style with chairs and tables in clusters. Most of the lecturers stood beside or behind
a table or overhead projection unit at the front of the room when teaching, but also moved
around the room. At various stages of the class, most lecturers sat or leant casually on
the teacher’s desk. Nobody sat behind the desk while actually engaged in teaching,
although some did so when students were working in groups. In fact, the lecturer who
used the ‘U’ shape, at one point sat in the ‘U’ as a member of the group (which brought
looks of consternation from students who appeared uncomfortable and tried to maintain
eye contact with him).

There was an obvious relationship between room set-up and teaching style. Those
lecturers who favoured traditional classroom configurations also used more didactic styles
and/or guided discussion and less group-work than those who favoured the more
interactive configurations. The space within the room/s was used to full advantage by
those lecturers employing small-group techniques. Syndicate work required students to
move themselves and their furniture. Students were sometimes slow to move, particularly
in the case of the BET 3 group, which was new to the program. From students’ facial
expressions one could extrapolate that syndicate work was initially slightly worrisome to
them and, in order to encourage the group to get to know one another and experience
syndicate work, one lecturer eventually resorted to quite directive requests e.g. ‘could you
partner up with someone you don’t know [nobody moved]…you’ll have to get up and
move around the room…’[A4:68]. Even with such directions, during that first class only

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two people actually moved. In contrast, those in the larger BET 2 group were obviously
used to breaking into groups as they moved quickly, easily and relatively noisily into
groups.

Students in the smaller BET 3 had a tendency to sit in the same places in the classroom.
Again, this may have been because it was early in the course and students therefore did
not know each other well. The majority of that intake was of Chinese heritage,
consequently one would not expect any obvious groupings based on ethnicity (nor were
there any based on gender). In the BET 2 group students tended to choose seating fairly
randomly, seemingly based more on when they arrived than any other factor. Of course,
those who arrived early sat in groups with people who had become friends and some
arrived together. With this intake I observed a tendency for some ethnicity-based
grouping (e.g Malay women, some Chinese-speaking male cliques) but this was not the
norm and there were clearly (for example) Indian-heritage people whose closest
friendships were with Chinese-heritage people, Malay with Chinese, etc. Again, there
was little obvious grouping based on gender or work role.

Use of audio visual aids

Whiteboard

The whiteboard was used as a sequencing tool by several lecturers in order to list
potential discussion topics. One lecturer reported that this was a procedure he had
developed specifically for classes in Singapore as a direct response to students’ desire
for structure. This whiteboard ‘agenda’, would be written prior to students’ arrival. Another
lecturer created a ‘bulletin board’ on one side of the whiteboard, which was used as a
self-prompt and to highlight current issues for students. Typical contents included
administrative issues that needed to be addressed prior to students’ departure (e.g.
change of due-dates for assignments). The whiteboard ‘agenda’ seemed to be more a
‘wish list’ than an achievable list of topics to be covered in a 2.5-hour class. For example,
on one evening, eight relatively weighty theoretical issues were listed as intended for
discussion, plus a session on academic writing. Of course some lecturers regularly and
purposefully adhered quite closely to the proposed lesson structure, whilst others just as
purposefully deviated from a proposed session according to the way group discussion
flowed. Nevertheless, lecturers were quite frequently apparently unable to cover the
intended subject-content.

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One lecturer frequently used the board to underscore important points from readings, for
example ‘key words’ or ‘key concepts’. Another used it when debriefing group work or for
guided discussion. During classes the students copied whatever was on the board.
Students noted the presence of the agenda and bulletin board lists and, when points were
not covered during the evening, some asked when and if they would be covered.

Overhead projection: ‘PowerPoint’/ Data-show

The observations highlighted some common issues: data-show units had one clear
advantage over the old-style overhead projector, but two disadvantages. The advantage
was that they seemingly forced some lecturers to use better quality slides than might
otherwise have been the case. The first disadvantage was that some lecturers struggled
with the technology, wasting time in class and eventually giving up in favour of more
readily available technologies (e.g. turning to study guides). This unintended change of
teaching method could have lead to a loss of key learning points and wasted time. The
second disadvantage was the capacity for an excessive use of Microsoft PowerPoint
which has been said to encourage a ‘transmission mode of teaching’ and thereby reduce
a class to maximum passivity (Biggs and Watkins, 2001a). I found this to be the case in
the classes I attended which were facilitated by the local lecturer. He had been provided
with a significant number of PowerPoint slides by one of the Melbourne lecturers (who
was later to mark the students’ assignments). In an attempt to customise the
presentation, the lecturer had exacerbated the problem by supplementing the
presentation with his own slides. Consequently, the capacity of visual aids images to
maximise learning was undermined by their sheer volume. As a participant I felt that the
slides were being shown ‘for showing’s sake’: content was skimmed over, read out and
very frequently not explained – students could have achieved this end by individual
reading, as one of them pointed out during an interview. To illustrate, my field notes state
that; ‘[lecturer] flicks over an OHT that lists five complex management theories’, and
‘some people are writing but most look bored…’ [C1:223].

Overhead transparencies

The skill level employed in the use of acetate overhead transparencies (OHTs) varied
greatly. Like whiteboards, OHTs were used as a sequencing aid. They also supported
classroom discussion and explained and simplified content when they were used well.
For example, excerpts from allocated texts were shown to the group on OHTs, and
guided-discussion followed; ‘[lecturer refers to overhead text] …one of you was talking
about soft skills…so this might be an example’ [A3: 30-33].

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However, by contrast, in some cases OHTs were apparently prepared with no proper
consideration of the reason visual aids are used (e.g. to enhance the approximately
eighty percent of our learning that is taken in visually (Foxon, 1992)). Examples of misuse
included very small text photocopied from a journal that could have been provided as a
handout (e.g. Foxon, 1992). These ‘audio-visual aids’ were essentially unreadable and
seemed to add no value to the learning experience. It was unsurprising that so many
students complained about this, and also considered it particularly paradoxical in light of
the fact that the course should have modelled ‘best practice’ in adult learning.

Despite these problems however, when a lecturer pointed out that the content of an OHT
was not to be found in the students’ workbook or readings, students started writing
immediately. This may have been a conscious pedagogical intention on behalf of the
lecturer, in that the act of taking notes from overheads may have encouraged students’
internalisation. However, considering time constraints and available technologies, this
may not have been the most efficient pedagogical choice because copying took a lot of
time: in fact field notes recorded that one lecturer allowed ‘a great deal of time’ and that
‘people must have been writing word for word’ [A1:3:56].

In summary, in several instances audio visual aids were employed clumsily and over-
used. Given that lecturers wanted to encourage class participation in a country where
students were considered too passive, this was problematic. Some lecturers did use the
aids to encourage and support participation, but others could have potentially improved
group dynamics and enhanced their credibility as facilitators through a more professional
and pedagogically sound use of audio visual aids.

Study Guides and Readings

Prior to each subject, students were sent a set of allocated readings and a study
guide/workbook. In some cases, the subject readings included copies of the PowerPoint
presentations that were to be used in the class (and I observed these being used by
students to record notes as the PowerPoint slides were shown and discussed). Some
lecturers referred to study guides more than others; however lecturers referred to the
allocated readings frequently.

As discussed in the previous chapter, by the time I was observing the BET 2 intake, many
students were running behind with several assessment tasks and were struggling to
manage the expected pre-subject reading, despite an expressed desire for familiarity with
‘expert knowledge’ and the motivation that came from an anxiety that they might be

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‘tested’ on the content of the readings. There was a notable difference between my
observations of the (at that stage) new students of BET 3 who almost all indicated they
had read the pre-course work for their second subject, and the BET 2 group. In the case
of the latter, when asked by the local lecturer on the first evening of a subject ‘who has
read article x’, no hands went up.

Discussion: lesson structure

Observations of the elements of lesson structure revealed that, despite their reported
‘shared culture of adult learning’ (chapter six) lecturers’ teaching styles differed quite
significantly. Indeed, the diversity of classroom practices exposed students to a range of
learning experiences within an overarching adult learning milieu: from the relatively
didactic lecturer to the non-interventionist facilitator.

Group dynamics
Lecturer introductions

All lecturers introduced themselves on a first name basis. This is acceptable practice in
Singapore, although I noted that when students in Singapore referred to their lecturers
they often used honorific titles (‘doctor’ and often [inappropriately] ‘professor’). Male
lecturers were more likely to shake hands with students as they entered the room. Only
two of the lecturers presented information about their work or personal lives at the start of
the class: the Singaporean recounted his career and an Australian lecturer introduced
himself in a more personal manner. In contrast, most lecturers started their first class by
asking the participants to introduce themselves.

Male lecturers in particular dressed more formally than they might when lecturing in
Australia, most favouring a business suit (at least for the first evening). These
observations point to the possibility that introductions were important to lecturers, and that
they sought a ‘professional’ (relatively impersonal) relationship that, at the same time, had
elements of Australian egalitarianism. Students responded with a friendly handshake
when it was proffered but generally made few comments at first, waiting for the ‘general
round’ of introductions. They then readily shared information about their work roles,
positions, etc. As anywhere, student introductions ran the gamut from modest and self-
effacing, to status seeking (never female), but in both groups there was a tendency
toward the former.

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General level of verbal interaction

Verbal interactions in the classroom reflect the theoretical predictions discussed in

chapter five: classrooms did initially appear formal and teacher-centred and students
appeared to be comfortable with a passive learning style. The words ‘quiet’ and ‘silent’
appear in my field notes relatively frequently. Rather than something that was not
happening and escaped my notice, ‘quietness’ was something that was ‘different’ enough
to be noticeable to me as an outsider. Examples include:

• [lecturer] explains an exercise, it is also written on the board…group appears to be

actively listening and very silent [B2:51];

• [lecturer]: ‘can you bring your discussions to a close?’ Immediate silence as

response [A4:145];

• when lecturer is speaking, using board etc. groups are very quiet but body
language would indicate they are actively listening [D2:168];

• [new class, new group, day one] – very quiet, you could hear a pin drop [A1:63];

• two hours into class, not one question has been asked [A1:198];

• outstanding feature of orientation session is that students are quiet, despite

numerous prods from the presenter [01:194].

Several of the above comments are from observations of the smaller and newer third
intake group – which one could expect to be quieter - but not all. In the larger BET 2
group I overheard the following conversation from two students sitting nearby when they
were more than halfway through the course:

[Student A]: You are very quiet.

[Student B]: I better stay quiet than say something stupid. [B2:72]

It is perhaps noteworthy that the classes I observed in the lecture-theatre were no less
interactive than other classes. A Singaporean lecturer facilitated these classes, in which
there tended to be a lot more ‘background’ discussion amongst students that was not
facilitated via the lecturer. Whilst this had the potential to be distracting, the lecturer did
not ‘lose control’ of the group, and was skilled at drawing responses. I did not hear any
Australian lecturers actually confront the group about quietness, however the local
lecturer was overt about it:

I would like to hear some voices that we have not heard…so can we give the
floor to some silent ones… [C4:220] and;

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 So far I have heard about forty to fifty percent of the voices in the room. So
on Monday only those who did not say anything will speak. [C3:319].

Subsequently, the lecturer carried through his promise. In the Monday class he selected
people who had previously been quiet and solicited input from them. Alternately he would
select a group member to respond, e.g. ‘attribution theory…let’s get someone to give us
the key points’ [nobody does]…[lecturer selects a student by name]…‘do you want to
have a go?’ [C2:115]. This lecturer would also choose students who had been quiet to
read aloud from workbooks. In addition, it seems likely that the ability of the local lecturer
to discuss Singaporean contextual issues had the effect of eliciting more discussion in the
large group about topics that were familiar to students. He was able to draw examples
from the group with relative ease, as he was aware of their work backgrounds, and joked
with the class using Singaporean examples and colloquialisms.

Verbal interactions were not necessarily dependant on group size or progress in the
course. The BET 3 group became more interactive as people built relationships, and
conversely there were numerous occasions in which the larger BET2 group was very
quiet. Similarly, background conversation was not isolated to the local lecturer. Indeed,
one of the Australian lecturers exclaimed to the class; ‘it’s very difficult to talk when
everyone is talking’ [B1:144].

Whilst I did not hear some individual students utter a single word in whole-class sessions
during six months of observation, the modal class dynamic could be described as reticent
at first; predominantly quieter than you might find in a ‘Western classroom’, but quickly
acculturating and prepared to participate verbally when in a low risk environment.

Questions

As Ng and colleagues (2001:144) propose; ‘questioning is perhaps the most distinctive

feature of classroom discourse’. The following paragraphs provide an insight into the
questioning behaviours of both students and lecturers and illustrate the efficacy of
questioning patterns in a transnational environment. 2

2 In their observations of Hong Kong students, Ng et al. (2001:146) propose that teachers ‘ask
questions for a number of reasons: for comprehension checking, knowledge checking, for focusing
attention, classroom management purposes and so on.’ Questions can be classified into several
types, however two common examples are; ‘open’ questions (to which a range of possible
answers exist) and ‘closed’ questions (for which there is only one acceptable answer). Open
questions provide the potential for increased learning because the student has to formulate a
response that makes sense to both himself and the class. In doing so, the students clarify their
own thinking and understanding. Closed questions provided a limited choice for students and that
therefore ‘the cognitive challenge is minimal’ (Ng et al.; 2001:146).

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Questions to the lecturer

Observations revealed that student questions (or comments for that matter) were
probably not as frequent as one might observe in a ‘Western’ classroom of adult students,
despite the efforts of lecturers to elicit them. As previously discussed, field notes were
not intended as a verbatim record of every interaction. However another reason why they
could never have been so, was because I was often unable to hear the questions that
were posed by students. Indeed quite a few students posed questions in a ‘quiet’ and/or
hesitant tone of voice. This was particularly problematic and noticeable to me in the
lecture theatre, in which I frequently struggled to hear student questions or comments.
Whilst accents and ‘Singlish’ were potentially reasons for my inability to hear in the first
classes, by the time I left Singapore I was not consciously struggling with the local
accents or patois at all and in fact was enjoying my own ‘Singlish’ vocabulary. I am
certain that the tone and volume of the questions contributed to the problem. Ultimately, if
the lecturer did not repeat or paraphrase the student’s question before providing a
response, I can only assume that other group members also failed to hear the question.
This would have resulted in the group struggling to contextualise and engage with the
lecturer’s response, therefore opportunities to increase knowledge and understanding
would be lost. Indeed, on several occasions I pondered the likelihood that the students
were not very interested in hearing each other’s questions, responses or interactions with
the lecturer. One of my field notes records that; ‘student asks a question of lecturer,
nobody listens’ [B3:87]. This was a repeated observation and also occurred with small-
group work where students were reporting back to the main group This will be discussed
again later in this chapter during consideration of small-group work, but was sufficiently
noticeable for me to consider it ‘rude’ from my own socio-cultural context.

