AQA Hip-Hop: Re-imagining the English Literature Curriculum

 
 

 
AQA Hip-Hop: Re-imagining the English Literature Curriculum

Introduction 
 
     In Spring 2014, reports emerged regarding the Conservative government’s plans to reform the national GCSE English Literature syllabus. Newspaper headlines announced the axing of classic American novels and the prioritisation of the British ‘literary canon’, spearheaded by the then Education secretary Michael Gove. The officially published framework for the new syllabus argued that students should “read and appreciate the depth and power of the English literary heritage”, before listing compulsory texts for study at GCSE level: “at least one play by Shakespeare, at least one 19th century novel, a selection of poetry since 1789, including representative Romantic poetry” (Department of Education, 2014). Apart from resolutely affirming the historical and cultural importance of British literature, the document divulged little in terms of the thought processes and reasoning behind the government’s new regulations on set texts.  
 
    In the absence of a clearly delineated pedagogical logic, the words used in the government’s re-construction of the syllabus (‘appreciate’, ‘depth’, ‘power’, ‘heritage’) appear infuriatingly ambiguous. From the perspective of educational practitioners, this rationale appears especially hollow, as it falls upon them to fulfil the expectations of a further-restricted curriculum while maintaining the engagement and interest of their students.  What does it mean for a twelve-year-old student to appreciate a text so far removed from their lived experience? Why is the British literary canon powerful? Does its power stem from shared values and ideas across its texts, an ambiguous literary spirit? Or, is it simply an entrenched power, established centuries ago as “Spencer, Shakespeare and Milton achieved decisive [cultural] status in the mid-eighteenth century”? (Kramnick, 1997). Does the power of the literary canon, then, merely lie within its unquestioned and perpetual presence in the curriculum? To what extent is the literary canon a by-product of privilege, Eurocentrism, xenophobia and colonialism? How many valuable ‘non-British’ literary voices were ignored, supressed and downtrodden in the propagation of this same canon?  In the silence of unanswered questions, there lies an uneasy disconnect between the modern, multicultural world our students inhabit and the limited scope of the texts they must analyse.  
 
     This essay aims to explore the exciting possibilities of a different timeline, one that replaces the antiquated and retrospective approach of 2014’s curriculum changes with a more forward-thinking, contemporary and inclusive alternative: the addition of hip-hop within literature studies. The intersection of rap and academia is far from a novel premise; ‘since the mid-1990s, educators working within diverse subject areas have incorporated hip-hop music and culture into classroom instruction’ (Hill and Petchauer, 2013). I will argue that, had the Conservative government been more open-minded, enterprising and inclusive in their changes to the curriculum in 2014, a greater proportion of GCSE students would have benefitted both socially and academically in the eight years since.  
 
Literature Review  
 
The problem of relevance  
 
     It has inevitably fallen upon teachers to bridge the gap between modern student experiences and the texts with which the English curriculum confronts them. Teachers often expend an inordinate amount of effort in portraying texts as relevant in the context of a syllabus that seemingly disregards its ability to resonate with its own students. However, Ideas of ‘relevance’ and the extent to which texts will ‘resonate’ with learners are slippery and difficult to define or measure. Considerations of linguistic accessibility, therefore, are useful in beginning a critique of the practical impact of the curriculum changes of 2014. A lack of accessibility often lies in the archaic nature of GCSE texts, only exacerbated by the curriculum changes of 2014, which led to a drastic reduction in the teaching of modern texts published post-1917. By 2017, “the specifications of each of the United Kingdom’s four exam boards indicate[d] that the presence of modern literature in the new English literature GCSE has dropped by over 50%” (Morby, 2014, p.499). The anachronistic approach of the government’s curriculum changes aggravated an already damaging dilemma: the disparity between the words a student encounters at home and the words they encounter at school. Ostensibly, the linguistic unfamiliarity of pre-1917 texts further distances “the world of the classroom, where ‘polished’ language is used…with the world of the family” (Bourdieu et al, 1965, p.172)  Morby argues that some students feel this contrast more keenly than others and suffer academically as a result. He suggests that more privileged children with “a wider range of vocabulary… and a better inherent understanding of the sophisticated syntax of the seventeenth century (i.e. those who might have visited the theatre) will inevitably do better at the exams and achieve better grades” (p.507). The restrictions placed upon the English GCSE curriculum appear to favour students ‘already capable of communicating in an elaborated code’, and therefore, has only worked to deepen socioeconomic educational inequality in the years since. 
 

