The inclusive teacher educator: spaces for civic engagement

This paper is concerned with the teacher educator who is aspiring to be inclusive. It considers the obligations which arise within Higher Education Institutions and the extent to which these contribute to a loss of civic engagement and a lack of capacity to pursue inclusion, social justice and equity. The paper argues that this need not be the case and a reorientation for teacher educators is offered which affords teacher educators opportunities to, in Bourdieu's terms, ‘play seriously’. This reorientation is in relation to three significant spaces – the ontological, the aesthetic and the epiphanic – and it is argued that operating within these spaces could enable new practices of inclusive teacher education to emerge.

Irritably.) Ask me where I've got to. (Beckett, 1958) Teacher educators concerned with issues of inclusive education, social justice and equity recognise the political dimensions of their work (Barton, 2004;Slee, 2004) and accept their responsibilities in this regard (Ferri & Connor, 2006). However, hostility towards teacher educators and other academics has come from disabled scholars who have been unimpressed by their failure to produce work which improves the material circumstances of disabled people and fosters greater social inclusion. Mike Oliver has been the most outspoken critic and ultimately decided to withdraw from the academy in frustration at his non-disabled colleagues, whom he accuses of 'shitting disabled people ' (1999, 187, original emphasis). He has expressed particular disappointment that the social model of disability, developed by disabled people, has not been used as a tool for change and wishes that 'people would stop talking about it' (Allan & Slee, 2008, p. 88). Finding the spaces in which one can engage with politics may be difficult to find, since, as Gates (1992) notes, 'it's in the gap between ''is'' and ''ought'' that politics hides out ' (p. 330). This paper considers the role of the teacher educator in relation to inclusion, social justice and equity and identifies the spaces in which there is potential for political work. These spaces are ontological, aesthetic and epiphanic.
The role of the teacher educator, and the academic within universities more generally, has become increasingly constrained by the 'audit culture' (Strathern, 1997(Strathern, , 2000. What they write, and for whom, is more closely circumscribed than ever before, and the pressure to demonstrate 'impact,' whatever that may be, limits their capacity to have any real influence on communities and on their values. Halsey (1992) bemoans the 'decline of the donnish dominion' (p. 258), while Furedi (2004) wonders 'where have all the intellectuals gone? ' (p. vii). The undermining of academic culture and autonomy (Paterson, 2003) and the regulatory practices within universities is 'producing fear and little else' (Evans, 2004, p. 63) and is 'killing thinking'. Furthermore, as Lyotard (1986) notes, in a world in which success is equated with saving time, thinking itself reveals its fundamental flaw to be its capacity to waste time. Said (1994) argues that a further danger for the intellectual comes from the limitations and constraints of professionalism that encourage conformity rather than critique: The particular threat to the intellectual today, whether in the West or the non-Western world, is not the academy, nor the suburbs, not the appalling commercialism of journalism and publishing houses, but rather an attitude that I will call professionalism. By professionalism I mean thinking of your work as an intellectual as something you do for a living, between the hours of nine and five with one eye on the clock, and another cocked at what is considered to be proper, professional behaviour Á not rocking the boat, not straying outside the accepted paradigms or limits, making yourself marketable and above all presentable, hence uncontroversial and unpolitical and 'objective'. (p. 55, original emphasis) Pring (2008) notes that considerable fears were expressed in the early part of the twentieth century about the loss of academic respectability which might be produced by universities venturing into teacher education and other forms of professional education. These fears declined as the universities enforced greater academic rigour, removed the 'undifferentiated mush that passed for educational theory' (Peters, cited in Pring, 2008, p. 328) and introduced studies in the disciplines of philosophy, psychology, sociology, and history of education. However, as Pring points out, these moves did not necessarily resolve the troubling divide between theory and practice and may even have accentuated it, provoking continuing arguments about the appropriate contribution of universities to teacher education.