Some students did not ask any questions at all during observations, whereas others did
so frequently and confidently. When questions were asked, they fell into categories that
one might find in any classroom around the globe, such as seeking clarification or
increased depth of comprehension, looking for ways to aid application and
contextualisation, or much less frequently, politely challenging what the lecturer was
saying. Examples of challenges include:

• [Student] notes that a reference on a slide is from 1965 and asks if it’s still the
same now [C4:9];

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 • [Student, day three of subject]: ‘why then, based on the fact that the previous
presentation tended to show that exams and rote learning encourage shallow
learning, do we have exams in this program?’ [A3:81];

Questions that were common in the Singaporean classroom but which may not occur so
frequently in a monocultural classroom included clarification of terminology, foreign
concepts, and new English words. Examples include:

• ‘when you say discretion, do you mean it’s up to the person?’[B3:4];

• ‘what is the difference between ‘rule’ and ‘policy’ [B1:6]’

• ‘what is Gestalt?’ [A2:203]; and

• ‘what is casting stone’ [had misunderstood the term ‘cast in stone’] [C3:167].

Another frequent questioning pattern was related to assessment tasks, and this will be
revisited later in this chapter.

Questions from lecturers

Like Ng et al. (2001), I observed that different types of ‘overhead questions’ asked by
lecturers (to which anyone could potentially respond) elicited responses from students
that differed predictably. Lecturers needed to employ skilled sequencing of questions to
gain the response they sought (e.g. confirmation of student comprehension) or indeed, to
elicit any response at all. Four main questioning categories were observed; ‘hands up’
questions; ‘closed’ questions; ‘open’ questions, and what, for want of a better name, I
have called ‘general-interaction-seeking’ (e.g. ‘any questions’) questions. These question
types could be placed on a notional continuum of likelihood to elicit a response, with
‘hands up’ questions being the most effective, and - at the other extreme - ‘any questions’
the least.

‘Hands up’ questions

Despite the seeming simplicity of the technique, ‘hands up’ questions could be used
either very productively or redundantly with the Singaporean students. This type of
question was predictably dysfunctional when it was asked about something that could
potentially be embarrassing or ‘threatening’ to the respondent. For example, on the first
evening of a new subject a lecturer asked as a general question to the class; ‘hands up
who has read [assigned journal article x]’ [C1:15]. Nobody put their hand up. This could
possibly have been because nobody had read the article, but equally possibly it could be
culturally weighted: people were for one reason or the other too embarrassed to respond

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(either they had read it and did not want to stand out from the group, or they had not and
were embarrassed about losing face). Another example was: ‘who is unfamiliar with
academic reading?’ [A2:32]. In that case only two hands were raised out of a potential
fifteen, however when the same question was repeated in a different format it emerged
that ninety percent of the group had very little confidence about academic reading.
Therefore it seems that to raise one’s hand in response to the latter question was to
confirm that one had not read academic articles and therefore potentially appear less
sophisticated.

On other occasions ‘hands up’ questions were used to encourage participation and thus
to gauge comprehension and engagement. Some lecturers employed this technique
skilfully, as the following exchange illustrates:

[lecturer]: Asks for a show of hands from ‘those who think that training can
change attitudes’.

[group]: At least half the group raise their hand.

[lecturer]: OK then, let’s hear an example of each… [C2:133].

In the above scenario, those who had responded were in a position where they clearly
had an opinion on the issue, and were then encouraged to further illustrate their
experience. These examples suggest that the posing of any type of question, even
something as non-confrontational as a ‘hands ups’ question, requires consideration of the
potential for loss of face in the Singaporean context.

Closed Questions

The closed questions I observed in use were of two main types – those that elicited
‘yes/no’ answers and those that sought a specific response. An example of the former is:

[Lecturer]: We are all familiar with four principles of adult learning and
andragogy, are you familiar with Kolb?’

[Group]: chorus ‘yes’. [C2:395]

And the latter:

[Lecturer referring to OHT]: So what is groupthink?

[Group]: general consensus on the answer. [C2:290]

Obviously closed questions that sought a specific answer, such as the instance directly
above, were unlikely to draw a response unless someone in the group actually knew the

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answer and was confident enough to vocalise it. In the above case, the answer was very
well known to the group and so was non-threatening.

Closed questions were also employed as a technique to gain comments on the content of
PowerPoint slides (e.g. [lecturer asks the group about a statement on a slide] ‘what does
this mean…?’). This was sometimes an effective technique that had the potential to
trigger verbal interaction. However there was a tendency on the part of some lecturers to
use it without any variation, in which case the lesson became a something of a game of
‘second guess what the lecturer is thinking’ and participants ceased responding. In fact
one participant commented that this was a ‘…lazy style that doesn’t wash with a group of
HRD professionals’ [40:2:28-29].

Open Questions

Open questions usually sought responses for which there was more than one correct
answer as well as an element of personal opinion e.g. [lecturer] ‘how do we learn, how do
we absorb knowledge…?’ or [lecturer] ‘what do you think of that?’ [C2:398]. Alternatively
the lecturer could be seeking a response to a question for which a correct answer was
presumably anticipated, e.g. ‘What is the key message in Herzberg’s theory?’[C2:40]. A
further reason for asking open questions was that the lecturers were actually unsure of
the answer themselves, e.g. ‘what do you call assessment here in Singapore?’ [D1:16].

Such ‘overhead’ questions were used most frequently when lecturers appeared to be
seeking to gauge comprehension, or levels of engagement. Of significant note, however,
is the fact that all of the preceding examples elicited no verbal response when posed in
an ‘overhead’ manner to the entire class. Indeed, this technique so rarely elicited a verbal
response that it could be almost completely pointless were it not for the fact that if
students may have been considering the answer but not verbalising it, or that the lack of
response combined with students’ body language may have informed the lecturer that
students were not engaged. If lecturers were asking ‘overhead open questions’ in order to
gauge comprehension, then this questioning technique was predictably unproductive.

‘Any Questions?’

In short, when a lecturer asked ‘are there any questions’, the likelihood was that nobody
would respond. I am assuming that lecturers actually expected questions from the group
when they asked this, and that they found the lack of response frustrating, because they
continued to use this questioning technique. This lack of response to ‘any questions’ is a
consistent pattern. No doubt my observations did not catch every instance, however

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there are more than twenty-five occasions on which I have noted; ‘overhead question:
‘any questions’, no response’. Moreover, it did not seem to matter how a request was
prefaced, or in what context it was asked, as all of the following examples elicited no
response;

• [lecturer]: ’It’s Important for me to understand where you are coming from. I
appreciate sharing. Does anyone have any comments or questions at this point in
time’ [C1:171] - no response.

• [lecturer] ‘Are there any questions so far? Has anything I have said contradicted
[the previous lecturer]?’ [A4:93] – no response.

The noticeable exception to this pattern was when ‘any questions’ was related to
assessment or exams, in which case there would predictably be a lot of questions. The
number of assessment-related questions had a direct correlation with the reputation of
the lecturer (whether they were a ‘hard-marker’). Questioners sought to ascertain how
much writing was expected; the format of exams; allocation of marks; recommended time
for each question; requirement for academic referencing; number of citations expected,
and so on.

Discussion: successful questioning techniques

The preceding observations of questioning techniques support the conjecture that

lecturers were experiencing culture learning ‘on the job’. I noted their frustrations through
their facial expressions and body language, and witnessed their efforts to gain verbal
responses in different ways. Sometimes they would just let an unproductive question go
by, and move on. Often however, they would use one questioning technique, receive no
response, and then reword and rephrase the question. Despite these efforts, at times the
question still did not generate the required response. For some lecturers, the only course
of action was to change the group dynamic completely and move into small-group or
syndicate work (which is discussed elsewhere in this chapter). However, on occasions I
observed that the rephrasing of a question would bring a response. For example, in the
previously mentioned case in which the lecturer asked who was familiar with academic
reading, a rephrasing such as the following (which spelled out the negative
consequences of silence), brought an overwhelming response:

[Lecturer]: Well I won’t go over this if you don’t need it. But just to check,
again how many don’t regularly read this type of article?

[Group]: Everybody puts their hand up.

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 [Lecturer]: OK then, well would you like me to go over hints for academic
reading?

[Group]’ Strong ‘yes’. [A2:36]

The above scenario illustrates the skill of the lecturer, and also his on-the-job culture
learning. It seemed that he realised during the action of asking the question and getting
the response, that asking who had read the article was potentially embarrassing, however
asking who regularly read academic articles was an entirely different question, and one
that most non-academics would answer in the negative. By asking who wanted to
understand more about academic reading, he gained class commitment to the task at
hand, the ensuing session was interactive and students appeared highly engaged.

On other occasions, lecturers continued to ask the same question and this sometimes
brought a response when students realised that silence was an unsuccessful gambit.
Another potential strategy was for the lecturer to wait out a silence for a longer period of
time than might occur in Australia. Such silences presumably allowed students (as they
reported) to formulate an answer, find the correct language, overcome anxiety, and
ultimately create a void into which somebody felt they must inject some verbal interaction
(or any combination of the preceding). An example was the lecturer who followed one
students’ response with; ‘would anybody else like to share?’ [A1:91] and then waited a
considerable time until somebody did. Another successful pattern of questioning was the
following of an open question which drew no response with a closed question that was
more focused, and which allowed less capacity for error.

Of course, silence in class can exist for a range of reasons, and another response from
lecturers was to overtly ask the group about the reason behind it, as the following
example illustrates:

[Lecturer]: What is learning?

[Group]: Very long silence… nobody making eye contact, people looking
down at desks.

[Lecturer]: Are you tired?

[Group]: Nods and murmured agreement. [A1:206]

As illustrated above and discussed in interviews, most lecturers were observed to be

sensitive to the facilitation of a supportive and non-threatening learning environment in
which the knowledge of the students was sought and validated. This seemed a key to the
encouragement of interaction. Examples include:

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 [in response to student workplace example] …that’s a really nice example…
[B2:24];

We know you are experts in your field…[A1:44];

We have a lot of expertise in this room….[A1:147];

Ask questions here, no matter how dumb you might think you sound. I need
to feel comfortable about asking questions too. [A2:22]

However, despite the desire to create a non-threatening environment, lecturers needed to

correct incorrect statements or respond to student questions that revealed a lack of
comprehension, as illustrated below:

[Student]: x is a useful technique

[Lecturer]: x isn’t a technique, it’s more about … x is more of a process…You

may want to go back to that article by (author), to reread, to help you
understand. [D3:42]

The above corrects the student’s incorrect statement in a tactful manner, whilst at the
same time also providing direction.

Of course, all of the preceding discussion about questioning is predicated on the

epistemologically and culturally based assumption that verbal interaction is highly
desirable in a class of adult students. With that assumption acknowledged, the results of
these observations suggest that an open question asked in whole-group discussion would
be quite unlikely to generate increased conversation, which is problematic when
questions are being asked for comprehension checking purposes (although it is
acknowledged that individual reflection was likely to be triggered, and it is therefore
entirely possible that the question was effective in encouraging deeper learning, despite
the silence). If a lecturer believed that increased conversation would lead to increased
learning, then an appropriate approach would be to progress from less threatening
questioning techniques (such as ‘show of hands’ or closed questions) to more challenging
techniques such as open questions. Such sequencing of questioning could increase the
opportunity for deep learning as proposed by Ng et al. (2001).

Small Group Activities

In light of the previous discussion it is easy to see why group work was favoured by
lecturers: it reliably raised levels of interaction and, importantly, the requirement for small-
groups to report back to the entire class facilitated the lecturers’ ability to ask questions
and thereby assess comprehension. Indeed, in a significant contrast to the responses

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lecturers obtained to whole-class questioning techniques, field notes report that ‘in
debriefing small-group work [lecturer] asks questions of syndicates and has no trouble
eliciting answers’ [D3.89]

Student interaction in small-groups

Once students had adapted to the frequent use of syndicate work, the general pattern
was that they moved quickly into groups and thence rapidly began to address the task at
hand. Wherever I was positioned in the room, I was able to closely observe the
interactions of at least one small-group, and more generally observe the entire group. I
overheard small-group participants sincerely discussing issues, asking questions of
classmates, and challenging each other. Polite turn taking was the norm, with syndicate
participants on occasion inviting quieter members to become more involved, although, as
might be expected, some group members were more dominating than others.
Observations of small groups revealed student questions that were not asked in front of
the entire class. This was particularly the case with the clarification of English and in
relation to the clarification of ‘academic’ words. During small-group discussion there was
some conversation in Chinese dialects and much in ‘Singlish’. For example one student
described a journal article as ‘cheem’ (‘a Singlish/Hokkien word meaning something is
written in an intellectual fashion, such that it is completely incomprehensible’ (Choo,
2002)) and asked classmates to translate several words and phrases into plain English.

During small-group work, the challenging of classmates’ opinions was managed with
consideration of ‘face’; for example dissenting views would be introduced with the
ubiquitous Singaporean disclaimer; ‘this is only my opinion but…’. Group members also
seemed to monitor interaction and kept each other on task. Tangential or non topic-
related conversations were tolerated briefly, however usually someone would chasten the
group and return focus to the task at hand. For example, one student said to another in a
‘tongue-in-cheek’ tone (but with enough force to be taken seriously); ‘hey, pay attention to
your task!’ [B2:36].

The volume of verbal interaction in the classroom varied during small-group work, as
would be expected. However there was certainly a high level of involved ‘hubbub’, lots of
friendly banter, and sometimes loud laughter; in other words a generally relaxed
atmosphere which contrasted with lecturer-centred pedagogies.