     Those (presumably working-class) students who have not had prior access to elaborate codes of antiquated language must approach English literature study in a manner similar to those learning English as a second language. This is because the meaning of archaic, unfamiliar vocabulary must be explicitly taught to students before the comprehension of texts is possible. The opacity of the language within classical texts is far removed from the language students use in their everyday lives. Students are therefore “faced with conflicting linguistic practices at home and in school” and “have the double task of acquiring language appropriate for two markedly different field contexts” (Morby, 2014, p.506). In further strengthening this dichotomy, the government has aligned the study of literature with Paulo Freire’s ‘banking’ concept of education, which he argues turns students “into containers, into receptacles, to be filled by the teacher (Freire, 1972, p.72). In effect, the study of literature becomes less about a personal interaction with identifiable narratives of human experience but instead the memorisation of a language and syntax alien to a significant proportion of current GCSE students. This approach drains the study of literature of its exciting interpretive possibilities and into a rigid and mechanical one-way exchange of information. ‘Banking’, Freire suggests, reduces “knowledge [to] a gift bestowed by those who consider themselves knowledgeable upon those whom they consider to know nothing” (p.73). Evidence of this patronising and restrictive logic lies behind the Conservative’s curriculum changes, wherein the government asserted themselves as proprietors of literary knowledge and sole prescribers of texts deemed worthy of academic study.  The focus on pre-1917 literature in the updated syllabus not only foregrounds the prescriptive teaching of divisively archaic language but also treats students as uncultured ‘receptacles’ who must be told what ‘good’ or ‘worthy’ literature is. 
 
     An obvious counter-argument may suggest that any group of texts chosen as part of the GCSE curriculum would, by nature, be prescriptive and culturally dictatorial. After all, in the interests of fairness, students are assessed on similar sets of texts chosen by exam boards and approved by the Department or Education. However, standardisation does need not necessarily equate to an extremely traditionalist approach which continues to exalt a pre-set literary ‘canon’. The government may have diversified and modernised set texts by consciously electing to present innovative genres and perspectives as well as those that have been in the curriculum for decades. However, the alienating prioritisation of pre-1917 literature again lends English literature to ‘banking’, wherein a figure of power “chooses the program content, and the students…adapt to it”, or in the case of those disillusioned by the subject, they do not (ibid, p. 73). Rather than providing schools with the power to tailor their curriculum content to their specific demographic, the government instead restricted the scope of choice of English departments to choose texts that may resonate with their students. Alarmingly, there is evidence to suggest that the curriculum changes were based upon the subjective tastes of a minority in power. The head of GCSE and A-level reform for the exam board OCR, Paul Dodd, claims that Michael Gove “had a particular dislike for Of Mice and Men and was disappointed that more than 90% candidates were studying it” (BBC News, 2014). Such revelations reinforce the idea that decisions on set texts lacked a pedagogical basis and were instead founded on the bias personal sentiments of politicians. 

 

     The government’s divisive and alienating emphasis on older texts further suffocated Paulo Freire’s pedagogical alternative to ‘banking’, an enriching ‘dialogical and problem-posing’ approach to education (Freire, 1972, p.80) This strategy is founded on a sense of equality between student and teacher within the classroom, wherein “they become jointly responsible for a process in which all grow” (ibid, p.80). This form of educational egalitarianism occurs once “the teacher is no longer merely the-one-who-teaches, but one who is…taught in dialogue with the students, who in turn while being taught also teach” (ibid). It is clear to see how this logic may manifest itself in the study of English literature. The subject is unique in that it resists dichotomised rules on what constitutes a ‘correct’ answer; the value and validity of an interpretation lies in one’s ability to explain, analyse and argue. A free-flowing exchange of multiple interpretations in response to a text enriches the understanding of both students and teacher, as they are enlightened to ideas and perspectives they had not previously considered. At its core, the subject appears antithetically opposed to the ‘banking’ concept, “with its tendency to dichotomize everything” (ibid). The benefits of literature’s open-endedness, however, are only attainable if enough of the textual stimuli is accessible. If set texts consist of an elaborate code students must learn prior, their personal and individual responses are stifled and a possibly enriching exchange of ideas is blocked. Students are unable to become “critical co-investigators in dialogue with the teacher” if the substance they are investigating feels alien, uninspiring and impenetrable (ibid, p.81). Freire’s ‘problem-posing’ approach to education envisages the classroom as a place of dialogue and collaboration in which students are “no longer docile listeners” (ibid). Unfortunately, the choices made by Conservative government in 2014 has made this possibility of increased student autonomy even less likely.    

