In our country, space is often a demonstration of power. Consider how auditoriums are designed. The distance between the speaker and her audience signifies the metaphorical magnitude of power assigned to the speaker. A podium or a raised platform distances and depersonalizes the dissemination of information, and establishes the hierarchy of authority. But then there are educators who belong to the people. They say: “I don’t like standing on a podium, it signifies that I do not want to have this distance between myself and the people, when in fact I am the people.”
If instead there are empty spaces and small tables, then roles are less rigidly perceived. People can turn around when they need to – to look at the slides, to ask a question – and the speaker too can move around between the furniture, drawing everybody into the discussion. The more intimate and close people sit, the more relationships among learners thrive, the more room there is for a democratic exchange.
In a classroom, the same philosophy of space can facilitate better learning. In The Silent Language, Edward T Hall analyzes various kinds of non-verbal communication, such as the role of physical objects in solidifying our expectations from a space. I have often said in my workshops: Space is flexible. The things in the space can and should be seen as subservient to us, not us as subservient to them.” A fixed arrangement of furniture sends the message of a fixed space governed by strict rules. Our classrooms, therefore, should be designed with light, flexible furniture that can be moved around to accommodate different seating arrangements. Children can sit in pairs or threesomes on rectangular tables, creating a shared working space, and these tables can come together to form a larger square for group discussions. A good example of such a space is the Aga Khan University IED’s classrooms, where this kind of fluidity is built into the furniture.
Consider another space that to my knowledge is present at only one educational institution: the ‘Kiva’. When Dr. Kazim Bacchus, the late Director of AKU-IED suggested it to the architects of the building in Karimabad, their surprise was evident. The concept comes from Native Americans. When several chiefs of the tribes had a meeting, they understood the symbolic power of space. They did not want one individual– by virtue of sitting at the head of a table—to be seen as the most powerful. Even ground seating suggested a subtle ranking of power, because the person sitting on the right hand of the chief was seen as superior to the person sitting on the left. But in a Kiva, the chiefs could strike true equality in space.
A Kiva is a kind of sunk, single-level amphitheater, where everyone sits facing each other in a circle. Teachers and students, and chiefs and subjects alike sit shoulder-to-shoulder nullifying any suggestion of power. What happens? Someone says something from her place, and someone from the other end can respond. People feel free and confident speaking up, because they are all equidistant from the center. One individual cannot hold forth; the space itself does not allow it. Anybody can interrupt and add their own thoughts. The whole dynamics of power in space shift: by getting individual figures off the pedestal, the Kiva rids a gathering of subtle (or not!) power structures, and instead facilitates dialogue and discussion on equal terms. This is exactly the kind of philosophy we need to apply to our learning spaces, our classrooms, our auditoriums, our lecture halls.
The first step in changing our habits is recognizing how space is always a demonstration of power.