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Types of small-group activities

Lecturers employed small-group activities in a variety of ways and for a variety of

purposes. One of the most popular uses was small-group analysis of an allocated text,
the purpose of which was to help students gain in-depth understanding of one ascribed
reading, and an overview of the readings allocated to the other groups when they
reported back. Two lecturers used similar activities in which small-groups were given the
task of presenting a text back to the class. One lecturer asked the syndicates to list the
ten most important points raised by the author and both activities required the group to
summarise the reading on a flipchart. Field notes in relation to this activity record that:

…students seem to be really into this, much discussion, everyone taking

part, people referring to their notes and sharing the construction of the flip
chart…the room is buzzing. [A4:140-142]

Another example demonstrates the lecturer’s capacity to transfer learning and to provide
students with real experience; in this instance the application of policies from students’
workplaces. Groups were asked to deconstruct and analyse the policies, then report back
on ‘what level the policy is and have a reason why’ [B3:65]. This exercise also seemed
appreciated by students; it immediately linked subject content to the Singaporean context
and students gained the added benefit of comparing their own organisations’ policies
against those of their classmates.

The small-group activities were usually clearly linked to subject content. To illustrate: one
creative activity required small-groups to write an exam question for a reading based on
each level of Bloom’s (1956) taxonomy of learning objectives. This activity provided
multiple levels of learning: analysis of the reading, knowledge and application of Bloom’s
taxonomy, and exam preparation.

A final interesting example, chosen from many, required the students to practice writing
learning objectives onto flipcharts. The groups then swapped flipcharts and critiqued
another group’s work. They were asked to respond to the authoring group by giving ticks
for quality objectives or by trying to rewrite and improve the objective. Students did not
seem to have any discomfort with correcting another group’s work. The edited flipcharts
were then put on the classroom walls and students moved around the room while the
lecturer debriefed about the changes that had been made. This provided both knowledge
and skill development and at the same time provided feedback by demonstrating that -
despite considerable thought - learning objectives could still be undesirably vague and
consequently unmeasurable.

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Outcomes of group activities

The content of the flipchart responses presented by the syndicates were usually very
impressive and showed clear evidence of comprehension. There was also a high level of
creativity evident, both on the part of the lecturer in designing the task, and in student
responses. The following example from field notes illustrates:

A lecturer had asked groups to report back with drawn icons illustrating
aspects of theories from the readings. One group presented a drawing of a
hand with five fingers and palm, with each finger representing a particular
theory. The group explained their icon thus:

• pointer finger for behaviourist because we point and say ‘behave’;

• tallest finger for constructivist as in tall construction;

• ring finger for humanist;

• little finger for cognitivist because we use the smallest part of our brains;

• the palm for social learning because we use it for shaking hands; and

• the thumb was not allocated to anything specific because it can move across all
the types of learning just as we need to. [A3:156]

The above example demonstrates an instance in which comprehension, learning and

exam preparation were clear outcomes of syndicate group activity.

The presentation skills of students who reported back to the main group varied, and I
overheard a good deal of negotiation within the small-groups about who would present
the report. I noted that in the larger BET 2 group, certain individuals had fallen into the
role of ‘reporter’ and were regular spokespersons. In the smaller BET 3 group, such roles
had not yet been identified and some of those who reported back were clearly very
anxious and struggled with academic English. Students could also be critical of their
classmates, but I noted that any constructive criticism would again be prefaced with
phrases intended to ‘give face’, such as; ‘I know they are quite difficult, but…’ [D2:40].

The role of the lecturer: monitoring and debriefing

During group activities some lecturers were more interventionist than others. Some were
‘hands off’; monitoring small-group work from a distance unless directly asked a question.
Others were more likely to join a group’s discussion; ‘visiting’ small-groups and providing
feedback, encouragement and suggestions for further consideration.

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At the conclusion of group activities, lecturers would debrief according to their preferred
styles 3. Observations indicate that some lecturers debriefed more effectively than others.
To support this conjecture, on one occasion several confused students spoke to me
during the tea break, saying that they had not understood the purpose or application of
the exercise in which they had just participated. This would seem to indicate that the
opportunity for learning from that activity had been largely lost. However I also witnessed
skilful debriefing sessions, which clearly summarised the learning from the activity and
linked it to the subject content and readings. Examples included a lecturer drawing a
whiteboard mind map summarising group responses, followed by class voting for the
most important points.

Importantly, debriefing maintained the higher levels of interactivity that contrasted whole-
class sessions. Lecturers who were (in my view) skilled in using small-group work could
bring a debriefing discussion to a close and seamlessly move back to a lecturer-centred
approach, tying in the preceding exercise, which potentially kept energy levels higher
than would otherwise have been the case.

Problems with small-group work

Whilst it is clear that small-group work was an effective pedagogy of choice, its
implementation was not problem free. For example, on one occasion I observed that a
class had been separated into groups to discuss and report on allocated texts. Two-thirds
of the small group which I was observing immediately set to the task of reading, and no
discussion was taking place. Clearly some students had not read the article whilst others
(whose notes were marked with highlighter pen) had read the article and appeared
frustrated (as was reported by a student respondent (see page 193)). Some group
members who had highlighted their articles still reread without commenting to the group
(presumably being too polite to complain, or taking the chance to reread). This is one,
relatively common, example of how group discussion and analysis could be delayed,
causing the group to fail to complete the task in the allotted time frame.

There were also several occasions when groups did not grasp the task at hand.
Monitoring by lecturers usually identified and corrected these problems, but it was
challenging for the lecturer if more than one group required assistance. Lecturers also
needed to manage the previously discussed issue of students apparently not fully

3
Debriefing is recognised as a pivotal step in generating learning from group activities. Thematic
discussion, data analysis, provision of feedback and the production of generalisations
contextualises the activity to the everyday life of the students and allows the lecturer to introduce
or reintroduce theoretical findings to augment the learning (Pfeiffer, 1992).

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attending to classmates who reported back to the main group. Time constraints and the
students’ desire to present well-considered reports exacerbated this problem and meant
that syndicates would often be working on their flipchart during another group’s
presentation. Finally, debriefing could bring up unexpected issues, which led to valuable
interactions: ‘aha’ moments, or moments when a discussion revealed confusion on the
part of the students and which provided an opportunity for lecturer clarification. Such rich
learning situations facilitated valuable feedback to both students and lecturers; however
these were also constrained by time schedules.

Discussion: group dynamics

Lecturers’ behaviours, proxemics, and movements suggest that they sought to create a
professional but casual environment in the classroom and thus develop a friendly but not
a close personal relationship with students. Classroom observations also demonstrated
pedagogies that were congruent with lecturers’ stated values of student-centredness.
From the perspective of an Australian observer, the class environment was often
relatively quiet. Whilst lecturers recalled that students were participative, observations
reveal that Australian lecturers had to be flexible and adapt their techniques in order to
elicit questions or comments from students. The sequencing of questioning styles
appeared to be an effective method to encourage interaction. Whilst it may have been
easier for lecturers to revert to a didactic, one-way transmission model of teaching, it
seems likely that epistemological beliefs motivated most of them to put a lot of energy into
translating their preferred pedagogies into a foreign context.

At this juncture, it is worthwhile to revisit the fact that BET students were also educators
who, during interview, expressed an epistemological preference for experiential and
interactive activities. Yet in the role of ‘student’, to a varied extent, they reverted to their
socialised experiences of how a student behaves: reliant on the teacher to make links
and complete learning cycles; with personal silence providing a safe strategy for many.
Thus, in summary, observations support the lecturers’ and students’ opinions that small-
group techniques were more likely to encourage verbal participation than whole-group
discussion.

Students gradually overcame initial hesitation and participated enthusiastically, showing

significant creativity. They appeared most comfortable and engaged when working on
group activities that involved either ‘authorised knowledge’ (such as analysing a reading)
or application of theoretical knowledge to the ‘real world’ of their workplaces. Thus

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syndicate pedagogies could be regarded as highly desirable in the Singaporean context.
However a blanket recommendation for ‘more small group work in the BET’ would be
naïve because, paradoxically, whilst students valued small-group work and respected the
pedagogical reasons behind it, chapter seven reported that they wanted less group-work
and more lecturer input, mainly due to time constraints. There is also the concern that
students did not appear to attend to the input of classmates to the same extent as they
did to input from the lecturer. Whilst the latter difference may simply stem from students’
self reported socialisation to ‘pay attention to the teacher’, these concerns remain
important for two reasons:

3. students’ behaviours in the classroom did not obviously indicate dissatisfaction. As

discussed in chapter six, only one lecturer reported a concern that students might
consider group work to be a ‘bit of fun and not real learning’ [80:2:145-151]. Whilst
interviews showed that students would generally respect and protect the ‘face’ of
the teacher, there were times when they did not feel they gained anything tangible
from activities (as illustrated by the times when they asked me to translate the
activity for them). Thus lecturers could not rely on overt feedback to gauge
whether students were valuing or even understanding an activity; and

4. observations support a conclusion that, whilst students came to recognise the

value of their classmates’ views, became less tentative about forming and
discussing their own opinions, and developed their capacity for self-directed
learning; they nevertheless continued to place a higher value on inductive and
transmission modes of learning from external ‘expert’ sources (e.g. the literature
and the lecturer).

Language and terminology

Observations support students’ reports (pages 188 and 194) that they did not feel
confident to seek clarification of words and terminology in front of the whole class.
Students were observed to clarify words when in small groups. Moreover, several
students quietly asked me what words meant (e.g. ‘constructivist’). In chapter six,
lecturers reported that they were conscious of the significant amount of time spent
explaining English and discipline-specific words, sometimes to the detriment of proposed
program content, and observations support that this happened frequently. I observed that
most lecturers were careful to explain words which they thought may have been
unfamiliar. Examples include; ‘abstraction’, ‘holistic’, ‘didactic’ and ‘affect’. Occasionally
students did ask for clarification of words during whole group discussion or a lecturer’s

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presentation. Examples of this include ‘locus’, ‘problem-solving’ and ‘discretion’. Scrutiny
of the words that required explanation reveals that whilst some may have been
predictable (e.g. ‘affect’ used in the psychological sense), others clearly came as
somewhat of a surprise to the lecturer and were noticeable to me. It seems possible, for
example, that the group’s lack of understanding of the word ‘discretion’ and ‘discretionary’
might have a Singaporean cultural bias, as discretionary choices in Singaporean
workplaces and general lives are not the norm.

Yet another realm of terminological confusion came from the words and jargon related to
what have become globally known HRD methodologies being reinterpreted or relabelled
in different national settings. An example of this is ‘action learning’. As described in the
previous chapter, Singaporeans were very familiar with methodologies such as outdoor
adventure learning (as it would be described in Australia). However during class one
student referred to an outdoor learning exercise (the widely known ‘spider web trust
exercise’) as ‘action learning’. The lecturer corrected with the observation that; ‘it might
not be action learning if people are organised into it’ [A4:166].

Terminological and linguistic confusion was not restricted to students however. ‘Singlish’,
strong accents, fast speech and quiet voices combined to challenge lecturers. For
example, the word ‘can’ is ubiquitous in ‘Singlish’. It is used as a ‘monosyllabic answer
denoting one’s ability to fulfil a request’ (Choo, 2002). Thus a student reporting back from
syndicate work said to the lecturer:

There are six authors and I will wait for [lecturer] to tell you what is good out
of this. Can? [A4:154]

The lecturer clearly had no idea what he had just been asked and looked blankly at the
student, who (subjected to the laughs of the class) rephrased the question.

The students were very concerned to ensure that their understanding of terminology was
correct. This is illustrated by the fact that I observed three separate occasions on which
different students over two separate evenings asked a lecturer to clarify the difference
between ‘HRM’ and ‘HRD’. This repetition seemed to irritate the lecturer, but the class
president pointed out that the group was; ‘wanting to be sure in case it was asked in
exam’ [C3:85]. Another reason behind this might be the students’ self-reported aim (as
discussed in the previous chapter, see page 182) to be able to use ‘correct language’ in
order to be accepted, gain status, and/or increase credibility in the workplace, which
brings us to observations of application of learning.

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Application of learning
Observations revealed that when classroom discussion was linked to participants’
workplaces it raised attention levels and encouraged dialogue. For example, students
would ask a question or discuss a concept from the perspective of their work experience
and, in response, the lecturer would contextualise the explanation to the students’
workplace context (e.g. factory, gymnasium, school). In this manner, small-group work
allowed for comparison of workplaces and simultaneous linking to the local context.
Furthermore, when there was evident confusion about processes in the Australian versus
the Singaporean context, lecturers would ask for examples of local practice (e.g. ‘do you
have the right of appeal?’ [D2:78]). Whilst this might occur in any facilitated discussion, it
was particularly important in the case of lecturers new to Singapore, as they were
learning at the same time as the students; indeed both parties were translating program
content and working out how theories and knowledge could be applied in the students’
world.

Chapter seven reported that any learning activities that involved application (such as the
activity that deconstructed students’ workplace policies) were received with enthusiasm.
In that instance the lecturer spent forty-five minutes re-explaining a concept through the
lens of the students’ group work, and students’ body language indicated that they were
highly engaged with what might otherwise have been quite tedious content. This positive
reception of application reflects the students’ stated strong preferences as summarised
by the student comment: ‘…it’s always best if you can relate concepts to your actual
workplace’ [A3:59-61].

Program cohesiveness
Instances of lecturers linking the content material of the subject they were teaching with
content of other subjects were most notable for their almost total absence. Indeed it
would be fair to say that to an uninformed observer it would appear that lecturers did not
know each other and did not work together on a daily basis. Of course, as reported in
chapter six, this was far from the case: lecturers were discussing Singaporean classes,
but tended to do so more from the point of view of the pedagogical challenges they faced
and the struggles of individual students. However, from my perspective as an observer,
most developed and presented their subject content in a stand-alone manner. The only
topic that was regularly revisited was academic writing styles, probably mainly as a
response to student anxiety.

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As reported in chapter six, several lecturers reported that they desired more collaborative
working relationships. Observations support the notion that increased collaboration could
potentially have ameliorated the seclusion brought about by professional specialisation
and the individualism inherent in the university culture.