 
 
The Alternative 
 

     Researchers have long documented both the viability and pedagogical benefits of hip-hop study in the English classroom. Since the 90s, “scholars and educators [have] research[ed] and practice[ed] the use of hip-hop music and culture in class curriculum for the purposes of empowerment, cultural responsiveness, literary analysis, and critical literacy” (Petchauer, 2009, p.952).  For anyone remotely familiar with the genre, the viability of treating hip-hop as academic literature is clear. Hip-hop, for all its idiosyncrasies and unique perspectives, utilises the same language techniques (and many more) than its more historically revered relatives; prose, poetry and plays. If one of the skills honed by the study of literature is the ability to dissect the impact of a writer’s choices, hip-hop is fertile ground for the endeavour. As with poets, rappers use a plethora of linguistic and oratory methods to enhance their messages and narratives. There is no reason why students cannot identify and analyse these decisions in the same manner in which poetry has been dissected for centuries.  Morell and Duncan-Andrade (2002) demonstrated how hip-hop texts worked to broaden students’ grasp of literary terms and figurative language in a “traditional” twelfth-grade poetry class. A potential explanation for this favourable outcome is the re-contextualising of these terms and techniques within a familiar and relatable musical form. Due largely to hip-hop’s cultural ascendency in both the US and the U.K since the 90s, its varied syntax and linguistic codes are increasingly familiar to GCSE-level students who may now consume the genre as part of ‘mainstream’ music. The colloquialisms and cultural references found within U.K rap in particular, often overlap with the vernaculars of British inner-city students. This should not necessarily lead to the assumption that all teenagers listen to or are interested in the genre. However, the heightened cultural profile of hip-hop ostensibly makes for a more accessible stimulus for language analysis than texts written pre-1917. 
 
     Bowmer and Curwood suggest that that the teaching of canonical texts alongside ‘popular culture’ has the potential to “make secondary English more meaningful and relevant for students”(2016, p.148). They stress that “popular culture is a complement to, not a substitute for, traditional literature” and “a way of making seemingly impenetrable poetry relevant to our students today” (ibid). The logic is simple: if students can initially spot Jay-Z ‘s use of personification, they are better prepared to understand, for example, the living, breathing conception of nature in Wordsworth’s poetry. The use of hip-hop as a pedagogical foothold, therefore, may work to disperse unconstructive ideas that traditional poetry is “a puzzle to be solved”, “a text to be beaten for meaning” or “irrelevant to young people’s lives” (Dymoke, 2017, p.227). However, the teaching of hip-hop as part of English literature curriculum need not be kept isolated from canonical texts. Curwood advocates for the process of ‘remixing’, which has origins in the music world: “the practice of taking cultural artifacts and combining them in new and creative ways” (2013, p.84). Bowmer and Curwood (2016) formulated a formative assessment task that required secondary school students to remix a poem studied in school with a ‘popular culture text’ of their choice. These texts included lyrics of popular songs, including rap verses. They found that the activity “provided interest-based opportunities for genuine engagement and motivation in the classroom” while strengthening students’ understanding of Romantic poetry (ibid, p.147) These findings support Lessig’s (2008) conclusion that the process of merging and manipulating texts leads to increased understanding of the original, older text being ‘remixed’. There is promising evidence to suggest that rap, when paired and combined with set texts, can act as an invaluable torch illuminating the shadowy obscurity of canonical literature.  
 
     However, when introducing rap into the literature syllabus, educators must be wary not to fall into the same pitfalls that litter the current English curriculum. A core failing of the Conservative’s reconfiguration of the syllabus was their undemocratic control over the texts students must read and analyse. Echoing Freire’s critique of the ‘banking’ concept of education, Leigh asserts that “restricting hip-hop texts in the classroom to teachers’ choice alone” damagingly reinforces the pre-existing hierarchy of the classroom: “with the teacher as sole knower and with the students as receivers of information” (2019, p.57). Alternatively, if the study of rap is to follow Freire’s more progressive and worthwhile ‘dialogical and problem-posing approach’, students must have agency over the rap songs or verses they will analyse. This may involve students choosing from a list of collated rap texts that they themselves have created in collaboration with the teacher. The texts could be categorised by theme or perspective, encouraging students to draw links between the universal ideas found in both rap and classical literature. If the selection of rap texts were the teacher’s choice alone, the dynamic would be particularly discouraging and disempowering, as young people are view themselves as the creators and experts of popular culture (Morell, 2002)1. 
 