The civic duty which was behind the creation of universities in Scotland, other parts of Europe and the USA, in what was known as 'democratic intellectualism' (Paterson, 2003, p. 69), with a responsibility among academics for educating the public and promoting civil society, appears to have been lost. It might be questioned, however, whether UK and US universities have ever fostered the kind of intellectualism which could be seen in French universities, through for example the likes of Foucault, Derrida and Deleuze, or those in the Frankfurt school such as Habermas and Adorno. The contemporary German theorist Sloterdijk (1987), whose book, Critique of Cynical Reason, was bought in vast quantities by a public tempted into philosophy, has no parallels in the UK, USA or elsewhere, although writers such as Michael Apple, Terry Eagleton and Slavoj Zizek appear to have made some inroads into the public imagination through their engagement with the media. E.P. Thompson (1970) is somewhat damming of those who inhabit the UK universities: I have never ceased to be astounded when observing the preening and mating habits of fully grown specimens of the species Academicus Superciliosis. The behaviour patterns of one of the true members of the species are unmistakable. He is inflated with self-esteem and perpetually self-congratulatory as to the high vocation of the university teacher; but he knows almost nothing about any other vocation, and he will lie down and let himself be walked over if anyone enters from the outer world who has money or power or even a touch line in realist talk . . . Superciliosis is the most divisible and reliable creature in this country, being so intent upon crafty calculations of short-term advantages Á this favour for his department, that a colleague who, next week, at the next committee, has promised to run a log for him, that he has never even tried to imagine the wood out of which his timber rolls. He can scurry furiously and self-importantly around in his committees, like a white mouse running in a wheel, while his master is carrying him, cage and all, to be sold at the local pet-shop. (p. 154) Although Thompson's observations pertain to an earlier period, the simultaneous self-importance and willingness to be bought are sinister features of contemporary academic life. Zizek (2005) offers a more recent, but equally damming, account of the: prattling classes, academics and journalists with no specialist education, usually working in humanities with some vague French postmodern leanings, specialists in everything, prone to verbal radicalism, in love with paradoxical formulations that flatly contradict the obvious. (p. 23) Such disenchantment with academics seems unfair and misplaced since the greater problem may be their unwillingness Á or inability Á to face up to their civic duty and to their responsibility to contribute to civil society.

The inclusive teacher educator
For teacher educators who seek to cultivate inclusive educational practices among their student teachers, and who promote values of social justice and equity, a number of pressures and dangers are evident. One significant pressure on teacher educators is the requirement to demonstrate ways in which inclusion, a concept which is undertheorised, lacking in empirical evidence and often used as a catch-all remedy for all kinds of inequalities, works in practice (Haug, n.d.;Hegarty, 2001). Gregoriou (2004), citing Lyotard (1993), notes that this operational imperative is part of an increasingly widespread demand for the simple, the practical and the reducible, and its negative effects are that it: threatens to totalize experience, to reduce language to Newspeak, to rob thinking of its childhood and pedagogy of its philosophical moment. It is the 'demand' for reality (for unity, simplicity, communicability) and remedy: remedy for the parcelling and virutalization of culture, for the fragmentation of the life world and its derealization into idioms, petits recits, and language games. (p. 233, original emphasis) This demand for simplification is accompanied by a resistance to thinking and, as Colebrook (2006) suggests, 'all around us . . . we encounter the absence of thinking, the malevolence and stupidity that go well beyond error' (p. 2). Some of the material resources for teachers, in the form of packages of advice and support, appear to offer remedies to the 'problem' of inclusion. The plethora of handbooks, promising such goodies as '60 research-based teaching strategies that help special learners succeed' (McNary, 2005) or 'commonsense methods for children with special educational needs' (Westwood, 2002), construct inclusion as a technical matter and assail teachers with advice about effective inclusion. Brantlinger (2006) takes particular exception to the US hardback textbooks Á 'big glossies' (p. 45) Á that function as 'authoritative purveyors of technical knowledge' (p. 67) and portray idealised versions of classroom life and of children benefiting from interventions. These handbooks affect a sound theoretical base, but as Thomas (2008) observes, they amount to little more than 'theory junk sculpture' (p. 1), a 'cacophany of incompatible explanations', in which 'plausible homily, mixed with large portions of psychoanalytic and psychological vocabulary, take the place of a rational consideration of children's behaviour at school' (p. 1). The texts have been produced by learning disability scholars with a vested interest in the maintenance of special education, but as Gallagher (2008) notes, 'their implacability is matched only by the depth of their theoretical confusion' (p. 15). The realities presented in these texts bear little resemblance to the children whom the student teachers encounter and the certainty that they command (Allan & Slee, 2008;Brantlinger, 2006) make them irresponsible.