Assessment
Whilst the BET did not provide capacity for observation of actual assessment, discussion
of assessment was quite ubiquitous. As a partial ‘insider’ I knew that one of the new
students who repeatedly asked questions about assessment had become worried since
discussing the reputation of one lecturer with students from the previous intake. However,
this was not an isolated issue of anxiety amongst new students, as I observed that the
same type of questions were being asked by BET 2 students, who by that stage had
completed eleven subjects.

Other assessment-related questions that students asked lecturers ranged from the
expansive, e.g. ‘how can you help me if I want to prepare for this exam? [B4:187]’, to the
prosaic, ‘will we be penalised for writing too much? [A4:256]’. Observations revealed a
predictable pattern in which, at the end of the evening of the last class for each subject,
lecturers were asked a barrage of questions about assessment tasks. This would occur
whether or not the lecturer had addressed the topic of the assessment task during the
class, no matter who was teaching, although some lecturers apparently generated a
higher level of anxiety than others.

Some lecturers were particularly careful to stress important assessment related points;
even going so far as to say ‘this is a hint for the exam…’, whereupon they would write a
point on the board, which always resulted in a flurry of note taking. In general,
observations support the view that students sought a clear, even formulaic, process for
success in assessment tasks and continuously exhibited high levels of anxiety about
assessment. They clearly sought to understand key aspects of a subject’s content and
were particularly alert when a lecture or guided discussion was linked to assessment
tasks. They were also at pains to encourage the lecturer to reveal any idiosyncratic
preferences they might have when grading assignments: in other words they sought to
understand valid process.

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Cultural sensitivity and adjustment
Partial insider status allowed me to develop a depth of sensitivity to local issues that
became more obvious to me as my field work elapsed: when I realised the social
blunders I had made during early days, or was finally allowed access to discussion of
taboo issues. Thus, from my own developing perspective, I was able to observe that
lecturers came to class with elements of the same naivety I had had at first. Whilst all
the lecturers demonstrated cultural sensitivity during individual interviews, they
nevertheless faced a range of challenges concerning culturally appropriate behaviour and
it naturally eventuated that some were more aware or more sensitive about selected
issues than others. Some had possibly decided that they wanted to behave according to
their own cultural and/or epistemological perspective and thus ignored the cultural
consequences. No doubt all were simultaneously developing new perspectives, before,
during, and after, the observations.

In terms of cultural sensitivity, it was interesting to observe that issues of concern to

lecturers were sometimes not matters of concern to Singaporeans, and vice versa. For
example, as discussed in chapter three, Singapore does not experience gender equity
and respect for women in the workplace in the same way that Australia does. This was a
sensitive issue for one lecturer who (rather than tackling the issue head on) hinted:

You might then have to think and talk a great deal more when you look at
things like equity… [B2:25]

One of the students then asked; ‘Would that be about women in the workforce?’ [B2:26],
to which the lecturer replied; ‘Well they are certainly part of the workforce and the
economy…’[B2:27]. Thus the topic of gender equity was raised, but then – as no
discussion was forthcoming from the group – it was dropped again until some small group
work brought about the following interchange;

[student]…alright, who’s the lady here? Take notes.

[group]: Woooooh!

[lecturer]: …remember what we said, women are people…[B2:20]

In this instance, the lecturer was seeking to inculcate a serious attitude towards an
Australian gender-equity paradigm, however the group simply did not pick it up. Another
lecturer also reported that he ‘didn’t get anywhere with those [gender] aspects of the
topic’ [40:2:327-328]. Lecturers also trod generally unproductive and relatively dangerous
ground discussing issues such as human rights. In light of the ‘Lingle’ case discussed in

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chapter three, such discussions could potentially leave foreign lecturers in Singapore
open to serious consequences, and the BET lecturers may have been naïve to these
possibilities. The following shows a lecturer indirectly addressing a politically sensitive
topic, without specifically mentioning Singapore:

…then there is the issue of ethics. If some countries apply a blockage

because country x doesn’t have fair human rights, then what is the
impact?…[B2:29]

It is unclear whether the lecturer was referring to Singapore in the above quotation (but
then Lingle never referred to Singapore specifically either), however there were times
during that class when it would have been reasonable to assume that he was. Another
made the statement (which I thought perfectly reasonable, but somewhat naïve in the
Singaporean context) that; ‘education must be morally unobjectionable’ [A1:201]. Such
interchanges gave me pause to write in my field notes; ‘I wonder how I would feel as a
Singaporean hearing about all these ‘wonderful’ things that, to one extent or another, my
country doesn’t have’ [B2:78]. When I later asked students what they thought and how
they did feel, I was told things like ‘they were used to it’, and ‘things take a long time to
change in Singapore’; but at the same time I was issued with a list of grievances about
specifics such as non-Chinese not being able to access the job market and women being
the brunt of sexist jokes in the workplace. In other words, the students who discussed
such issues with me seemed to sit anywhere on a continuum of ‘frustrated’ to
‘nonchalant’, however most also seemed rather accepting of the status quo and, I
imputed, felt powerless to do anything about it. Thus lecturers needed to be aware of
social and political sensitivities; both for their own welfare and in order to engage student
discussion in a truly dialogic rather than a doctrinal manner. Lecturers were possibly not
fully cognisant of the fact that aspects of their own pedagogies were intrinsically Western
and therefore not easily culturally translated, and thus there was a clash between the
‘Western’ epistemological culture of interrogation and critique, and Singaporean cultural
sensitivities.

At a more obvious level, some lecturers seemed a little ignorant of local social and
religious issues. For example, one used the example of ‘a Muslim woman’s clothing that
might exclude her from the workplace’ [A1:173]. This was a particularly sensitive topic in
Singapore at the time (due to the September 11th and Bali bombings, Jemaah Islamiyah
‘cells’ in neighbouring Johor Bharu, the resulting alienation of Muslims in Singapore, and
the Singaporean government banning of the ‘Tudung’ (headscarf) in schools).
Unfortunately the example was introduced without preface with the result that it

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engendered no verbal response from the group and students avoided eye contact with
the lecturer and one another. This instance lead me to note; ‘am I the only one who feels
uncomfortable with this question?’ [A1:173]. After class, a student confided with me that
Singaporeans only discuss such issues with family or closest friends; ‘…this is very
sensitive here…so when they are teaching…there might be some subjects, sensitive
issues like ahh,…Muslim, or male and female you know…they might not be able to
touch’ [49:472]. Another more obvious potential cultural faux pas included newly arrived
male lecturers proffering a handshake with class members (this did not bring about any
problems, but it potentially could have due to the fact that it was Ramadan at the time)
and female lecturers standing behind male students and touching their shoulders during
debriefing.

Although the preceding reads as a litany of well-intentioned cultural faux pas on behalf of
the Australians, it was interesting to me that the local lecturer used words that Australian
lecturers would have considered culturally and professionally inappropriate, for example;
‘top down management model…the shit drops to what level…’ [C4:17] (which drew no
negative response from the group but made me cringe), thus further underlining the fact
that what is appropriate in one country is not in another.

To their credit, lecturers were observed to expend huge efforts to protect the ‘face’ and
dignity of students, as the following diary note recalls:

[Lecturer] really works with student who clearly has no idea how to answer a
question…puts a lot of effort into stating and restating and coaching to help
him avoid appearing ignorant in front of class. [A3:78]

As the program progressed, individual lecturers also began to include a lot of local
examples in course content, building bridges to understanding and taking full advantage
of the possibility of conducting ’little comparative studies’ [83:2:269] between Singapore
and Australia.

Thus classroom observation reinforced the contention that students were tolerant of
lecturers’ cultural naivety and appreciative of their efforts to adapt. As has already been
discussed at length in the preceding chapters, students typically thought that lecturers
should accept that cultural difference does matter and, notably, that they should avoid
discussion of sensitive issues. Both parties became more aware that cultural difference
had an impact on the program as it progressed.

In summary, the ‘third perspective’ provided by classroom observations has:

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 5. Reinforced Hofstede’s (1980; 1994a; 2005) contention that cultural values are
learned early in life and often held subconsciously. This, combined with ‘Asian’
respect for educators means it is highly unlikely that lecturers will be told when
they have made a cultural faux pas (e.g. the ‘death-of-the-parent-still-means-no-
extension’ case discussed on page 175, in which the lecturer will likely remain
forever ignorant of the amount of discomfort they caused);

6. Demonstrated that professional development including a cross-cultural briefing

prior to teaching in Singapore could potentially have helped lecturers; and

7. Shown that lecturers should have the opportunity to decide whether or not to
adapt their pedagogies and tinker with their epistemological beliefs based on a full
understanding of the likelihood of outcomes in a foreign culture.

Chapter conclusion
The classroom observations reported in this chapter have added a ‘third perspective’
which has facilitated a deeper consideration of the data from lecturer and student
interviews as reported in chapters six and seven. The chapter has added depth to
interview data and has commenced identification of practices that could potentially
contribute to the understanding and improvement of transnational programs. The
following and final chapter reviews and consolidates the research and concludes with
recommendations for program improvement and future research.

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Chapter Nine: Findings, recommendations and
conclusion
Introduction
This research commenced with the hypothesis that cultural phenomena would have a
profound impact on participants’ experiences of transnational education programs and
that this likelihood would be substantially unrecognised. A clear finding is that cultural
differences have consistently influenced and transformed human action at every level of
the program; a probability which was frequently disregarded and/or unexplored,
particularly early in the program.

The preceding chapters have discussed the differing cultural contexts of Australia and
Singapore; examined contemporary transnational education in those countries;
conducted a review of the literature pertaining to cultural phenomena as they effect
pedagogy (particularly within Asia); explored the foundational learning experiences of the
Singaporean students and their Australian educators; and examined the experiences of
both students and educators in the transnational context. The penultimate chapter
(observations) also identified practices that could potentially contribute to effective
teaching and learning in multicultural and/or transnational programs.

This final chapter will review previous chapters, consolidating and clarifying findings, and
where appropriate, highlight opportunities for improvement in similar programs. The
following discussion focuses on findings that are of interest at the broader program level,
particularly those concerning quality assurance (as introduced in chapter two). The
significance of findings for transnational teaching and learning are then examined. The
chapter concludes with discussion of the limitations of this research and
recommendations for further study.

Australian transnational education: a pioneer

condemned?
Chapter two proposed that transnational education operates within a complex
environment, in which economic aims can overshadow social ideals and transform human
action in ways that are still not fully understood. New programs like the BET operate at
the frontier of this complexity. Within such programs, the values that underpin education
are being reinterpreted; entangled in the veiled agendas of globalisation and
internationalisation.

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It appears likely that the cumulative effect of:

• the plans by South East Asian governments to establish regional educational hubs
(building on lessons learned from Australia);

• the upgrading to university status of local colleges in Singapore and other South
East Asian counties (page 59);

• a preference by South East Asian students to study at home if academically

respectable degrees are more accessible and affordable (page 55); and

• perceptions of the media, employers and students in South East Asia that
‘distance education’ is a poor cousin to face-to-face learning (pages 21 and 132);

will ensure that there are fewer Australian transnational education programs in the region
in the near future. It would be too broad a conclusion to draw from this research that this
is occurring as a direct or partial result of any perceived or actual lack of quality
assurance on behalf of Australian transnational programs. However this research has
demonstrated that cultural difference is an important factor directly related to ‘quality’
educational provision. Thus, if cultural factors have been overlooked in the provision of
transnational programs, then the quality of Australian programs has been undermined by
this oversight. Particularly in light of the above ‘dot point’ list, Australian transnational
programs should be careful to avoid any perception of culture-related deficits which could
enhance the likelihood of rejection by the region.

Internationalisation; by any other name…

One of the ways in which it is possible to determine the manner in which
Australian universities conceptualise the idea of internationalised curriculum
is to look at their professional development programs, designed to enable
staff to explore the issues of diversity and intercultural relations. (Rizvi and
Walsh, 1998:10)

If we ask the questions implicit in the quotation from Rizvi and Walsh (above), it would
appear that for the BET provider university (and others), internationalisation is an
intellectual one-way street with paramount economic objectives. In the tension between
economic aims and social ideals, the economic/trade side of the transnational education
equation is rarely, if ever, overlooked whilst culturally sensitive internationalised
curriculum and pedagogy are left to chance. This stands in clear contrast to the AVCC’s
(2003c) fact sheet on internationalisation which stated that; ‘Australia’s place in the world,
and in particular our engagement with the Asia Pacific Region, depends on first hand
knowledge of, and experience in, other countries’.

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Key to the discussion of internationalisation in transnational education is the debate
surrounding the homogenisation of education, more specifically; charges of educational
imperialism and Western epistemological hegemony (as discussed on page 9). It seems
reasonable to propose that overt educational imperialism would be a clumsy, insensitive
undertaking in this twenty-first century and most of the lecturer respondents to this
research personally disavowed such motivations (and, in the main, their actions
supported their espoused views). However, it seems equally reasonable to propose that
when governments and universities undertake the ‘selling’ of education with the
ethnocentric view that foreign and unadapted epistemologies, program content and
pedagogies are acceptable, charges of intellectual hegemony are invited. Such
ethnocentricity is rarely intended or conscious (Bennett, 1993b; Ward et al., 2001).
However, the combination of a lack of consideration of issues pertaining to cultural
difference together with the evident lack of resourcing to transnational programs, could be
argued to be the organisational equivalent. This research provided examples that
illustrate such unconscious hegemony, imperialism or even epistemological arrogance:
when busy lecturers do not have sufficient time to research and rewrite a program to suit
a foreign context, or highly anxious lecturers (page 168) are sent overseas to teach in a
different culture with no pre-departure briefing. Clearly, these realities stand in contrast to
the rhetoric of internationalisation. Thus, unfortunately, this research has added weight to
Altbach’s (2000:2) proposal that so far transnational education has not really contributed
to true internationalisation; ‘knowledge products are being sold across borders, but there
is little mutual exchange of ideas, or knowledge, of students or faculty. They are not
collaborative in the sense that internationalisation would require’. Without such mutual
learning and feedback, it could be concluded that there is little opportunity to identify
culture-based assumptions which may impact on transnational program delivery, and as a
consequence there is a greatly reduced opportunity to implement positive changes to
‘internationalised’ and/or transnational programs.

One world?