 

     Concerns over the appropriateness of student choices may become overblown due to lingering stereotypes surrounding rap. Although Gladney attests that “hip-hop has endeavoured to address racism, education, sexism, drug use, and spiritual uplift”, the belief that the form revolves around descriptions of gratuitous violence and the objectification of women continues to be perpetuated (1995, p.291). The sheer quantity and variety of rap available in the internet age makes a mockery of such presumptions, which often ring with hypocrisy. For instance, Gothic literature, often studied at GCSE-level and prior, is renowned for its depictions of mutilated female bodies and a general demonisation of the ‘feminine’. When students encounter such texts, teachers often orchestrate a contextualised discussion on historical social issues and moral values. The same privilege can be afforded to rap, when sensitive topics arise. Kelly demonstrated that a classroom discussion triggered by the song ‘Bad Bitch’ by Lupe fiasco, led to “a more developed understanding of the sexualisation of the female body in popular media” among her students (2019, p.56). Controversial, divisive and taboo subject matter may appear in any literary work, regardless of its form or era. A more relevant concern is the ways in which educators navigate and frame debates around such issues. McArthur suggests that exposure to popular forms of media can provide young students with the tools to “interrogate texts, question myriad oppressive social structures, and unpack and analyse how stereotypes and prejudices are communicated” (2016, p.376). Rather than an obstacle, the contentious content of some rap may become a stimulus for enriching moral and socio-political discussion. In this way, the form may facilitate a growing sense of social awareness and political inquiry within young people. However, Kelly suggests that “educators who are concerned about bringing explicit content into the classroom” have the choice to “modify texts to fit the needs of their classroom” (2019, p.57). This may involve censoring strong language or ensuring chosen rap verses that are age-appropriate. However, she argues that if this is to be done, teachers should “involve students in a dialogue regarding censorship and the relationship between language and meaning” (Ibid). Through such brave and honest dialogue around rap, educators may avoid making patronising choices that have previously served only to disenfranchise students.  

 

Why not?  
 
     In light of the exciting pedagogical possibilities triggered by the introduction of rap in the classroom, the Conservatives’ 2014 curriculum changes appear even more disappointing and problematic. Gladney refers to rap as “the most recent "seed" in the continuum of African-American culture” and its consignment to the margins of academic study cannot be disentangled from enduring issues of prejudice and colonialism (1995, p.291). Echoing previously referenced studies demonstrating the accessibility of rap, Hall suggests “the resistance to hip-hop pedagogy isn’t directed at the language per se—although it is a convenient scapegoat” (2017, p.348). Rather, the marginalisation of rap and wider black culture is symptomatic of institutional racism. The need to proactively champion and prove the validity of rap as being academically worthy, even three decades after its first appearances within the classroom, is evidence in itself of the discrimination the literary form has had to endure. As Baldwin (1979) surmises: “it is not [rap’s] language that is despised: It is his experience”. In prioritising literature written pre-1917 within their 2014 changes to the English curriculum, the Conservative government were knowingly upholding the status-quo, wherein white art and white voices remain at the top of the cultural hierarchy. If the literary canon symbolically represents “the best that has been thought or said”, then the domination of white-British writers becomes representative of immense discrimination and prejudice (Arnold, 1993, p.52). Unless, of course, one genuinely thinks that the work of white authors and poets is objectively the ‘best’ that has ever been produced. Hall argues that a more inclusive English literature curriculum would “signal a larger shift in…national identity and [would] jeopardize the positions of racial and class privilege many…have come to enjoy” (2017, p.348). To include rap in the curriculum would represent a concession of power, which those who benefit from the cultural and political dominance of whiteness have no interest in giving away. As Freire puts it, “in the name of the ‘preservation of culture and knowledge’ we have a system which achieves neither true knowledge nor true culture” (1972, p.80). 
 