A further peril which confronts teacher educators cultivating inclusive practices, and which may be difficult to resist, is the descent into emotivism, which Alasdair MacIntyre (1984) describes as a confusion between two kinds of reply to the question 'why should I do . . .?' The first reply takes the form 'because I wish it' and is confined to the personal context of the utterance and the characteristics of the speaker. The second reply is unconditional and independent of who utters it, taking the form 'because it is your duty'. MacIntyre suggests that the second reply is often used to mean 'I like it and urge it on or recommend it to you' (Hernstein Smith, 1992). Inclusion, social justice and equity are thus urged and pressed upon people under the guise of a well-argued and moral evaluation, even though the arguments may be fallacious, in the sense of having an error in reasoning on material, psychological or logical grounds (Fearnside & Holther, 1959): Here is another trick, which, as soon as it is practicable, makes all others unnecessary. Instead of working on your opponent's intellect by argument, work on his will by motive, and he, and also the audience if they have similar interests, will at once be won over by your opinion, even though you got it out of a lunatic asylum. (Schopenhauer, 1896, p. XXXV) Emotivism, according to MacIntyre, is a widespread phenomenon, but it leaves an overwhelming sense of confusion and of having been deceived: Now people still say 'It is good' and think they mean 'It is good', but, without knowing, they are really doing only what people used to do when they said 'I like it' or 'I want it,' namely expressing their own feelings and trying to get other people to feel, do, or believe certain things. And everyone is deceived: listeners are deceived about what speakers are doing; speakers are self-deceived about what they themselves are doing; and moral philosophers are either deceived, complacent, or complicitous. (Hernstein Smith, 1992, pp. 213Á214) It is difficult to see how teacher educators concerned with inclusion might resist these pressures and imperatives, but Bourdieu (1998) maintains that it is vital that they are protected from urgent duties and that they can be allowed to 'play seriously' (p. 128): Homo scholasticus or homo academicus is someone who can play seriously because his or her state (or State) assures her the means to do so, that is, free time, outside the urgency of a practical situation. (1998, p. 128) So how might teacher educators regain control, rediscover their civic duty and engage in serious play? I want to suggest three possible kinds of re-orientations which they may be able to effect. These concern the ontological (their own selves and others) the aesthetic (sensory and sensual 'affects') and the epiphanic (the unforeseen and inaccessible aspects of ordinary life).

An 'other' ontology
On a basic level, teacher educators concerned with inclusion might ask 'what can we do'? To respond to that question effectively, I am suggesting that what is required is an ontological reorientation of themselves as political individuals who must act and who, in order to do so, will have to realign themselves in the academic and professional worlds. To achieve these realignments, inclusion might be conceived of as an ethical project, using the framework offered by Foucault (1994), and in which one's own self Á and one's capacity to be in relation to others Á is considered part of the material on which work has to be done. Foucault's framework of ethics could be used by teacher educators by, first of all, identifying the part of themselves as educators which they wished to work on (what Foucault calls determining the ethical substance). The second ethical dimension, the mode of subjection, could come from examining the rules which operate within Higher Education Institutions and which create barriers to inclusion and produce additional pressures. Self practice or ethical work, the third dimension, could be directed towards scrutiny of efforts to be inclusive and modifying these where necessary. Finally, teacher educators might work out the overall goal, the telos, of inclusive teacher education, either collectively or individually. Foucault's framework of ethics enables teacher educators to direct energy and resources towards themselves and may provide the means for rediscovering their civic duty (Allan, 2008).
Maxine Greene (2008) offers a helpful construction of the becoming nature of the self: 'I am what I am not yet', while Len Barton (2005) contends that it is necessary also to place hope Á 'an informed recognition of the offensive nature of current conditions and relations and a belief that the possibilities of change are not foreclosed' (p. 23) Á at the centre of the struggle for inclusion. Prerequisites are desire Á for inclusion and the removal of exclusionary practices Á and an undertaking to enact that desire on behalf of others. This moves the debate on from dichotomies of the universalists against the moderates or between homogenising and distinguishing tendencies (Cigman, 2007). To return to MacIntyre's question of 'why should I do', the inclusive teacher educator's answer may become a purposeful elision which avoids emotivism because the imperative is directed back towards themselves. In other words, 'because I wish it' and 'because it is my duty'.