Whilst the Australian Vice Chancellors’ Committee is encouraging Australian universities

to engage with and understand our Asian neighbours, it was revealed in chapter three
that many Western sojourners view Singapore as merely an outpost of ‘The West’ within
Asia, and consequently expect to experience little cultural difference there. These
expectations are based on visitors’ initial observations of Singapore’s ‘Western’ city
architecture, apparently individualist endeavours, and the fact that similarities in language
may obscure differences (Ward et al., 2001). Chapter two posited that such a view is

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symptomatic of the ‘one world’, hybridisation forecasts of globalisation. The same chapter
cited the work of Bennett (1993b) who proposed that such views are potentially naïve,
ethnocentric and a luxury of dominant groups. Hofstede’s (2005) work (discussed in
chapter five) further observed that these cultural artefacts are components of the
superficial, more easily changed, manifestations of culture. Thus the experiences
reported in this research are explained by the intercultural literature: despite the expected
homogenising aspects of globalisation, there were significant cultural differences between
the players in the BET program that were not initially recognised because of superficial
similarities. The three preceding chapters amply demonstrate that while individuals from
Australia and Singapore may share many characteristics, and be simultaneously moving
toward a new cultural definition of the self (in part brought about by globalisation and by
their experiences in the classroom), their basic experiences, values and beliefs remain
deeply and resolutely disparate. This is important for transnational education because
whilst the multiple objectives behind the delivery of such programs may be realisable,
again, this research has demonstrated that one of those objectives must be the
recognition of, adaptation to and valorisation of, cultural difference.

Truncated programs: questioning the rationale

In chapter two it was reported that the Australian Universities Quality Agency prophesised
that many truncated transnational programs would not allow sufficient time for reflection.
This research strongly supports that statement and, moreover, clearly demonstrates that
truncated programs are unable to deliver the same content and learning outcomes as
Australian programs (despite universities’ assurances that they do).

This research has revealed that lecturers thought the truncated nature of the program
pedagogically unsound from the outset. They later found that most, if not all, aspects of
teaching took longer in Singapore due to cultural and linguistic translation difficulties and
that they were unable to deliver course content as planned. We have seen that small
group pedagogies were very effective in the Singaporean transnational classroom,
although they took longer in a context where time was at a premium. Thus, lecturers
experienced a significant dissonance: some resorted to more didactic pedagogical
practices, at the same time believing that this was the least desirable way to teach.

Students, as we have heard, reported concerns that they had not retained knowledge
from previous subjects and that they were not ‘truly’ learning. Clearly the combination of
lecturers’ inability to cover sufficient content, students’ incapacity to read sufficient
material in the timeframe allocated and to reflect on learning, are mutually reinforcing

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concerns. Thus the evidence points to the conclusion that, if long-term learning is the goal
of transnational education, the balance between marketing concerns and quality
pedagogy must be tipped in favour of pedagogy by providing more face-to-face student
contact hours and longer periods between intensive teaching sessions (subjects).

Related to the discussion of overall program design is the finding that students thought
the program had ‘no logical consistency’ (page 191) and considered that this undermined
their learning experience. The BET subjects; ‘Introduction to Teaching and Learning’,
‘Advanced Teaching and Learning’ and ‘Praxis’ had to be provided in sequence, however
other subjects were somewhat randomly interspersed between these three. Frequently,
the capacity for a lecturer to be in Singapore for a week or longer determined subject
rotation, rather than any conscious structuring of subjects from the foundational to the
more intellectually challenging. This is another way in which transnational programs can
be less pedagogically sound than their Australian counterparts. Thus another
recommendation from this research is that transnational programs should scaffold and
link subjects in such a way so as to build a curriculum that reinforces previous learning,
and that appropriate lecturers should be engaged in advance to ensure that this can
happen.

Implicit in the latter recommendation is the suggestion that staffing levels need to be
sufficient for the university to strategically plan offshore programs without simultaneously
undermining Australian provision. The lecturers in this study already had full workloads
before they were asked to teach overseas. They found (and students noticed) that
cultural differences increased workloads over and above what would have been the case
had the lecturers simply commenced the teaching of another subject in Australia. This,
and the fact that these experienced lecturers’ Australian classes were backfilled by
sessional staff, had a negative impact on quality of program delivery and lecturer work-life
balance in both Australia and Singapore.

The cultural and marketing significance of student choice

This research has shown that culture also plays a role in students’ choice of university.
‘Power Distance’ and collectivism dimensions (e.g. House et al. 2004; Hofstede and
Hofstede, 2005) of national culture would predict that, within South East Asia, status
symbols as well as friends’ and family members’ opinions would be important in the
choice of a university. The BET students’ responses partially supported those predictions.
Education was perceived as a means of ascending through the hierarchy of social class
and therefore a person’s status as a degree holder in both the workplace and society was

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an important factor in their choice of institution. However the ‘prestige’ often assumed to
be inherent in a ‘Western’ education in general, and the sandstone university in particular,
was notable for it’s scarcity in student response. In contrast, the perceived prestige of the
local partner institution was a crucial deciding factor. The relevance of collectivism to
choice of university was apparent from two perspectives: the opinions of friends and
family were definitely important, as was the capacity to contribute to society as a ‘learned
person’.

The great majority of students also sought knowledge that was practical, and perceived
that learning which culminates in application was the most valuable. Transferability of
program content across national and industrial boundaries was a further motivating factor.
In short, the research supports Olsen (2001:23) who found that ‘Asian’ students
demanded ‘practical, relevant qualifications delivered in a manner that takes account of
competing time and energy demands’. Thus this research reveals that there is a tension
between the perceptions held by some university staff about what students wanted, and
what the students themselves sought.

Therefore, aspects of this research may be particularly significant for university marketing
departments. This study has shown that the opinions of an individual’s family and friends
are at least as important as the opinions of the person making the choice of a university.
In programs that were most appropriate for adult practitioners, practical, contemporary
and internationally transferable knowledge was sought. Notably, the selection of a
twinning partner has been shown to be a crucial decision for any Australian university:
selection of the wrong partner can reduce a university’s credibility and prestige, whereas
choosing the correct partner can significantly increase both prestige and intake. On their
part, lecturers need not necessarily change their epistemological values and approaches,
but, as advised by Hulmes (1989:5), should at least ‘recognise and respect different
values and approaches to the acquisition of qualifications’.

Representatives: the role of lecturers in Quality Assurance.

The motivations of the various players responsible for the provision of transnational
education are multi-layered and conflicted. Within one university, motivations can be both
economic and idealistic; aid and trade; acknowledged and unspoken; espoused and
enacted; operating at both organisational and individual levels.

The most visible responsibility for educational ‘quality’ lies with the travelling lecturers,
whose actions reflect on their university and Australian transnational education in general.

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However lecturers do not operate in a vacuum: their role is affected by the actions of
others at all levels of the system; from the global stage to the minutiae of university
administration. They are challenged with having to adapt their individual styles to satisfy
both national and global criteria (Evans and Tregenza, 2001). If this was not a significant
enough undertaking, the BET lecturers’ experiences magnified the sometimes-profound
difference between the attitudes of those who establish a transnational contract and those
who eventually deliver it. While they were struggling with pedagogical and curricular
challenges, lecturers also experienced role-conflict, frequently taking on emergent project
management tasks for which they were not prepared or experienced. It was often they
who were left trying to stitch a ‘silk purse’ educational experience out of the erstwhile
‘sow’s ears’ left by corporate/university negotiators who apparently did not have
pedagogical quality as their primary area of expertise or concern.

It is no wonder then that academics are becoming less inclined to travel and are seeing
transnational projects as the ‘province of particular specialists who have specific interests
in the area’ (Milton-Smith, 2001:8). Analysis of this program has demonstrated that,
culture-related learning aside, in addition to a truly international perspective on their area
of specialisation, transnational lecturers also require extensive teaching experience, a full
repertoire of facilitative skills, and the preparedness and capacity to embrace constant
challenge, change and ambiguity. Indeed the extensive experience of the Vice-chancellor
of the Open University in the United Kingdom, has taught him that; ‘it is relatively easy to
start a program by getting faculty to travel, [but] very difficult to sustain once the novelty
has worn off’ (Daniel, 1999b:4).

Thus the BET has demonstrated the conflicting motivations and lack of responsibility,
shared vision and, ultimately, undermining of quality provision that can occur when
organisational structures separate those who market programs from those who have to
deliver ‘the goods’. Should this situation be mirrored in other institutions and left to
continue, it would be to the detriment of the Australian Higher Education system as a
whole. In a competitive international market for top-quality staff, Australian universities
are already becoming increasingly uncompetitive (Karmel, 2000:4). It appears from this
research that at least one Australian university has not heeded the advice of Daniel
(1999b:3), that universities ‘need to create the proper structures to support transnational
programs’.

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Staff development for transnational teaching
The need to create an opportunity for conscious development of cultural awareness by
travelling staff would seem so obvious a requirement as to go without saying. Yet in the
BET program, formal opportunities for the development of cultural competence were most
obvious for their absence. This research has suggested that the individualist academic
culture and the broader formal university system also did not encourage or provide
tangible support for the BET lecturers in terms of developing accurate
historical/sociological; pedagogical, and cultural awareness prior to transnational
placements. It would seem that the BET university is not alone in this oversight. The
lecturers’ experiences mirrored published case studies which reveal that few formal or
systematic cross cultural training and/or development programs are currently being made
available, let alone compulsory, and there is a general assumption of cultural competency
on the part of academic staff (Hacket and Nowak, 1999; Clark and Clark, 2000;
Hawthorne, 2001; Dixon and Scott, 2003; Gribble and Zigarus, 2003; Hawthorne et al.,
2004).

Perhaps this failure to maximise professional development opportunities is the most

glaring example of missed opportunity in the BET program. As Rizvi and Walsh propose
(page 241), this failure provides clues to the conceptualisation of internationalisation by
universities, and also contributes to the self-defeating downward spiral of their apparent
short-term economic focus. Thus an obvious recommendation to emerge from this
research is that universities which provide a quality transnational experience for staff and
students should ensure that they allocate resources (expertise and time) to support
development activities.

A wealth of literature exists to inform the design, development and delivery of formal and
informal intercultural awareness training and development interventions, including pre-
departure programs (e.g. Bennett, 1986, 1993a; Brislin and Yoshida, 1994; Bhawuk and
Triandis, 1996; Paige and Martin, 1996; Berry, 2004; Pusch, 2004; Ward, 2004). This
literature reinforces the fact that appropriate development activities should be customised
to suit the audience and purpose. Customised interventions can be culture-general and/or
culture-specific and should include pedagogical approaches to facilitate learning in a
range of domains (e.g. skills-based, feedback, mentoring, self-directed activities (Holmes,
2004).

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The BET lecturers received no formal pre-departure briefing (‘not even how to get from
the airport’, page 144). Clearly their preparation was impoverished, but the majority of
pre-departure development opportunities provided by other universities to the BET
lecturers’ more fortunate sojourning compatriots tends to be limited to that which is
historical/sociological in nature (Bennett, 1993b:57; Gribble and Zigarus, 2003).
Desirable historical/sociological development opportunities could include access to self-
paced materials at appropriate levels: country-specific travel knowledge (of the travel
guide variety), deeper knowledge of the receiving country’s history, information on
contemporary challenges and educational system/s, and consequently the opportunity to
reconsider curriculum in the socio-political context of the receiving country. The provision
of such learning opportunities is an important recommendation, however alone it is
certainly insufficient to ensure cultural competence.

Analysis of the BET program does provide strong evidence that lecturers were developing
cultural competence during on-the-job learning. They recognised that they had learned a
considerable amount from their sojourns and this was supported by classroom
observations of their acculturation. Awareness of ‘the game’ (of acculturation, page 168),
aided both individual and program development, whilst naivety in relation to the extent of
cultural difference blocked communication and exacerbated misunderstandings. In the
case of the lecturers, ‘game learning’ was demonstrated in the classroom through
adaptations to question sequencing, elucidation techniques, reactions to different
communication styles (including silence and proxemics), and adaptations to the structure
of classes. Outside the classroom, relationships with students including responses to their
learning problems, hospitality and gift-giving also provided new challenges and
opportunities for the development of cultural competence. In other words, lecturers were
coming to recognise and adapt their culturally-embedded reference points: they were
acculturating. Lecturers also needed to spend a significant amount of time and effort
supporting students through their transition to a new learning culture. The student
respondents to this study were similar to those reported in Ward et al. (2001) from the
work of McCargar (1993); they came to be enthusiastic about active learning and the
ability to express themselves. In fact, they adapted relatively quickly to new pedagogies
at the surface level. Typically, however, interviews and observations revealed that
maximal contact with ‘the lecturer and the literature’ remained many of the students’ most
highly valued pedagogy. Thus this research supports the proposal (as per Hofstede and
Hofstede, 2005) that while practices can be changed relatively easily, they are the most
superficial layers of culture: values are more entrenched and much more difficult to

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change (if it is realistic and/or appropriate to attempt to change them at all). Therefore
one predictor of a successful transnational program would be the recognition that
acculturation is a predictable challenge that will face both lecturers and students. This
aspect of ‘learning the game’ should be consciously taken into account by those
designing and teaching transnational programs.

As reported in chapter six, lecturers’ cultural learning was directly applied in their
Australian university environment (e.g. through an awareness of globalisation; the
capacity to present transnational case studies, an increased confidence to work with
overseas students etc.). Thus involvement in transnational education provided a clear
benefit to the university in terms of organisational knowledge and ability. However often
lecturers learned the hard way; ‘through transgression’ - as a result of varying levels of
culture shock (Bochner, 1986). Conscious and systematic organisationally sponsored
learning need not be so painful, nor so conspicuous. Gribble and Ziguras (2003) suggest
that informal information sharing and mentoring are both appropriate and that these
practices currently occur in Australian Universities. Whilst this research supports the
proposal that sharing and mentoring between sojourning academics is to be encouraged,
a caveat is important. Cultural sensitivity would be a more likely outcome of mentoring if it
were to occur through an organisationally sponsored program utilising the skills and
knowledge of bi-cultural people who have knowledge of the receiving country as well as
general cultural competency. This research has clearly demonstrated that accepting
advice from fellow academics who have, for example, taught in a South East Asian
country, on occasions only reinforces student-deficiency stereotypes and provides
inaccurate and unhelpful (mis)-information (page 144). Informally selected potential
mentors may be fellow lecturers who have begun to develop cultural awareness, but who
are ‘accidentally bicultural’ (Bennett, 1993b). Such individuals may be partially familiar
with a particular culture but not generally skilled in adapting to difference, and
consequently they may be unable to use their cultural knowledge to guide others. Bennett
(1993b) proposes that ‘accidental bi-culturality’ tends to occur when people undertake
overseas assignments without preparation or previous experience with development of
cultural sensitivity. Obviously, given the lack of pre-departure development in the BET
university, there would be a strong likelihood that potential mentors may be ‘accidentally
bicultural’, thus informal mentoring could reinforce a student-deficit culture within the
university.