 
     The ostracism of rap in academia cannot be viewed as either accidental or innocuous. It must not be detached from considerations of prejudice and systematic racism, especially when black writers of more traditional literary forms continue to be marginalised by the UK GSCE curriculum. ‘Lit in Colour’, a campaign run by Penguin Books UK and The Runnnymead Trust which aims to make the teaching and learning of English Literature more inclusive, has shared damning findings regarding the state of diversity in the UK curriculum (Elliott, Nelson-Addy, Chantiluke & Courtney, 2021). Despite the fact that “34.4% of students in England are Black, Asian, or minority ethnic”, a miniscule “0.7% of students answered a question on a novel by a writer of colour at GCSE-level” (ibid). The Conservative’s curriculum changes knowingly exacerbated this severe level of underrepresentation, as the prioritisation of texts written pre-1917 purposefully upheld the cultural and academic dominance of white-British writers. The startling lack of diversity in the syllabus has a tangible personal impact upon students who do not feel represented. ‘Lit in Colour’ found that “almost a third of Black, Asian or minority ethnic young people surveyed (27.4%) agreed that ‘the books I study in English Literature make me feel like I don’t belong’” as opposed to “14.5% of White students” (ibid). This regrettably demonstrates how choices on set texts can perpetuate feelings of alienation and disempowerment in ethnic minority students. The further cultural narrowing of the syllabus in 2014 ensured that the voices and experiences of people of colour continue to be overlooked and relegated to the outskirts of academia. As a traditionally black art form, rap’s continued absence in the UK GCSE curriculum serves as a continuation of the historic marginalisation of black and ethnic minority writers.  
 

Conclusions and impacts on practice 

 

     For forward-thinking educators, the state of literary diversity in the GCSE curriculum is a cause of frustration and a potential source of great pessimism. The lack of representation of black, Asian and ethnic minority groups within traditional literary forms (prose, poetry and plays) does not bode well for the inclusion of rap. Not only does rap have to contend with the academic ramifications of racial inequality, it must also fight against persisting doubts over its literary worth. This is perhaps due to its unfounded reputation as being a ‘low-brow’ art form lacking intricate meaning or interpretive depth. As a means of tackling this prejudiced view, I have created a series of analytical essays entitle ‘AQA Hip-Hop’ which showcases rap’s validity as both a stimulus for language analysis and as a platform for the dissection of social issues. The series replicates the structure and layout of a traditional GCSE Literature exam, which aims to demonstrate the suitability of rap within an academic context. The project hopes to demystify how the inclusion of rap in the curriculum may work in practical terms, by simply placing it within a pre-existing and widely recognised format. In terms of its language analysis, the series purposefully uses the same subject-specific terminology examiners expect GCSE students to use. This includes the identification of linguistic methods such as metaphor, sensory imagery and symbolism. Again, this aims to undermine the view that the analysis of rap would not assess students on the same comprehension and analytical skills. The series specifically focuses upon the voices and perspectives of ethnic and social groups who have been historically underrepresented in traditional GCSE English courses. This includes the viewpoint of Kendrick Lamar, who meditates on his underprivileged upbringing in 80s Chicago, against the backdrop of the Rodney King Riots in his song ‘County Building Blues’ (AQA Hip-Hop, 2022). The series seeks to exhibit both rap’s linguistic and thematic richness and its ability to convey historically marginalised experiences.  
 
     Hall asserts that “teachers no longer need to be sold on why they should be using hip-hop in the classroom; they want to be told how to use hip-hop in the classroom” (2017, p.342). Unfortunately, English teachers who wish to incorporate rap within their practice will not receive support from the government or exam boards in this endeavour. Instead, practitioners who are passionate about the pedagogical benefits of rap must work within the confines of the restricted curriculum. In my own practice, this has largely involved using rap as a means to re-contextualise language techniques the students must be able to identify and evaluate in their GCSE exams. For example, at the start of each term, I ask each student in my mixed-ability Year 10 class to note down a song they have been listening to recently, the majority of which fall under the category of rap. I then take lyrics from these songs and use them as part of a starter activity in which students must identify a literary technique and explain its effects. During such tasks, students appear extremely engaged, perhaps due to both a heightened sense of autonomy and the relatability of the lyrics presented to them. Students also exhibit improved understanding of these re-contextualised techniques and are more likely to identify them later on, within their set texts. Despite the pedagogical success of tasks involving rap, the limitations of the curriculum works to stifle such examples of experimentation.  Teachers feel pressured to focus purely on delivering ‘traditional’ schemes of work that have been approved, wary of ensuring the academic success of their students.  In order to empower themselves, teachers must be educated on the rich possibilities of rap in academia, particularly through reading the work of ‘hip-hop’ scholars from the U.S. However, for the true pedagogical impact of rap to be unlocked, policy-makers and exam boards must recognise the literary merit of the art form and the value it can offer to a diverse student demographic. They must be willing to look forward instead of backwards.    
 
 

 

Bibliography 

  
  

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