Vol 9, No 3 (2025)
https://doi.org/10.7577/njcie.6363
Article
Cuong Huy
Nguyen
Ho
Chi Minh City Open University
Email:
cuong.nh@ou.edu.vn
In an era of accelerating
globalization, an increasing number of scholars cross national borders and
accumulate international academic experiences, bringing both opportunities and
challenges. This
autoethnography explores the challenges that I, a Vietnamese PhD student, encountered
while navigating learner autonomy within a cross-cultural, emancipatory academic
environment in the US. Drawing on my retrospective narrative, in-depth interviews
with my academic advisor, and a reflective journal, I narrate my journey of
negotiating the newly found freedom in a PhD program driven
by emancipatory pedagogy. The process reveals learner autonomy as a complex,
non-linear negotiation shaped by different environmental factors, especially the
roles of my academic advisor. Thanks to the development of learner autonomy, I slowly
turned into an independent scholar, but the process prompted critical
reflections on the tension between my traditional Confucian Heritage Culture
(CHC) values and the newly acquired emancipatory ideals. The paper may help international
PhD students to better navigate their studies in new cultural and academic
environments. It
may also help PhD supervisors, including those in Nordic countries, become more
aware of potential challenges and develop alternative strategies for working
with doctoral students from different cultural backgrounds. Finally, it may offer insights into how a
more emancipatory academic environment might be reimagined in CHC contexts.
Keywords: autoethnography, learner autonomy, self-directed
learning (SDL), Confucian Heritage Culture (CHC), emancipatory pedagogy
Learner autonomy has been a central theme in language
education for more than four decades (Benson, 2013). Early studies largely
emphasized strategies for fostering autonomy, with the belief that learner autonomy
is associated with improved academic achievement (Little, 1991; Reinders,
2010). Over time, however, this construct has
broadened and intersected with other related notions such as self-directed
learning (SDL), informal or out-of-class learning, and, more recently, student
agency. In specific contexts, scholars have introduced further refinements—for
example, Sundqvist (2009) advanced the concept of extramural English (EE) to
capture learners’ autonomous engagement with English beyond formal classrooms in
Nordic settings. This evolution reflects the dynamic and context-sensitive
nature of learner autonomy, showing how the construct
has been continually redefined to account for diverse learning environments and
theoretical perspectives.
While most scholarship on learner autonomy has concentrated
on K–12 and undergraduate students, little attention has been paid to autonomy
among postgraduate students. This gap may be due to the assumption that
postgraduate students are, by definition, already autonomous, rendering further
inquiry unnecessary. Such an assumption, however, is problematic because learner
autonomy is culturally situated and open to diverse interpretations across different
sociocultural contexts (Palfreyman & Smith, 2003; Toohey & Norton, 2003).
For instance, postgraduate students from Confucian heritage cultures, such as
Vietnam, may conceptualize autonomy in ways that are significantly different from
their counterparts in North America or Scandinavia. This raises critical
questions about how postgraduate students from the former cultural contexts
negotiate autonomy within the latter, particularly where emancipatory pedagogy
has a more visible presence in the educational system. Exploring the
relationship between learner autonomy, Confucian Heritage Culture (CHC)
cultures, and emancipatory pedagogy is crucial for understanding postgraduate
learning experiences of Vietnamese students.
This autoethnographic paper narrates my lived experiences as
a Vietnamese doctoral student in an emancipatory PhD program in the US. The
challenges I encountered and the negotiations I undertook compelled me to
reflect critically on the values, beliefs, and assumptions that I carried with
me across cultural and academic borders. Over the course of six years, the
interaction between my CHC heritage and the program’s emancipatory pedagogy
gradually turned me into an independent scholar—though the journey was marked
by multiple struggles and many moments of disorientation. This bothersome
transformation not only helped me to reimagine myself but also expanded my
cultural repertoire and sharpened my professional practice. In doing so, the
paper sheds light on how learner autonomy at the postgraduate level is
negotiated across sociocultural contexts and pedagogical traditions.
Based upon the interpretive and postmodern traditions of
qualitative inquiry, this study employs autoethnography as a
means to narrate my personal experiences within a broader academic and
cultural context. While autoethnography does not claim to achieve objectivity,
it offers a legitimate way of generating situated knowledge and critical
self-reflection (Ellis et al., 2011). In this sense, I view my narrative not
merely as an individual sharing but also as a potential source of insight for
others who are navigating similar cross-cultural and pedagogical challenges.