Apart from mentoring, this research has reported recommendations made by students for
the development of intercultural sensitivity: that Australian lecturers (and their universities)

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embrace the learning that could be gained from; longer sojourns; liaisons with offshore
universities; Australians team-teaching with locals, and networking with fellow academics
in the host country. Such collaboration would imply allowance of time for mutuality of
learning.

In summary, this research recommends that in order to engage effectively in any of the
preceding developmental activities, when working in transnational programs, lecturers
should consider their epistemological stances and choices of pedagogy from a position of
informed awareness of the result of predictable cultural differences. Epistemologically,
lecturers should consider questions such as:

• What do I value?

• Why do I value that?

• How might my culture have contributed to that value?

• How does x (whatever I am considering) translate into another cultural context?

• In awareness of the preceding; what can, or should, I do differently?

Building on such epistemological self-awareness, the following pedagogical questions

could be considered:

• How can I adapt my;

o expectations of students;
o questioning techniques;
o group process; and
o flexibility, and my understanding of what flexibility means?
• What can I do to ensure that I remain in a state of awareness of my own cultural
biases and those of the students?
• What is a culturally reasonable (e.g. realistic, ethical, unburdened by my own
socialisation) expectation in terms of ‘genuine dialogue’?
• How can I encourage my students to consciously join with me in such a journey of
self and intercultural discovery?
Considerations such as these may enable lecturers to communicate more effectively with
students across the barriers presented by the mutually foreign terrain of the transnational
classroom.

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Contextualisation: curriculum and content

Innumerable commentators (e.g. Nicholson and Stephina, 1998; Ofori-Dankwa and

Reddy, 1999; Ricks, 1999; Clark and Clark, 2000; Daniel, 2000; Watkins, 2000; Bates,
2001; Pearson and Entrekin, 2001) indicate that Australian and other ‘Western’
educational curricula, concepts, models and processes should not be assumed to be
automatically transferable to other countries. As discussed later in this chapter (page
259), Northedge (2003) highlights the concern that the cognitive dissonance that is
potentially brought about through exposure to foreign values could set up conflict with
students’ daily life roles. Examples we have seen in this research include the
consideration of policies that would not be culturally appropriate in Singapore, or models
that encourage more autonomous behaviour than is currently accepted in Singaporean
businesses. However delivery of un-contextualised curriculum is what has occurred in
transnational education since the Colombo Plan, when the most commonly cited reason
for students not using their newly acquired knowledge and skills was that ‘the content of
the training was unsuitable for local conditions’ (Cannon, 1999: 16-17, citing Keats,
1969). Davis et al. (2000b) found that, thirty years on, curriculum was adapted
significantly in only twenty-five percent of programs.

Despite the preceding research, this study has demonstrated the complexity that exists in
the transnational classroom and the dangers of making any indiscriminate
recommendations in relation to curriculum contextualisation. The majority of the BET
students had the desire and the capacity to learn from overseas models; to evaluate the
experiences of other countries; and to discard what they considered culturally or
practically inappropriate. This may be reflective of their socialisation, as Singapore has
succeeded due to its ability to do likewise (as discussed in chapter three). Quite a few
student respondents supported the suggestion that lecturers should incorporate
Singaporean case studies, journal publications etc. in their teaching, and felt that this
would help to contextualise and reinforce learning. However most students also appeared
to, almost unconsciously, adapt curriculum content during class and during consideration
of workplace application. For them, immediate transfer of learning - ‘value add’ as one of
them called it (page 187) - was important, and could not occur without this cultural
translation. Despite this apparent ease with adaptation, however, the students struggled
to translate their translated learning outcomes into something that they thought Australian
assessors would recognise and judge as acceptable. On their part, lecturers learned as
the program progressed that the inclusion of Singaporean examples aided cultural
translation in the classroom. Thus lecturers consciously made efforts to increase their

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repertoire of local content during classroom discussion (another example of mutuality of
learning). Some lecturers also recognised the students’ ability to translate content across
cultures, and maximised their own capacity to do so by ‘conducting little comparative
studies’ (page 163) between Singapore and Australia during class.

In light of this discussion of translation of content, this research supports suggestions

(e.g. Kelly and Ha, 1998; Daniel, 1999b; Ziguras, 1999; Banham and Wong, 2001;
Bates, 2001) that Australian universities need to recognise that curricula should not be
transplanted independently of social and cultural context. Clearly the BET students were
not unaware of Western bias. Whilst some may have consciously or unconsciously
sought a degree that that included aspects of ‘Western educational values’, as a general
pattern BET students did not uncritically accept ‘Western’ values; they wanted to learn
from overseas experiences and in the process of cultural translation they consciously
‘sifted’ inappropriate values and content. Thus, the incorporation of host-country case
studies and literature were considered desirable and were commended by both students
and lecturers to those seeking to increase the likelihood of transfer of learning.

Contextualisation: pedagogy and process

It is a foregone conclusion that transnational education brings teachers and students from
culturally different backgrounds together in an unfamiliar environment. This research has
clearly demonstrated that within this environment, participants’ roles and pedagogies
differ dramatically from their normative experiences. These roles are socially constructed
and culturally weighted, and therefore it should be expected that they will need to be
reinterpreted in the global arena.

Chapter five predicted that, as a group, students in Singapore would be: ‘prototypically
collectivist’, conservative, unused to autonomy, and that they would place a high
importance on moral values. As a general pattern (to which there were notable
exceptions), the BET students’ reports and observed behaviours were in alignment with
these dimensions of national culture. There was certainly a noticeable level of what could
be called conservatism; in responses to assignments as well as in moral values. The
students were also unused to autonomy, and this probably had a direct impact on their
learning styles and could have contributed to the initial difficulty they had in adapting to
self-directed learning. In terms of collectivist behaviours, many BET students freely
shared their time to help others in study groups; in fact in some cases this was clearly to
their own detriment. They certainly were accepting and even deferential to the expressed
views of others, at least in terms of the way they prefaced comments in order for others to

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‘save face’. Generally speaking, there was a feeling of concern for the group, which is
said to exemplify collectivism. However it could also be argued that much of this
behaviour had, at its core, a means to achieve individual goals (success in assessment).
There is clearly some tension between an image of ‘concerned collectivism’ and students’
observed lack of interest in their colleagues’ interactions with the lecturer during class.
Perhaps, however, this is explained in the literature by the notion of ‘in-groups’ (as
discussed in chapter five, page 103). By way of example, individual class members
cared for members of their self-established study groups, but less so for the rest of the
class. Therefore, this study provides some evidence to support the proposal that
Singaporean students will exhibit collectivist behaviours, and that educators could expect
that this will have an impact on pedagogy. The caveat is that the ‘pattern’ of collectivism
is continually being reinterpreted through the dynamism of global cultural adaptation. An
example of this is provided by the changing Singaporean education system which, as
discussed in chapter three, is competitive and highly individualistic.

In terms of Uncertainty Avoidance, as discussed in chapter five, the behaviours and

beliefs of the Singaporean students were completely at odds with Hofstede’s (1994a)
proposal that they would be comfortable with ambiguity. In the main, the students sought
clear and unambiguous predictability and rules. The predictions of the Globe study
(House et al., 2004) were much more accurate: students sought feedback avidly, goal
achievement was a clear motivation, ego protection was important, and students were
generally ready to accept and enforce standardised rules. Again, there were exceptions
to the pattern: as several lecturers observed, Singaporean students were quite prepared
to challenge and bend the rules if it was in their best interest!

As would be expected, this research found no stereotypical ‘Singaporean learner’ and

therefore no stereotypically appropriate pedagogy for teaching in Singapore. Whilst
stereotypes are somewhat ‘taboo’ in contemporary sociology, Bond (1986) proposes that
they can include constructive elements and have a legitimate role to play in the
maintenance of harmonious intercultural contact: in other words they may contain ‘a
kernel of truth’ that accurately mirrors significant differences. Certainly some of the traits
that earlier empirical intercultural education research (reported in chapter five) predicted
would be present in ‘Asian’ classrooms were identified in this study: i.e.; self-initiated
group learning, cue seeking in relation to assessment, face-saving behaviours; a
preference for face-to-face interaction and correspondent devaluing of computer-based
learning; an appreciation of ‘handouts’; and students seeking out-of-classroom
interactions with lecturers on friendly terms.

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Many of the student respondents to this study were possibly atypical Singaporeans in that
they were very familiar with contemporary facilitative HRD pedagogies. They took time to
become self-directed and a paradoxical finding is that despite their burgeoning
appreciation of constructivist and/or experiential learning, many still sought a structured,
unambiguous learning environment that provided ‘authorised knowledge’. Thus, the
culmination of their learning journey is probably less self-directed than one might find in
an average Australian student group. It appears that, even though the lecturer might
have been employing ‘student-centred’ methods, the locus of control from the majority of
students’ perspectives was external. For the students, the lecturers remained the centre
of the learning experience: it was the lecturers’ role to ensure that the ‘right’ learning
emerged from class sessions. The majority of the students did not seem to come to the
realisation that constructivist learning might have greater depth and longevity than
‘authorised knowledge’, and – as will be discussed later - in relation to assessment this
might well have been an appropriate conclusion to draw.

For students, ‘authorised knowledge’ was linked to application of learning; exemplified

through a desire for ‘credibility’ in the workplace and the seeking of ‘real experience
stories’ from lecturers. In the classroom, ‘authorised’ or ‘expert’ knowledge was applied
and analysed in light of case studies or real-life experiences and thus proven to be
workable (or not). In this way knowledge became internalised. Therefore, as Biggs and
Watkins (1996) pointed out, it is also very likely that students were, in fact, working
towards a depth of understanding in a way that was simply different to the lecturers’
expectations. Interestingly, group-work responses and eventual assessment tasks (e.g.
the workplace based project [page 161]) actually demonstrated that the Singaporean
students were capable of translating learning across both pedagogical ‘worlds’; they were
creative and at the same time were also skilled at using repetition to aid depth of
understanding.

Cummins and Smith’s (1999:50) findings from work with experienced transnational
educators has been strongly supported by this study. Cummins and Smith (1999) agree
that successful transnational teaching requires flexibility. We have seen that the teaching
practices that best meet student needs (at least initially, while program sequencing
introduced new methodologies) may require a flexibility that is counter-cultural to
educators’ assessment of what constitutes contemporary ‘best practice’. Educators may
‘have to adopt more structured methods which they have come to believe to be outdated
in their own society’ (Hofstede, 1986:316). However, the formidable challenge facing
respondents is also reflected in Ziguras’ (1999:6) observation that despite educators’ best

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efforts, even ‘being flexible may encounter resistance from students as the desire for
flexibility is itself culturally weighted…[it] would require accepting that not everyone wants
to be flexible’. It is important therefore, particularly in a program such as the BET - in
which educators should be modelling the teaching skills that students seek to develop -
that teachers in transnational programs are able to explain the rationale behind the
teaching and learning styles that will be favoured during the program (Ziguras, 1999).
This requires sensitivity to, and an appraisal of, current practice by lecturers who are
conscious of their own inherent cultural bias. It also adds weight to the recommendation
for a transition subject for students.

By way of summary in relation to the contextualisation of pedagogy, this research has

significance in its capacity to provide recommendations for those who are involved in
similar transnational programs or in teaching classes that include students from diverse
backgrounds. These include that:

• Less ‘threatening’ (e.g. likely to cause embarrassment) processes should be used

early in a program – educators should progress from employing formal modalities
to student-directed, facilitative learning.

• Subject delivery should incorporate clear structure and scaffolding; students like to
know what to expect, when content will be covered, and how content will be linked
to assessment (this is linked to the following point).

• Inductive pedagogies are preferred.

• Student comments and questions may not be as forthcoming in the whole-class

environment. Small-group processes are more likely to encourage discussion and
allow students to seek clarification. Moreover, student responses to small-group
work allow the educator to assess student comprehension.

• Lecturers should be prepared to share a little about themselves, to ‘show heart’, to

discuss their relevant work-life experiences. In the process they will build
credibility.

• Lecturers should not take evaluation feedback at face value; whilst behaviours are
changing, the Singaporean cultural respect for the educator combined with face
saving behaviours still make it relatively unlikely that negative evaluative
responses will be obvious to educators. Only the building of long-term
relationships is likely to garner suggestions for improvement, and even then

255
 responses are likely to be less direct than one would expect in a low-context
‘Western’ environment.

At a more ‘micro’ level, the following recommendations should ensure effective

pedagogical practice in transnational classrooms, in Singapore in particular:

Small-group and syndicate processes are highly effective because they:

• allow students to ask questions and make comments that they would not raise in
whole-class context;

• allow students to contextualise content;

• encourage dynamic conversation, allowing for linguistic and conceptual translation

and turn-taking;

• encourage students to generate knowledge; and

• allow the lecturer to revert to a plenary session while maintaining an increased

level of group energy and student input.

When introducing small-group pedagogies, educators should:

• explain the pedagogical rationale and cognitive goals for each session;

• be aware that in collectivist cultures status plays an important role in who speaks
and when;

• allow time for status relationships to be sorted out, particularly early in a program;

• require different students to take on key roles (e.g. reporter, leader);

• debrief effectively, adding their own relevant experiences to the reflective cycle;

• provide immediate feedback and constructive criticism in relation to group work

outcomes; and

• complete the learning cycle by linking group work outcomes to any assessment
tasks.