Teacher educators may find it difficult to act politically within their own institutions, but there are multiple ways in which they might oppose institutional practices which create exclusion (Ballard, 2004;Brantlinger, 2006;Gallagher, 2006) and foster inclusion by 'communication across a multiplicity of cultures, identities and ways of thinking' (Booth, 2003, p. 55). More generally, teacher educators might 'resist and reject language that carries the ideology of exclusion' (Ballard, 2004, p. 103), foreground ideology and position (Gallagher, 2008) and challenge the appropriation of inclusive education by special education (Slee, 2004) and the 'easy sloganising' (Hegarty, 2001, p. 249) of inclusive education for all kinds of inequalities. Apple (2001) enjoins us to face up to the dynamics of power in unromantic ways and promotes the use of subversive tactics to challenge the hegemonic order, including tactical and counter-hegemonic alliances and heretical thought. He also suggests that while we might recapture our past to see what is possible, it is important not to romanticise dreams about the future. Corbett and Slee's (2000) depiction of academics as 'cultural vigilantes' (p. 134) is a useful starting point and the language of enmity is appropriate as a casus belli, an occasion of war for which there is just cause.
Evans (2004) suggests the kind of refusal of institutional power evoked by Virginia Woolf in Three Guineas which amounts to an 'attitude of complete indifference' (p. 309). Woolf envisaged this as a war against the 'pompous and self important' (Evans, 2004, p. 76) behaviour of males, but Evans suggests that this kind of resistance (by anyone) could be effective within universities and could lead to a different kind of politics, not of inclusion, but 'about, and in favour of, exclusion from those practices and processes which increasingly deform much of academic life' (Evans, 2004, p. 102).
There is a need also to refuse some of the closure in thinking that surrounds inclusion and education more generally Á literally, by refusing the texts and preventing students' engagement with them Á to begin to do justice (in both senses) to the complexity and messiness of the processes of inclusion and exclusion. The philosophers of difference Á Foucault, Derrida, and Deleuze and Guattari Á seem to offer some considerable promise in this regard (Allan, 2008;Biesta, 2001;Hickey-Moody, 2009;Olssen, 2009), in freeing up new ways of thinking, but Thomas (2008) has argued persuasively that instead of structured theoretical frameworks what we need are 'simpler and looser understandings' (p. 7), based on a Deweyan form of investigation and characterised by an acceptance of the inadequacy of existing knowledge. Biesta (2008) calls this as a 'pedagogy with empty hands' (p. 198), which requires that learners are approached without ready solutions or 'tricks of the trade', derived from research or elsewhere, and asked 'what do you think of it?'

Aesthetic affects
For Stephen, art was neither a copy nor an imitation of nature: the artistic process was a natural process. (Joyce, 1963, p. 171) Deleuze (1998) testifies to the arts' transformative capacities, offering individuals sensory, and even sensual 'affects ' and producing 'fragments, allusions, strivings, investigations' (p. 111) which create 'affirmative injunctions'. It is the role of the arts in affecting rather than being understood which is its most powerful feature and this takes place through expression, as opposed to emotion, and the unfamiliarity for individuals experiencing these affects is: 'capable of taking the ground away' (Uhlman, 2009, p. 64). It is the 'critical enmeshment of the newness' (Hickey-Moody, 2009, p. 172) which provides the content of expression and which removes the possibility of self-consciousness and the need for interpretation (p. 172). Within education, the arts can be seen as potentially producing a form of deterritorialisation, by altering the space in which education takes place, from one which is rigid, with lines of demarcation between the teacher and the learner, to one that is smooth and open to possibilities. The arts also offer scope for individuals to undertake learning that is, in Deleuze and Guattari's (1987) terms, rhizomic, moving in unanticipated directions and provoking new becomings (Allan, 2008). There is, however, a problem, as Deleuze (1981) notes, of harnessing forces for developing arts practices and this is caused, in part, by the very exclusionary and elitist nature of the arts themselves. There is also a limitation imposed by the 'major literatures' (Deleuze, 1986) through which academics are expected to communicate and which exclude, silence and subjugate.