The data for this study were drawn from a written narrative based on memories,
interviews with my academic advisor, and my ongoing reflective journal.
Specifically, the paper seeks to address the following research questions:
1.
How
did I develop my autonomy in an emancipatory PhD program in the US?
2.
What
was the role of my academic advisor in this process of personal transformation?
3.
How
did I negotiate learner autonomy between Confucian
Heritage Culture (CHC) and emancipatory pedagogy as a PhD student?
Because this paper is grounded in my subjective experiences
within a particular PhD program, its generalizability is relatively limited.
Nevertheless, it offers insights for those seeking to construct more
emancipatory academic environments in CHC contexts such as Vietnam, China,
Korea, and Japan. It may also be of value to supervisors and doctoral students
from different cultural and academic backgrounds who are striving to cultivate
more fruitful advisor–advisee relationships.
Learner autonomy is conceptualized as the central
focus of this paper. It is a dynamic construct that is shaped by two opposing
ideological forces: CHC values and emancipatory ideals. While CHC traditions
tend to constrain autonomy through hierarchical relationships and collective
norms, emancipatory pedagogy seeks to expand it by empowering learners as
critical, self-directed individuals. The following section reviews each of
these key concepts in turn—beginning with learner autonomy, followed by CHC
culture, and concluding with emancipatory pedagogy.
Learner autonomy serves as a central conceptual
framework for this paper. Originating in the field of language education, the concept
has undergone continuous development over the past four decades. For example,
Holec (1981), commonly considered the ‘father’ of this term, defines it as learners’
ability to take charge of their own learning. Likewise, David Little (1991),
another respected scholar in language education, emphasizes that autonomous
learners must possess the capability of engaging in critical reflection,
decision-making, and independent action. Building on these definitions, Benson
(2013) refers to learner autonomy as the ability to take control of one’s own
learning management, cognitive processes, and content.
Despite its origin in language education, learner
autonomy has also been found in other academic disciplines. For instance, in
adult and lifelong learning, it has been used interchangeably with self-directed
learning (SDL) (Candy, 1991). SDL refers to a process in which individuals take
the initiative to identify their learning needs, set goals, select strategies,
and evaluate outcomes, often outside formal educational structures (Knowles,
1975). While SDL emphasizes independence and personal responsibility, it tends
to view learning as an individual endeavor detached from institutional and
relational dynamics. In contrast, learner
autonomy focuses on
the learner’s capacity to take charge of their learning within educational
settings, in interaction with teachers, peers, and cultural contexts (Benson,
2013; Holec, 1981), not as a static disposition. Since this study is concerned
with negotiating my sense of autonomy within a structured PhD program,
influenced by cross-cultural tensions and pedagogical relationships, the
concept of learner autonomy, rather than SDL, would provide a more
context-sensitive and relational lens through which to analyze my
transformative learning experience.
Another
related concept that has recently gained momentum in educational studies is learner
agency. It refers to the “socioculturally
mediated” capacity of learners to make meaningful choices and take action to
shape their own learning and the surrounding environment (Ahearn, 2001, p. 112).
Agency is considered by many as the origin of autonomous actions (Benson, 2013).
Although agency could be relevant to the current paper, I decided to settle on
the concept of learner autonomy since it connotes a relatively more
stable trait that, though negotiable, may take longer to transform. On the
other hand, learner agency refers to a more dynamic, constantly changing state.
In summary, learner autonomy is characterized
by three primary features: (1) the learner’s ability to take responsibility for and
exercise control over their own learning, (2) the role of critical reflection,
decision-making, and independent action in sustaining this control, and (3) the
inherently relational and contextual nature of autonomy, shaped through
interaction with teachers, peers, and cultural environments.
Learner
autonomy and creativity are believed to be constrained by the Confucian
Heritage Culture (CHC) values (Ho, 2020; Huang & Asghar, 2018; Littlewood,
1999; Zhao,
2022).