Assessment

‘How far in practice can it be acknowledged that cultural diversity also means
different approaches to knowledge, and the acquisition of knowledge? It
may not be desirable or reasonable to compromise the established methods
of critical inquiry in education out of deference to minority views, but
teachers should know what the cultural bases of these minority views are’.
(Hulmes, 1989:5)

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This research is also significant because it supports the emerging literature (discussed in
chapter five) that recognises the socio-culturally bound nature of assessment and
forecasts that the basic tenets - genre conventions, ‘structure’, ‘explicitness’, argument
and critique (Andrews, 2003) - of ‘Western’ assessment will disadvantage those for whom
they are unfamiliar.

The BET students are the product of an educational system that is quite foreign to the
constructivist adult learning preferences espoused by their lecturers. As we have seen,
students’ normative educational experiences were the result of some of the least
desirable aspects of the ‘old’ Singaporean education system. Even in Singapore this
system is now considered to have left a legacy that discourages independence,
argument, and creativity: the foundations of the Western academe. Moreover, the
students were socialised in a high ‘Power Distance’ and low ‘Uncertainty Avoidance’,
Confucian-heritage culture which encouraged respect for authority, tradition, and
authorised knowledge (Pratt, 1992; House and Global Leadership and Organizational
Behavior Effectiveness Research Program, 2004; Hofstede and Hofstede, 2005). Given
that the normative educational and workplace experiences of most lecturers were
completely different to those of students, when assessment is considered from a trans-
cultural perspective, it is unsurprising that there were unpleasant surprises in store for
both groups. For lecturers, there was the disappointing perception that students often
reproduced ‘authorised knowledge’ and provided overly conservative and pragmatic
responses despite lecturers’ efforts to encourage creativity and independence. On their
part, students found much of the assessment milieu vexing and many remained confused
about academic conventions at the completion of their course.

This research supports that which was discussed in chapter five (e.g. Gow et. Al 1996,
Hawthorne 2004, etc.), which suggests that, in the student ‘panic’ (page 201) that
accompanies exams, the requirement to reproduce ‘valid process’ can subjugate deep
learning. The lack of sufficiently sophisticated English compounded the BET students’
struggle to provide evidence of critical thinking and encouraged reversion to
memorisation. The students needed time to translate their language, both conceptually
and grammatically (in the classroom as well as in assessment). In short, examinations in
particular, but also the short time between subjects, made it difficult for students to move
beyond surface learning strategies and, it could be argued, actually encouraged the
instrumental learning that lecturers disavowed.

257
‘Plagiarism’ was a particularly fraught component of ‘valid process’ in the program. We
have seen that:

• lecturers held differing beliefs and values in relation to the conceptualisation of

‘plagiarism’ and associated penalties;

• some lecturers taught ‘valid process’;

• some students worked together in self-defined study groups to ‘come to terms with
requirements’, however assignments were usually written independently;

• students recognised that they were ‘forgetful’ (page 203) about ‘valid process’;
and

• ‘after the fact’ comparison of assessment results and feedback amongst students
was frequent.

This study has demonstrated that both lecturers and students were attempting to
translate assessment culture. Indeed, the notions of power and culture, in particular
individualism and collectivism, seem to be key factors in any consideration of the cultural
relativity of assessment. Taking a loose conceptualisation of ‘plagiarism’ as an example,
in the transnational classroom students from a culture that encourages the sharing of
resources and reproduction of authorised knowledge were exposed to an often-new
paradigm in which they find that concepts, constructs and ideas are owned; the
separation and isolation of the individual’s work is sacrosanct. Many of the BET students
seemed to misjudge the importance of academic conventions and in particular the notion
of individual work, almost to the point where their response seemed to some lecturers like
obstinate resistance. It remains an open question as to why this might be the case.
Certainly they seemed perplexed by the importance that (some) lecturers ascribed to the
process. Cultural considerations suggest the possibility that the individualist concept of
the ownership of knowledge versus the sharing that is predominant in collectivist culture;
a cultural predilection to revere and reproduce expert knowledge; the high context nature
of Singaporean business practice; and the pragmatic motivations that many students had
for enrolling in the program, conspired to make academic conventions seem quite
irrelevant to students.

Most lecturers were concerned with the possible diminution of academic standards when
they encountered responses that were different to those with which they were familiar.
‘Valid process’ was a more important issue for some lecturers than others. But as
Andrews (2003:120) also pondered, sometimes there was possibly a ‘focus [by

258
assessors] on surface features at the expense of…real attention…to the structuring and
expression of ideas’. Unfortunately the differences of expectations amongst lecturers
resulted in the acceptance of a range of styles which ‘unwittingly forced the students into
a guessing game of what form and format was expected’, as also found by Andrews
(2003:120). Therefore, this research supports the findings of research undertaken
overseas (Gow et al., 1996; Tan and Snell, 2002; Andrews, 2003) and suggests that
culturally-based differences established a self-perpetuating pattern of conservative, and
possibly instrumental, responses to assessment. This research has identified two further
complexities which add to previous writers’ disquiet in relation to transnational
assessment.

The first of these complexities is in relation to the cultural translation of concepts for the
purpose of assessment. In response to assessment, BET students reported fabricating
workplace scenarios (page 202). Based on ‘Western’ academic expectations, a critiqued
and argued case for cultural inapplicability of a theory or concept should be a successful
response to an assessment task. However the students in this program chose what they
considered to be the ‘safer’ path of writing for what they perceived to be the lecturers’
culture-bound expectations. Assessment tasks often required a creative solution to a
case study, based on the students’ own thoughts and experiences. It has been noted that
that students diagnose answers to case study assessment tasks along predictable
cultural dimensions (Hofstede, 1994a). Thus, expectations of the nature of a ‘correct’
answer may be culturally determined for both student and assessor. Considering
Hofstede’s Power/Distance indices and the differences therein between ‘Asian’ and
‘Western’ societies: it seems quite unlikely that the response to a business case study
scenario would be ‘correct’ in both a Singaporean and an Australian workplace (not to
mention the considerable cultural differences in what might be considered ethically
acceptable (Tan and Snell, 2002)). Northedge (2003:27) reminds us that:

‘Workers are expected to accept dominant views as obvious and right…yet

an essay that presents only one view and no criticism does not get a good
mark…to be asked to adopt a worldview that embraces new ideas and
values is more than an intellectual challenge; it sets up conflict with the roles
through which the student accomplishes daily life’.

Northedge was referring to British adult learners, new to academia. How much greater
the role conflict for mature-age learners in high Power/Distance, paternalistic Singapore?
Thus, in light of the experiences in the BET program and the work of other researchers,
the efficacy of assessment tasks that might implicitly require students to interpret and
respond according to foreign cultural paradigms is obviously brought into question.

259
The second complexity facing transnational assessors is related to facilitated learning
versus ‘structure’; in the tension between valid process and valid content. Chapter six
revealed that most lecturers in the program considered their teaching style to be student-
centred, facilitative, and constructivist. Thus, in the classroom, students learned that
there was not necessarily ‘one right answer’: that application of knowledge was relative
and that their own experience was valued. In that context it does not seem surprising that
the students struggled with an apparently opposing assessment milieu which imposed a
foreign presentation style (argument, critique), where their own opinion was not valued
unless it was supported by somebody else’s, strict genre conventions and, in some
cases, grammatically correct academic English. In fact, it seems reasonable that the
students reverted to the belief that there actually was a ‘right answer’ when it came to
assessment, if only they could find out what the lecturer wanted. If that were the case,
assessment processes reduced the programs erstwhile adult learning environment to a
mere masquerade of flexibility. In other words, there was a tension between ‘valid
process’ and ‘valid knowledge’: students’ experiences mattered, but in assessment they
only mattered if they were related according to the power structures of the assessment
process.

The preceding questions underscore the quandary facing the lecturers: whether they
should adapt their expectations in relation to assessment: whether they should reinterpret
critical inquiry, academic conventions, ‘valid process’, and use of the English language?
This contentious topic is enmeshed in the discourse of internationalisation of universities,
globalisation, ‘educational imperialism’ etc. Perhaps it is not too far a leap to label ‘valid
process’ as intellectual hegemony? It could certainly be argued that the BET program did,
probably unconsciously, contain ‘colonial’ aspects of teaching ‘‘them’ to be like ‘us’ and,
therefore, not like themselves’ (Tsolidis, 2001:103), and that this was most obvious in
consideration of assessment. Consequently, ‘The University’ and others like it could be
charged with paying lip service to internationalisation and culturally sensitive learning
processes.

As a result of the previous discussion, this research suggests recommendations in

relation to culturally sensitive assessment:

• Assessment would seem more accessible and relevant for students if local
knowledge were valorised (this does not imply the exclusion of international or
provider-country knowledge, merely a more balanced presentation). This

260
 observation applies both to the setting of assessment tasks and in relation to the
assessment of student responses.

• Assessors and lecturers should be encouraged to recognise cultural difference:

between themselves and their students, and in their acculturation processes. As a
part of that process, they should be vigilant in examining their assumptions about
students’ understandings.

• Lecturers should consciously make links between in-class discussion and

assessment tasks.

• It should be noted that it could be confusing and even appear hypocritical to

encourage freedom of thought during class only to constrain it by rigorous
application of ‘valid process’ during assessment.

• Again, longer periods of overseas teaching and/or staff exchange for academics
would encourage the development of bi-culturality and allow for development of
culture-specific assessment tools.

Student Support

International students frequently require a great deal of support. Pastoral care, English
language support, and learning skill support require resourcing at levels above that
provided for local students. Whilst all Australian universities employ specialist
international student support units (Back et al., 1996), frequently students at offshore or
partner campuses do not have access to these mainstream services. This unequal state
of affairs may possibly result from a; ‘fear that this would appear to be publicly funded
cross-subsidisation of commercial activity’ (Cummins and Smith, 1999:50), and a concern
that ‘without care, the costs of providing the service can exceed the income’ (Jeans,
1995). Whatever the reason, the outcomes of this lack of provision were very evident in
this research. The impact on teaching staff was significant. Often their private time in
Singapore was spent counselling students, resulting in teaching staff working almost all of
their substantial waking hours. The Open University of the UK, which provides all its
teaching by distance education, has reported that close personal support to each student
by faculty with special training in working with adults is required to overcome these
problems. The proposed solution, which would clearly be a challenge to Australian
universities given the tight costing models involved, is to allocate an associate faculty
member to every twenty students (Daniel, 2000:3).

261
A ‘subject zero’, as suggested by BET students (page 206) (and recommended by other
authors, e.g. Altbach, 2000; Bates, 2001), could prepare students for cultural differences
in teaching and learning styles by explaining ‘Western’ university culture - including
provision of historical and contextual background information about Western
epistemologies and pedagogies, and explanations as to why certain processes are
valued - and what successful responses to assessment tasks might look like. Such a
subject could be taught in intensive mode prior to the commencement of the program by
an educator skilled in working cross-culturally, with adults who are returning to study. Of
course, the messages delivered by such a program would need to be congruent with
lecturers’ assessment expectations. Therefore, the design of any transition program
would need to be predicated on an agreement as to the appropriate standard acceptable
by academics working in the subsequent offshore program.

Significance and limitations

The intent of this research was to provide an ethnographic view of a transnational
education program, from the perspective of ‘observer as participant’. It does seem that
this research is unique because, up until the date of submission, an ongoing review of
relevant literature has not found any other studies that have adopted a similar
methodology; wherein an ‘outsider’ researcher has observed a transnational program
through a significant period of time ‘in-country’. Therefore it is hoped that this research
will contribute to the field of knowledge or at least raise questions and provide a new
perspective for those who have an interest in transnational education and/or the
relationship between culture and education.

Despite any claim to ‘new knowledge’, it is acknowledged that this research is but one
small component of a global mosaic. Thus it does not seek to generalise findings to all
transnational programs; nor to all programs taught in Singapore. In fact, as stated in
chapter four (methodology), this study does not even aim to provide a complete picture of
the culture within a transnational program, but merely to form part of a collection. It is
hoped, however, that in contributing to the growing knowledge about transnational
education this description of the cultural implications of one program might have
resonance for those involved with similar programs, and that the recommendations
provided herein might be parsimonious for the development and enrichment of programs
that share similarities with the BET.

262
Recommendations for further research
Chapter four (methodology) proposed that an ethnographic evaluation can often raise
more questions than it answers, and this research is no exception. This study has rich
potential for those who may seek to further explore culture, education, and transnational
education. Whilst there appears to be a lack of research which focuses on the
experiences of students in one country, Ward et al. (2001) have also highlighted that little
research exists which compares the experiences of students experiencing cultural
transition with host-country students. In line with Ward et al.’s (2001) observation, it would
be of interest to examine a program similar to the BET that is run concurrently in Australia
and offshore, and compare responses of the students from both countries. It would also
be worthwhile to conduct similar studies in countries other than Singapore and to
compare the findings with those that were identified by this study. Such comparisons may
enable, for example, more grounded generalisations to be made about the experiences of
‘Asian’ students, or even ‘South East Asian’ students, and also about transnational
education as a global phenomenon. Similarly, the comparison of several similar
programs in Singapore would provide more useful generalisations about provision of
transnational programs in that country. Yet another valuable approach would be to
conduct a similar study with a younger group of Singaporean students, which might
confirm the assumption of the Singaporean students and their Ministry of Education
herein; that normative learning experiences and resulting learning styles represented by
the BET cohort will not be replicated in Singapore’s future generations of graduates.

If the researcher ever had the time, the money, and the support to do so, she would very
much like to make this thesis the starting point for a longitudinal study. Given the
concerns this thesis has raised about truncated and late night programs, it would be
worthwhile to conduct an evaluation of the level of transfer of learning that has actually
occurred as a result of the BET, through revisiting the respondents to this research some
years after their 2004 graduation.

Finally, Australian universities seem to continue to be somewhat blasé about market

niche and reputation. Not only are student numbers from South East Asia dropping, but
simultaneously Singapore and its neighbours are learning from Australia’s mistakes and
emerging as significant competitors in transnational education in their own right. Thus a
tangential recommendation for further research would involve critiquing and analysing the
reasons behind this shift and investigating its evolution, from the perspective of the
‘locals’.