Minor literatures, that have been created in major languages by minorities (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987), could offer academics a means of being inclusive, by enabling the articulation of new political subjectivities. These literatures could be used to help name minorities, marginalised groups, including disabled people, and those whose voices are normally subjugated, and to mobilise politically around these names, whilst at the same time working to undermine the sovereign subject. A minor literature has three features: the language used is affected by deterritorialisation, that is a smoothing out of space or a stripping out of syntax so that it loses all symbolism and signification; everything is political (and individuals are connected to a political immediacy); and everything has a collective value (Deleuze, 1998). Two great writers, James Joyce and Samuel Beckett, have been lauded by Deleuze and Guattari for their production of very different, but equally potent, minor literatures: Joyce achieves 'exhilaration and overdetermination' (Deleuze & Guattari, 1986, p. 19) while Beckett produces 'dryness and sobriety, a willed poverty' (p. 19) and both succeed in creating deterritorialisation that takes language to its limits, makes it stand still and forces a reterritorialisation. Kafka, observes Deleuze (1986), uses syntax on and against itself to render language inert: Kafka will turn syntax into a cry that will embrace the rigid syntax of this dried-up German. He will push it toward a deterritorialization that will no longer be saved by culture or myth, that will be an absolute deterritorialization, even if it is slow, sticky, coagulated. To bring language slowly and progressively to the desert. To use syntax in order to cry, to give a syntax to the cry. (p. 26) The act of creating a minor literature is 'to find points of nonculture or underdevelopment, linguistic Third World zones by which a language can escape, an animal enters things, an assemblage comes into play' (Deleuze & Guattari, 1986, p. 27).
The accomplishment Á and use Á of a minor literature is, as Deleuze and Guattari (1986) point out, against the dream by major styles, genres and movements of assuming major functions and aspiring to be authoritative, but is potentially at the heart of inclusive practice: Create the opposite dream: know how to create a becoming-minor. (Is there hope for philosophy, which for a long time has been an official, referential genre? Let us profit from this moment in which antiphilosophy is trying to be a language of power.) (p. 27) The use of minor literatures to name and privilege particular voices and identities is described usefully by Rancière (2008) as a process of making a discourse of that which has formally been a noise and a process of rupture which renders certain identities visible: For me a political subject is a subject who employs the competence of the so-called incompetents or the part of those who have no part, and not an additional group to be recognised as part of society. 'Visible minorities' means exceeding the system of represented groups, of constituted identities . . . It's a rupture that opens out into the recognition of the competence of anyone, not the addition of a unit. (p. 3) Critchley (2007) argues that the scope for political action has been reduced by the disarticulation of names which are inherently political, such as the 'proletariat' or the 'peasant', and cites the examples of 'indigenous' achieving the status of a force for change in Mexico and Australia. Critchley usefully advocates a kind of demonstration as demos-tration, 'manifesting the presence of those who do not count'. Minor literatures, because they take language beyond being merely representative, moving 'head over heels and away' (Deleuze, 1986, p. 26), offer great potential for academics to address inequalities. It does so productively and creatively, by 'setting fire to the unjust state of things instead of burning the things themselves, and restoring life to primary life' (Deleuze, 1986, p. 108).
Teacher educators seeking an aesthetic orientation may find inspiration from disabled dancers, who have experimented with affect. According to Hickey-Moody, disabled dancers can catalyse the construction of affect or sensation by virtue of their own disabilities, interacting in the performance space to enact a 'turning away' from a history of intellectual disability which imposes limitations upon them and in the eyes of a mainstream public. Through the act of turning away, disabled dancers can participate in an act of becoming other, an act which 'wrest[s] the percept from perceptions of objects and the states of a perceiving subject [and wrests] the affect from affections as the transition from one state to another' (Deleuze & Guattari, 1994, p. 167). There is possibly scope for inclusive teacher educators to model such affects, by creating performance spaces for beginning teachers to experience a 'turning away' from their own presumptions and misapprehensions about disabled people and other minorities, and to explore their becomings as teachers creatively: Creativity is always a becoming, a reterritorialisation and an establishment of new affective systems of relation. One cannot become-other unless there is something from which one turns away. (Hickey-Moody, 2009, p. 178) Like the artist, the teacher educator may facilitate these affects among student teachers and privilege their experience and expression over the understanding of content. It implies a certain kind of work on the part of the teacher educator to constantly move the beginning teacher beyond the familiar, with experiences that are 'capable of taking the ground away' (Uhlmann, 2009, p. 64).