CHC refers to the shared cultural values of East and Southeast Asian societies that
are under the influence of Confucianism, including China, Vietnam, Korea, and Japan
(Evers et al., 2011). The impact of this wisdom tradition has been so enduring
and pervasive that it has become deeply and seamlessly embedded in these
cultures. In Vietnam, for example, Confucian influence is evident in traditional
beliefs and practices such as filial piety, ancestor worship, and respect for
hierarchical relationships in family and society. At its core, Confucianism
seeks to cultivate a peaceful, prosperous, and ethical world—but all beginning
with self-cultivation (Chan & Rao, 2009).
First, Confucianism emphasizes a respect for hierarchy.
Drawing on the doctrines of the Rectification of Names, the Three Fundamental
Bonds, and the Five Core Virtues (Legge, 1887), people are expected to fulfill
their roles and titles in accordance with reality, thereby maintaining
relational ethics. These hierarchies are most visible in relationships between
rulers and subjects, husbands and wives, parents and children, and teachers and
students. In particular, the teacher’s role is strongly emphasized, as
reflected in the Vietnamese proverb, ‘One word makes a teacher, half a word
still makes a teacher’ (‘Một chữ
cũng là thầy,
nửa chữ cũng
là thầy’), which suggests
that even minimal knowledge imparted by the teacher still establishes a
lifelong obligation of respect. The teacher is often symbolically conflated
with parents, reinforcing filial piety as a model for student behavior. This
parallel is reflected in the saying, ‘A good child, an excellent student’ (‘Con
ngoan, trò giỏi’). Although these hierarchical relationships have been
redefined by the democratic movements of the 20th century, they continue to
persist in people’s minds, subtly influencing their language, behavior, and the
ways they position themselves in relation to others (Rozman, 2014).
Another central tenet of Confucianism is its emphasis on
self-cultivation as the foundation of relational ethics. Confucius argued that
personal cultivation must precede all other virtues: it is the basis for
building families, governing nations, and ultimately creating world peace. In
practice, self-cultivation involves fulfilling the duties attached to one’s
social roles—as a parent, child, spouse, teacher, student, ruler, or subject.
While self-cultivation may sound individualistic, it is not aligned with
Western notions of individualism. Rather, it is deeply relational, oriented towards
harmony and a collective identity. In this view, individuals are defined by
their families, communities, and institutions (Wang & Liu, 2010; Winfield
et al., 2000;). This collectivist mindset continues to shape everyday
communication in many CHC societies, as documented in cross-cultural
communication textbooks (e.g., Hofstede, 2001; Warren, 2017).
These Confucian values have, over the years, subtly nurtured the
beliefs, language practices, and behaviors of students in CHC cultures, who are
often characterized by their limited classroom autonomy and obedience (Zhao,
2009; 2022).
While CHC is believed to constrain learner autonomy,
emancipatory pedagogy is assumed to enhance it. This progressive educational
approach seeks to liberate learners from oppression through alternative
assumptions and practices. It has been contributed to by multiple critical
theorists, such as Foucault (1975), Giroux (1988), McLaren (1994), hooks
(1994), Ladson-Billings (1994), Popkewitz (1998), and
so on. However, Paulo Freire and Jacques Rancière seemed to have the most
prominent presence in my PhD program (2011–2017), at least from my perspective
and within my immediate circle of friends and professors at the time. Their presence was so dominant that other
ideologies—and even the subject matter itself—seemed to be overshadowed.
Freire (2000) is known for his critique of the
‘banking model’ of education, where
teachers “deposit” information into students, who function as passive recipients.
According to him, students should talk, ask questions, and learn from each
other, instead of just listening to the instructors. Freire also believes that
real education must help people understand the world so that they can change it for the better. He calls this “education as
the practice of freedom” (p. 25). On the other hand, Jacques Rancière (1991), a
French philosopher, contributes to emancipatory pedagogy by theorizing that no
one is inherently more intelligent than another. Specifically, teachers are not
inherently more intelligent than their students, and therefore, learning occurs
through the acts of will and attention, rather than explication. For example,
by paying close attention to the students’ learning, a teacher, even without subject
matter knowledge, may still be able to ensure that the students make progress
in their learning. In line with this logic, Rancière
argues that for emancipatory pedagogy to be possible, education must be
conducted with the assumption of equality right at the beginning. In other
words, equality is not an expected learning outcome, but a prerequisite of
education. He calls for the so-called ‘redistribution of the sensible’, which changes
who gets heard and seen in society in general and in the classroom in particular.