263
Conclusion
In concluding this thesis, a comment from one of the lecturer respondents continually
resonates with the author: that is that ‘…you’re going to have to be humble enough to let
the students show you…’. [82:2:361-368] This study has demonstrated willingness on the
part of both the students and the lecturers to ‘show us’; to reveal their values and beliefs,
and to provide explanations and recommendations. Clearly the culture of the university
has changed as a result of transnational teaching, but the questions remain; is ‘The
University’ able to make longer term gains? Are Australian universities humble enough to
‘see’?

264
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Appendices
Attachment A: Plain Language Statement - Lecturers
Who am I?

I am a 42-year-old mature-age PhD candidate in the Education Faculty Department of Education Policy and Management. Until
very recently my job was as Manager, Leadership and Management Development in the Victorian Department of Natural
Resources and Environment. This Human Resource Development (HRD) management role involved me in the design,
development and delivery of a range of staff training and development programmes in a government organisation of 4000+ staff
members across 200+ locations. I am very keen to continue to work in HRD, and I am currently seeking to expand my
knowledge by completing my PhD. I was fortunate enough to receive an APA, which has allowed me to take study leave.
Outside of work and study, I live in a Seddon with my partner and my cat. I love travel and good food!

What am I doing?

My PhD research will focus on the differences that may exist when people from different cultural backgrounds participate in
adult education and HRD experiences that were designed in a foreign culture. My Masters research found that that significant
differences in perception exist between Anglo-background trainers and their participants from different cultures. That research
suggested changes to HRD practice which should ensure that training and development programmes are more cross-culturally
appropriate and inclusive. However, that was a relatively small thesis, which necessarily lacked the depth of a PhD. I want my
PhD to extend my research base and investigate cross-cultural interactions within a more complex teaching and learning
environment. Essentially I want to use the B.E.T. programme to analyse which aspects of this international HRD course may be
affected positively or negatively by differences in culture.

Why have I chosen this research topic?

Of course, I want to learn a lot more about different cultures, HRD and to gain research experience. But I am also doing it
because I have been a workplace trainer for quite a few years now and I know that “Western” designed training techniques and
programme content don’t suit everybody. I think that we, in Australia (one of the most multicultural nations on earth), should
attempt to ensure that our training techniques are accessible for everybody; both within Australia and within the programmes we
export to other countries.

How were the study site and participants selected?

As you know, I am a student and sessional lecturer at Melbourne. I was searching for a research site that met my needs; relevant
to HRD, cross-cultural communication, multicultural environment, outside Australia but within Asia and, of course, adult
learning. The B.E.T. programme is a perfect match for my needs. Participants will be people who are currently enrolled in the
B.E.T., or who are Alumni from the programme, lecturers at CHRDT who teach in the program, and others who inform the
context for the research such as SIM staff and Singapore Government policy makers (hopefully!).

What will happen if you take part?

I intend to first interview people one to one, and possibly also in a Focus group. The one to one interviews will take place at a
time and place that is convenient to you. The first interview will take place early in the research and in Melbourne. I am going
to Singapore on exchange from July to December and if possible I would like to interview you a second time whilst you are
there if you teach during that period. A final interview will take place about one year into the programme and will be back in
Melbourne. I expect the interviews to take about forty-five minutes to one hour each. A Focus group may be substituted for one
interview session, depending on the nature of the discussions in the one-to-one interviews.

Other Important information: Risks, benefits, confidentiality and anonymity.

There should not be any substantial risk, as you will only need to disclose information that you chose to disclose. As you know,
the B.E.T. teachers’ group is small but to preserve anonymity I intend to use coding to identify lecturers and will not identify
anyone by linking them to a particular subject in the write-up where that would threaten anonymity. I will want to tape record
the interviews and focus groups to enable me to analyse the conversation at a later date. Interview tapes will only ever be heard
by me and will be destroyed once my thesis is completed. While I am writing up the research, the tapes and word processed
data will be stored in a locked filing cabinet in my home or at my location in Singapore, or on my password protected computer.

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Attachment B: Plain Language Statement- Students
What is this research about?
This research will focus on the differences that may exist when people from different cultural backgrounds participate in
adult education experiences that were designed in a foreign culture. My Masters research found that that significant
differences in perception exist between Anglo-background trainers and their participants from different cultures. That
research suggested changes to HRD practice which should ensure that training and development programmes are more
cross-culturally appropriate and inclusive. Through interviews with participants in the B.E.T. programme I aim to
analyse which aspects of this international HRD course may be affected positively or negatively by differences in culture.

Who am I?
I am an Australian mature-age student working towards her PhD in Education. My full time job is Manager, Leadership
and Management Development in a Government Department. This Human Resource Development management role
involved me in the design, development and delivery of a range of staff training and development programmes in an
organisation of 4000+ staff members across 200+ locations. I was most fortunate in that I received a scholarship from the
[‘The University’], which has allowed me to take three years leave from my work to undertake this study. Outside of
work and study, I live in a small house with my husband and my cat. I love travel and good food!

Why am I doing it?

Of course, I am undertaking this research with the hope of attaining my PhD and in the process learning a lot more about
different cultures, HRD and how to do research. But I am also doing it because I have been a workplace trainer for quite
a few years now and I know that “Western” designed training techniques and programme content don’t suit everybody. I
think that we, in Australia (one of the most multicultural nations on earth), should attempt to ensure that our training
techniques are appropriate for everybody; both within Australia and within the programmes we export to other countries.

How were the study site and participants selected?

I was searching for a research site that met my needs and the B.E.T. programme is a perfect match. Participants will be
people who are currently enrolled in the B.E.T., or who are Alumni from the programme and who are listed in the
database of [‘The University’]. All previous and current participants will be contacted and asked to fill in the attached
questionnaire. Hopefully I will get enough positive responses to enable me to choose a research group that represents a
broad range of views.

What will happen if you take part?

I intend to first interview people one-to-one, and possibly also in a Focus group. The one-to-one interviews will take
place at a time and place that is convenient to you (I will be in Singapore for six months). The first interview will take
place within the first three months of the research, and a second interview mid way (about six months). A final interview
will take place about one year into the programme. I expect the interviews to take about one hour each. For the focus
group interview, I will make every effort to ensure that people are able to be there at the same time (maybe before or
after a B.E.T. teaching session).

Other Important information: Risks, benefits, confidentiality and anonymity.

There should not be any risk involved in taking part in this research, as you will only need to disclose information that
you chose to disclose. When I report the findings of the study, participant’s details will be changed to preserve
confidentiality and anonymity. Nobody involved with running the B.E.T. programme will ever see the data in it’s ‘raw’
state, therefore you will never be individually identifiable. I will want to tape record the interviews and focus groups to
enable me to analyse the conversation at a later date. Interview tapes will only ever be heard by me and will be destroyed
once my thesis is completed. While I am writing up the research, the tapes and word processed data will be stored in a
locked filing cabinet in my home or at my location in Singapore, or on my password protected computer.

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Attachment C: Invitation Letter
Dear [ ]

Thank you for taking the time to read this letter. I am a student in the Education faculty at the University of
Melbourne and am planning to undertake my PhD research in Singapore. I would greatly appreciate the
opportunity to interview you as part of my research. Without participation from people like you my research
will be unsuccessful. Your twin roles; as a participant of the Bachelor of Education & Training (HRD)
program and someone who works in the field of HRD or training and development, are very important. In
the first instance I am asking if you would please consider completing the attached questionnaire. If you
could find the time to do that and return it in the enclosed reply paid envelope I would be most grateful. I
have also attached a “plain language statement” that tells you more about my research.

I must stress that your participation is purely voluntary and anonymous, and if you choose to participate you
could withdraw your participation or any discussion we have shared, at any time until the data is collated. If
you should decide not to participate in the research then that would not have any impact on your
participation in the Bach. Ed & Trng. program. In either case: participation or non-participation, you will
remain anonymous.

Again, the attached “plain language statement” outlines my proposal, and you can see that the final question
on the questionnaire asks if you would be prepared for me to interview you. If you consent to being
interviewed, I will contact you by telephone again shortly to co-ordinate a time and venue that is convenient
for the interview. In the meantime, I can be contacted at;

Singapore:11 Holland Drive

#18-14

Singapore 271011

Handphone: 96147533 (has voicemail)

My thesis supervisor is:

Dr Irene Donohoue-Clyne
University of Melbourne
Faculty of Education
Phone: 061 03 9344 8441
Email: i.donohoue.clyne@unimelb.edu.au

The Singapore Institute of Management and [‘The University’] Human Research Ethics Committee have
approved this research. They can be contacted on:

• S.I.M. c/- Ms Noreen Tan, ph: 64629489 email: noreentan@sim.edu.sg

• Melbourne University Human Research Ethics Committee: ph: 8344 7507; fax 9347 6739
www.unimelb.edu.au/research/ethics/human

Thank you for your consideration, and I look forward to contacting you soon.

Yours sincerely,

Lynnel Hoare

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 Attachment D
Student Questionnaire

Name
Please underline Family Name
Gender
Please tick the appropriate one Male … Female …
Racial background/Heritage
(eg; Chinese, Indian, Malay, Eurasian, English etc.)
Work Sector
(eg; public sector, defence forces, industry, multinational company, self employed etc )
Whatever generic term describes your workplace best.
Job Role
(eg; Generalist manager, Human Resources Manager, Human Resource Development/Learning
Officer, Trainer, Director etc.)
Whatever best describes what you do in the organisation.
Please describe how satisfied you are with the Very Satisfied Quite Satisfied Undecided Dissatisfied Very Dissatisfied
Bachelor Of Education & Training (HRD) program.
… … … … …
Please tick the most appropriate box.
Please briefly list the main issues affecting your
description of your level of satisfaction above.
Just one or two words will do (eg; value for money,
teaching quality, assignment related issues, learning
opportunities or anything else that is appropriate for
you.)
Would you recommend the Bachelor of Yes No
Education and Training (HRD) program to a
fellow Singaporean? … …

Would you be prepared to participate in the Yes No Maybe, please phone me

research as outlined in the accompanying letter?
(If you would like me to phone or email you before
you decide, please ensure details are provided) … … …

Please list your PREFERRED Contact Address: Please list your PREFERRED phone
Please provide the best address at which to reach number or numbers
you and identify it as either (work) or (home).
Attachment E: Student Follow-up Letter

Dear [ ]

I know how busy you are with work and study (believe me, I really do know!). Therefore I am sorry to
bother you again. However, probably because of the fact that everyone in the BET class three had an exam
and then an assignment due in after we met in Carol’s class, I have not had many responses to my
questionnaire.

Despite not getting many responses to the questionnaire, I felt during class that many of you were happy to
meet with me. Quite a few people indicated to me verbally that they would be happy to talk with me,
however I have only had three questionnaires returned.

Even if you have misplaced the questionnaire, please just drop me a quick email if you would be prepared
for me to meet with you at some time. I must stress the following about the interviews:

1. The date for the interview doesn’t have to be straight away – can be any time before January
20th.
2. I won’t be asking you anything terribly personal, or that might be sensitive to your work. In
fact you will probably think the questions are very basic, but the answers will be useful to me.
3. I will come to you or we can meet anywhere that is convenient - you name it I’ll be there. The
place just has to be relatively quiet and uninterrupted.

So, could I ask again, if you could spare me an hour or so drop me an email at lhoare@ihug.com.au or phone
my hand phone on 96147533.

Thank you sincerely

Lyn Hoare

293
Attachment F: Student Interview Schedule
1. What do you enjoy about your learning experiences; whether they be school, work or life

based?

2. What things are not so good about learning?

3. What sorts of experiences and attitudes have existed during your life that may have

shaped your thoughts about how you learn? For example; why is learning important?

4. What influenced you to enrol in the B.E.T. program?

5. If you could cast your mind back to when you were taking the decision to enrol, what

picture did you have of yourself at the end of the program?

6. (This question may not be required, it is an addendum to question five): In other words,

what outcomes do you expect from the program, what do you want to be different?

7. What education (teaching or training) environments have you experienced as a

participant? (For example, an environment could be on-the-job training, a university

course, learning in a community or religious group, learning from mentors and friends etc)

8. What education (teaching or training) methodologies have you experienced as a

participant? (By methodologies I mean ways of teaching, like teacher controlled at the

front of the class, “repeat after me”, coaching, group work, learning by doing, computer

based learning…etc.)

9. Please describe what you consider good teaching/training practice - in other words, what

is the “best” way for an educator to educate?

10. Do you think the content of the BET program, the actual knowledge, skills and attitudes

you are being guided towards and taught in the program, is relevant to your current work

and/or life?

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11. When you take the content of the BET program and think about applying it in Singapore,

do you think the Singaporean context changes the way ideas and knowledge might or

might not work?

12. Do people brought up in Asia or Asian families have a different attitude to learning from

Western people based on your experiences?

13. If you had one minute to talk to someone putting together a program of learning to be

delivered in, and relevant to, Singapore as a country and the culture of its people; what

would you advise?

295
Attachment G: Lecturer Interview Schedule

1. What sort of experiences and attitudes have existed during your life that may have shaped your
thoughts about how you learn? For example; why is learning important?

2. How would you describe the values of CHRDT?

3. How would you describe ‘best practice’ in terms of educational practice in CHRDT? What’s
important? What sort of person would be a ‘role model’?

4. What about your own values in terms of teaching?

5. Are work practices and relationships between members of CHRDT collaborative or individualistic
in nature?

6. Was teaching in the BET your first experience of teaching outside Australia?

7. Did you have any concerns before embarking on your first teaching trip to Singapore?

8. What sort of learner did you expect to find in Singapore?

9. Did you get what you expected?

10. What do you think motivates Singaporean students to enrol in the B.E.T.?

11. In what ways is the teaching experience in Singapore different to Australia?

12. How do you respond to those differences?

296
Attachment H: Subjects in the Bachelor of Education
(Human Resource Development) program
1. Assessing trainee competence
2. Advanced learning theory
3. Contemporary issues in education and training
4. Designing for flexible delivery
5. Evaluating HRD programs
6. Facilitating work-based learning
7. HRD policy and strategy analysis
8. International human resource development
9. Learning and thinking
10. Managing learning in the workplace
11. Managing diversity in the global workplace
12. Organisation change and development
13. Linking theory and practice
14. Program design in education and training
15. Work-based project
16. Workplace organisation and technology

297
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