Epiphanies of the everyday
Although the pressures on teacher educators and the quest for certainty which has been a feature of inclusion may have clipped the wings of Socratic insight by insisting that all learning is tied down and rendered visible, there may be scope for opening learning up for colleagues and for stakeholders in the policy and practice communities. Specifically, teacher educators could help to create learning spaces which could allow exposure to what James Joyce has called 'epiphanies': The epiphany was the sudden 'revelation of the whatness of a thing', the moment in which the 'soul of the commonest object . . . seems to us radiant'. The artist, he felt, was charged with such revelations, and must look for them not among the gods but among men, in casual, unostentatious, even unpleasant moments'. (Ellman, 1982, p. 83) James Ellman (1982), the foremost biographer of James Joyce, explained how an epiphany, a sudden bringing into presence that which is otherwise inaccessible, was often achieved through great art and this view is endorsed by Taylor (1989): What I want to capture with this term is just this notion of a work of art as the locus of a manifestation which brings us into the presence of something which is otherwise inaccessible, and which is of the highest moral and spiritual significance; a manifestation, moreover, which also defines and completes something even as it reveals. (p. 419) Hogan (2005) suggests that the practice of calling epiphanies into presence could be achieved by educators, but it would require a different orientation to one's work, that, above all, involves the 'ever alert acknowledgement of the possibilities and limitations which constitute our own way of being human among others' (p. 91). The gradual shift by public research funders from 'stakeholder engagement' to 'knowledge transfer' and now to 'knowledge exchange' (Ozga, 2006) reflects a more sophisticated understanding of the needs of different interest groups among researchers, funders and 'researched' and a recognition of the need for greater reciprocity in research relationships. This shift also creates a space into which teacher educators could position themselves as facilitators of 'everyday ephiphanies'. These would bring to attention 'the quality of what is actually experienced' (Hogan, 2005, p. 92), but which is usually bypassed because it is routine and therefore undertaken unreflexively, and invite a dwelling upon it.
To produce these epiphanies, the teacher educator would need to work at convincing the participants not simply to engage in dialogue, but that they 'are a dialogue' (Hogan, 2005, p. 93). This means abandoning conventional approaches to stakeholder meetings which seek shared meanings and consensus (but which, of course privilege certain perspectives over others) and creating instead a smooth space for learning (a deterritorialised space in Deleuze & Guattari's, 1987, terms) in which partiality Á or one's position and interests Á is the material for discussion and incompleteness is a specific goal. Approaches such as Open Space Technology (www.openspaceworld/org/), developed by US businessman Harrison Owen, provide a smooth space for the participants to determine their own agenda for discussion. It has been described as 'passion with responsibility' and as 'chaos and creativity' and is simultaneously loose, because the agenda is not set, and highly structured, using the responses of the participants to determine activities and outcomes. This technology has been used to try to bring student teachers and students together and to obtain insights from young people in relation to diversity (Allan, Smyth, I'Anson, & Mott, 2009). The approach appears to have been successful in altering the relations of the participants and the balance of power and, in our experience, has allowed 'epiphanies' to emerge.

Retrieving the civic
I think what you'll find is, whatever it is we do substantively, there will be near-perfect clarity as to what it is. And it will be known, and it will be known to the Congress, and it will be known to you, probably before we decide it, but it will be known. (Rumsfeld, 2003) The pressures faced by the present-day teacher educator are significant and the climate of accountability and mistrust gets at the souls of individuals and at their sense of capacity for civic duty (Ballard, 2004;Sennett, 1998): 'Operationally, everything is so clear; emotionally so illegible' (Sennett, 1998, p. 68). For the teacher educator committed to inclusion, the stresses are possibly even greater because of the imperatives for clarity, urgency and solutions and the difficulties of resisting these. The emphatic way in which disabled individuals have made clear their disappointment and frustration with teacher educators for doing little more than talking will inevitably heighten their sense of inadequacy. Teacher educators, and academics more generally, may have allowed themselves to be defined by 'the disfiguring language of performativity' (Fielding, 2001, p. 8) and may have used this to displace their civic duty. It need not be this way. The possibilities for reorientation by inclusive teacher educators, in relation to the ontological, the aesthetic and the epiphanic, are extremely productive. They offer new spaces in which teacher educators can revitalise some of the concerns that made them previously want to become teacher educators and reinvent themselves. Above all, it affords a means for teacher educators to recover their civic duty and to actively contribute to the building of civil society through the enactment, rather than the promoting, of inclusive values, putting that into practice in relation to themselves, their student teachers and, above all, those potentially facing exclusion.