Below are some key descriptions of Freire and Rancière’s
theories that resonated the most with me:
·
Education
as a practice of freedom
(Freire, 2000): Education is not only a matter of adapting to the social norms, but more importantly, a liberatory process
of understanding and changing them for the better.
·
Critical
consciousness (Freire,
2000): Education should enable students to look critically at the world around
them and take action against oppression.
·
Dialogue-centered
learning (Freire, 2000):
Learning is grounded in dialogues between the teachers and the students and
among the students, and these stakeholders learn from one another.
·
Assumption
of equality (Rancière, 1991): Equality should not be considered an
outcome of education, but an assumption upon which education is conducted.
·
Rejection
of intellectual hierarchy
(Rancière, 1991): No one is inherently more
intelligent than another. For this reason, teaching is not a matter of explanation
but rather is an act of will and attention.
In
summary, CHC and emancipatory pedagogy represent two opposite ends of a
continuum along which learner autonomy is negotiated and possibly developed.
These two ideological forces shape how learners interpret and construct their
autonomy within specific academic contexts. This negotiation process is often
accompanied by dilemmas and internal struggles that are deeply intertwined with
learners’ worldviews and identities. For these reasons, it deserves further
investigation.
This
ethnographic paper centers on me, in relation to my academic advisor, the PhD program
at Michigan State University (MSU), and the socio-cultural and academic contexts
of Vietnam, which shaped my upbringing, my education, and my current scholarly work.
I
was born to a traditional Vietnamese family in the south of Vietnam, where my childhood
was immersed in the socialist ideals and the Confucian teachings. At school, I
was taught patriotism, social justice, and class struggle, which made up a large
proportion of my school curriculum. However, in comparison, Confucianism had a
more profound and long-lasting impact on the Vietnamese people, including
myself. As I mentioned earlier, Confucianism is not an organized religion, but
its core ideological tenets have quietly but profoundly shaped the Vietnamese
culture for thousands of years. I was implicitly taught to respect the elders, especially
my parents and my teachers, to love our home country, and especially to strive
for the best academic results. I participated in a lot of examinations for
outstanding students—at the school, district, provincial, and national levels. I
was also taught by my father that education was the best way to escape poverty.
Our
schooling culture gradually internalized within me a strong spirit of compliance,
competition, and instrumentality. My early education was summarized in this slogan,
“A good child, an excellent student” (“Con ngoan, trò giỏi”). “A good child”
implies an obedient child who would follow the teachings of his parents and
teachers without questioning them. “An excellent student” refers to someone who
achieves outstanding academic results through score reports, trophies, and
credentials. I never knew my true passion, and critical thinking was unknown until
university.
After
high school, I went to university to be trained as an English as a Foreign
Language (EFL) teacher. I then earned my Master’s degree
in the same field. I began my PhD studies in Curriculum, Instruction, and
Teacher Education (CITE) at MSU when I was 29. My initial goal was to develop
an innovative English curriculum for Vietnamese students. However, after I was
admitted into the program, I soon realized that my PhD journey would not be as
straightforward as I had anticipated.
In
short, I consider myself an introverted and shy person. This disposition was
further enhanced by my family traditions and school environments, which were both
driven by Confucianism, implicitly but strongly. My reading of the critical
theory, and especially my immersion into an emancipatory PhD program, indeed
transformed me significantly—into an independent scholar.
MSU
boasts a top PhD program in CITE in the US. This program includes different
specializations, such as social studies education, science education, math
education, comparative education, language and literacy, critical studies,
curriculum theory, and so on. Despite these diverse specializations, the
program’s overall academic culture was dominated by critical theory. Themes
such as diversity, inclusivity, empowerment, inequality, etc., were widely
present in the program’s discourse. When I was there, the program had about 30
faculty members working in different areas of study, with different academic
and cultural backgrounds. Originally, I was placed in the sub-area of language
and literacy, which had 3 professors, two of whom were also appointed in the
second language studies program.
Like most other PhD programs in the US, my PhD program
was marked by several key milestones, such as Preliminary Exam (after the first
semester), Research Practicum, Comprehensive Exam (after the completion of
coursework), Proposal Defense, and finally, Dissertation Defense. After completing
around 24 credits of coursework, PhD students would take the Comprehensive
Exam, and if they pass it, they will earn the new title: PhD candidate. Each PhD
candidate works with four or five committee members, one of whom serves as
academic advisor. Coursework was an opportunity for PhD students to explore different
sub-areas and research methodologies, which may make them change their minds about
their research directions. When I was there, this change was quite uncommon but
was said to be completely acceptable. As I mentioned earlier, I originally
intended to develop an
innovative English curriculum for Vietnamese students, and therefore,
was assigned a tentative academic advisor in language and literacy. However,
after completing the first-year coursework, I decided to switch to a new
sub-area: curriculum theory. I needed to switch to a new academic advisor.
Apart from formal coursework and other key academic
milestones as described above, my PhD program was noted for its emancipatory ideals,
where PhD students had easy access to faculty members and multiple opportunities
to meet with big scholars, who may come as guest speakers in our regular classes
or as speakers for workshops or symposiums. Almost no professors would say no
to a meeting request from a doctoral student. In this way, doctoral students in
this program could easily meet and discuss their research interests with their
potential advisors and committee members. In addition, each PhD student in my
program also had one fully funded opportunity to participate in a 2 to 3-week
study abroad program led by one faculty member. In particular, the program also
had a couple of open classes where students and professors are welcome to come
and go any time. For example, I joined the Critical Studies Group every Friday
afternoon for several years of my program.
In short, the PhD program in CITE at MSU is an
emancipatory one where PhD students are equipped with a broad academic
foundation through coursework, an equitable relationship with faculty members,
and multiple informal academic opportunities. Most importantly, it is underpinned
by critical theory, especially emancipatory pedagogy.
The
data for this study were collected in a non-traditional, non-linear fashion through
three channels: a retrospective written narrative, interviews with my academic
advisor, and a reflective journal.
·
Retrospective written
narrative: During my six-year PhD program, I had rich experiences: meeting with
my (second) academic advisor every two weeks, for half an hour each; working as
a research assistant for two research projects; serving as a student
representative on several departmental committees, and so on. Although I did
not keep a formal record of my observations during those years, my experiences
remain vivid in my memory. To ease data analysis, I recently wrote down a
retrospective narrative (about 10 pages) describing my experiences during the
program in a chronological order. This data source addresses the first and the
third research questions.
· Interviews with my academic advisor: I conducted two rounds of in-depth, semi-structured interviews with my second academic advisor towards the end of my PhD program, to explore her beliefs and assumptions regarding her supervisory approach. A Foucault scholar, my advisor also expressed a strong interest in the works of Freire, Rancière, and other critical theorists. The interviews, each lasting approximately 45 minutes, were semi-structured and audio-recorded. The interviews primarily address the second research question.
·
Reflective journal:
After returning to Vietnam, I have served as a lecturer, administrator, and
especially academic advisor. I have kept a reflective journal about these roles
in the past five years (about 80 pages). Although this journal reflects my
ongoing experiences in Vietnamese academia, it is in many ways associated with
my previous experiences as PhD student at MSU. Largely, my experiences in
Vietnam have enabled me to understand my experiences at MSU more profoundly and
thoroughly. Similarly, I believe that my time at MSU has had a significant
impact on how I position myself in relation to my students, especially my advisees.
This ongoing journal covers all three research questions.
To
begin with, the interviews were transcribed using TurboScribe.
Then, the retrospective narrative was
written based on my memory recall. Both were then analyzed using the thematic
analysis approach, following Creswell’s (2013) guidelines. The ongoing
reflective journal was used to add more depth to my interpretation of the data.
Through three stages of
coding—open, axial, and selective coding—as suggested by Corbin and Strauss
(2008), I constructed a chronological narrative of my six-year PhD journey at
MSU, including Early PhD, During PhD, and After PhD.
As each key theme emerged from the data, I consulted my
ongoing reflective journal to gain a deeper understanding of it. This
reflective process was crucial, as the journal served as a reference point that
allowed me to interpret my past experiences more profoundly. For instance, when
“advising—not ordering” emerged as a theme, I referred to a 2019 journal entry
in which a student expressed dissatisfaction with my suggestions as her advisor.
On the contrary, my present experiences as an academic advisor, as noted in my
reflective journal, may also inspire me to dig deeper into my memories and the
interviews with my advisor to gain insights into a certain matter. For example,
a PhD student (not my advisee) recently told me about her intention to change
her academic advisor and asked me how she should proceed with it, since this
was such a sensitive matter in our Vietnamese culture. I was immediately
reminded of my own difficulty as a doctoral student 10 years earlier. I then
decided to add another principle to my working principles contract with my
advisees by claiming that ‘Changing supervisors (if needed) is entirely
acceptable’ and that, as their advisor, I would not take this request personally
at all.
Below
is a sample of my data analysis (Table 1):
Table 1. A sample of data analysis
|
Written
narrative |
Interviews
with my advisor |
Reflective
journal |
Codes |
Theme |
|
- ‘I proactively applied for the NEH
scholarship and asked for reference letters from Lynn and Kyle, who were more
than willing to write them in support of me. Six weeks later, I received the
good news and spent five weeks studying Buddhism at the East-West Center in
Hawaii’. - ‘I immediately emailed Rick
Posner, author of ‘Lives of Passion, School of Hope’, and he responded half
an hour later. He invited me to Colorado, and I flew there on an early flight
the following week’. |
‘My job as an academic advisor is to
secure an infrastructure so that my students can freely develop as
independent scholars.’ (My advisor said in the interview in
2015) |
‘Your mannerisms
are so different from who you used to be—I barely recognized you at the
meeting this week.’ (A former Vietnamese
colleague said to me in summer 2015) |
(1) Radical transformation (2) Increasing autonomy (3) proactive decision-making |
DEVELOPMENT INTO AN INDEPENDENT
SCHOLAR |
According to Lincoln and Guba (1985), trustworthiness serves as the
primary benchmark for ensuring the quality of qualitative research, including
autoethnography. It encompasses four key criteria: credibility,
transferability, dependability, and confirmability. For this study, I engaged
in prolonged involvement with the research context (both in the US and in
Vietnam), iterative reflexivity, triangulation (credibility), thick description
(transferability), meticulous methodological documentation (dependability), and
ongoing reflective journaling (confirmability).
As noted earlier, the data for this study were collected over a period
of more than ten years, with reflective journaling continuing at the time of
writing. To cross-check factual accuracy, data were triangulated from three
primary sources: my reconstructed memories (developed into a written
narrative), interviews with my academic advisor, and my ongoing reflective
journal. I describe who I am and acknowledge the unavoidable bias (reflexivity)
but figure out ways to mitigate it in data collection and interpretation, for
instance, by providing rich contextual descriptions of both my PhD program and
my professional background. I also endeavor to maintain transparency throughout
the research process by thoroughly documenting and justifying methodological
procedures and analytic decisions to the best of my ability.
The interviews were conducted and audio-recorded with
the consent of my advisor. The longitudinal, immersive observation was conducted
informally within the CITE program, so no consent form was needed. However, the
ongoing reflective journal, in which I write about myself, puts me in a highly vulnerable
position. However, as vulnerable as it is, this study is a great opportunity
for me to step back and reflect upon my past experiences and investigate my
ongoing professional practice as a scholar and academic advisor, as will be
narrated later in the Findings section.
As this paper relies primarily on retrospection, it may be
prone to the tendency to foreground the more positive aspects of my doctoral
experiences. Nonetheless, I have made deliberate efforts to balance both
positive and negative perspectives. The negative experiences are presented in a
carefully framed manner to minimize potential harm to the people involved, while
also mitigating the nostalgic bias commonly associated with retrospective
narratives.
To ease reading this section, a summary of my academic
journey is presented in Table 2 below. Then, the findings are divided into Early
PhD, During PhD, and After PhD.
Table 2. A summary of my academic and professional journey
|
Year(s) |
Degree / Stage |
Institution |
Focus / Advisor |
Notes |
|
2004 |
BA in English Education |
Ho Chi Minh City University of Education, Vietnam |
No advisor |
Undergraduate foundation in English education |
|
2007 |
MA in TESOL |
Canberra University, offshore program, Vietnam |
No advisor |
Advanced training in language teaching |
|
2011 |
PhD Admission |
MSU (US) |
Tentative Advisor in Language & Literacy (CHC background) |
Entered the Curriculum, Instruction & Teacher Education program |
|
2012 |
Shift in Research Focus |
MSU |
New Advisor in Curriculum Theory |
After completing 1st-year coursework |
|
2017 |
PhD Completion |
MSU |
Dissertation: 'Self-directed learning through the eyes of a Buddhist meditator: (non)judgment, (non)becoming, and (non)control' |
PhD in Curriculum, Instruction & Teacher Education |
|
2017–present |
Academic Career |
Vietnamese Higher Education |
Language education, curriculum theory, mindfulness |
Teaching, research, administration, and student service |
Advisor change
After reading the critical theory in my first-year
coursework, I had the intention to change my research direction and,
consequently, my academic advisor. The Department Chair assured me that such a
change was fully acceptable in the program. Nonetheless, I experienced intense
fear, as changing advisors was almost unimaginable in my home culture (CHC).
For me, advisor change was not only an academic but also a moral decision.
Subconsciously, I regarded my advisor as my parental figure—someone
to whom I was supposed to owe deep respect and loyalty. In this sense, working
with the new advisor felt like betraying the first one. However, I recognized
that making this change was essential for my academic development. I did not dare to speak to my advisor face-to-face, but wrote her an email explaining my situation
and informing her of my intention. Her reply showed her disappointment, which
only intensified my sense of guilt. Her feeling of disappointment also manifested
in our subsequent face-to-face interactions, which made me feel awkward.
I had never imagined myself taking such a bold step,
particularly because my first advisor and I shared a common Confucian heritage.
But here I was, challenging a deeply ingrained value system for the sake of my personal
academic growth. To many, such a decision might appear ordinary, but for
someone raised as a ‘good child, excellent student’, it required immense
courage. It marked the very first time I decided against the will of a parental
figure.
The discomfort I experienced during the advisor change
process reveals an underlying assumption of inequality in the advisor–PhD
student relationship—an assumption likely shaped by the CHC that both my
advisor and I shared. While changing advisors is rarely an easy process for any
PhD student, regardless of cultural backgrounds, the shared CHC values of
hierarchy, loyalty, and respect for teachers made this experience particularly
unsettling.
Forms of address
In my very first meeting with my second academic advisor, she
asked me to address her by her first name—a request
that was astonishing to me. In Vietnamese culture, addressing someone of my
mother’s age—and especially a professor—by their first name was unthinkable. It
took me several months before I could do so without a lingering sense of unease
and disrespect.
Her insistence on being addressed by her first name was
partly cultural, but it was also due to her Foucauldian background. While other
professors might also prefer first names, few would insist so strongly. As
Foucault (1980) argues, language is not a neutral medium of communication but a
vehicle of power and a mechanism of social regulation. My advisor regarded
academic titles as markers of hierarchical authority that could disempower
students; by deliberately rejecting them, she sought to lessen this hierarchy
and foster a sense of equality. From her perspective, the choice of address was
not trivial but was a pedagogical act of resistance, consistent with Freire’s
and Rancière’s insistence that equality must be
enacted in educational practice.
Soul-searching
Probably the most important milestone in my PhD journey came
when my new advisor asked me to make one serious promise—that I would write
about something I was truly interested in, not about what others expected me to.
She also firmly refused to suggest a thesis topic. I was both disappointed and
stunned. No one had ever asked me about my genuine academic interests, and to
be honest, I only had a vague sense of them. I had assumed that, as an EFL
teacher, my interests had to lie in language education, but to be honest, this
was not necessarily the only thing in my heart. My advisor told me to go home,
do some soul searching, and see her again in two weeks. I felt both excited and
nervous. I was excited because I had the opportunity to listen to my inner voice—something I had long forgotten after years of
obedience. I was nervous because I realized that I had no idea what to do with
this newfound freedom, and that my academic journey ahead would be uncertain.
Compared with my peers, some of whom were collecting their data, I was falling far
behind.
Two weeks later, I told her that I was interested in
mindfulness and progressive education—much to my surprise and her utmost joy. I
was also astonished by this revelation, because I had always considered
mindfulness as my private spiritual practice, unrelated to my scholarly work.
Progressive education, meanwhile, was an academic area, but I could not see its
connection with my professional experience as an EFL teacher. I was also
troubled by the seeming disconnect between the two—one rooted in spirituality, while
the other in educational theory. However, my advisor was ecstatic about my
confessed interests. She encouraged me to keep exploring them and assured me
that they would converge in one way or another.
Her unwavering trust in my academic interests made me feel
that what I cared about was not trivial and private but worthy of serious
academic pursuit. In the interview, she explained that every individual had their
own interests and passions, which were often suppressed by the
social norms to the point that they were dismissed by the beholders themselves.
She also emphasized that she expected her students to enjoy every step of their
thesis-writing process, asking rhetorically: ‘If each of your steps is not enjoyable, how can you have a
successful, enjoyable career?’ I could not agree with her more.
Advising—not ordering
I met my
academic advisor every two weeks for half an hour each time. At each meeting,
she would listen to me and share her advice, but she made clear from the outset
that I did not have to follow it, stressing the distinction between ‘advice’
and ‘order.’ At first, I was confused, but I gradually adapted to it.
In my CHC culture,
parents and teachers are viewed as unquestionable authorities, and children and
students are expected to follow their instructions. My advisor’s approach,
however, reflected the spirit of emancipatory pedagogy, aligned with Paulo
Freire’s (1970) critique of the ‘banking model’ of education and Rancière’s (1991) intellectual equality, where the
teacher’s task is not to deposit knowledge but to enhance the learner’s
capacity for independent learning. All in all, her refusal to impose a thesis
topic, her insistence on soul-searching, and now her distinction between advice
and order all directed me toward listening to my own voice and relying on
myself throughout my academic journey.
To some extent, I was relieved that my advisor did not see
herself as my exclusive source of wisdom. Instead, I was encouraged to broaden
my horizons and, ultimately, to make my own decisions. I learned to consider ‘independent
decision-making’ as the most important mission of my PhD studies. In my
reflective journal, I wrote: ‘The most noble
goal of education is to turn an obedient, dependent student into a
self-directed, independent one. Difficult but rewarding.’ I still
hold this message close to my heart when supervising my students in Vietnam.
Recently, a PhD student of mine remarked, ‘Before meeting with you, I had never known how to listen to my inner voice seriously
and honestly.’ This deeply resonated with my own experience when my advisor
first asked me to promise to commit to what I was truly interested in.
Development into an independent scholar
With the newly earned freedom, I embarked on an independent
journey of exploring mindfulness and progressive education—without anyone telling
me what to do or how to do it. Every decision was mine to make, which I would
then share with my advisor during our biweekly meetings. This was when I had to
negotiate and, simultaneously, develop my autonomy most intensely. Often, I
found myself in chaos, with no structures to lean on—except for the regular
meetings with my advisor. My advisor offered no fixed guidance: not on which
books to read, which research methodology to follow, or which conferences to go
to. On the rare occasions when she did intervene more directly, she would give
me several options rather than a single solution, leaving the final choice for
me. Over time, I gradually learned to recognize my preferences more clearly,
clarify my thoughts more quickly, articulate my preferences with more confidence,
and make decisions with greater precision. Above all, I came to relish the
absolute freedom—something I knew many of my peers must
have envied.
To further explore mindfulness and progressive education, I
proactively selected books to read, reached out to scholars I believed could inform
my thesis project, and applied for grants to broaden my experiences. For
example, I emailed Rick Posner, author of a book I loved, who invited me to
visit the Jefferson County Open School in Colorado in 2015. There, I
interviewed students, alumni, teachers, and parents, and later met the school’s
founder, who hosted me at his residence for a week and shared profound stories
about the school’s history and philosophy. In 2015, I applied for the NEH
summer program on Buddhism at the East-West Center in Hawaii and was successfully
admitted into the program. In short, I had transformed—tremendously. A former
colleague gave this remark about me in 2017, ‘You are so different from who
you used to be—I barely recognized you at the meeting this week.’ The
remark was not about my physical appearance, but my mannerisms.
Post-qualitative inquiry
As I reported earlier, my advisor did not impose anything on
me—not even a research methodology. While she identified
as a critical theorist, I gradually identified as a social scientist. Still, I
followed her central advice: exploring my two main topics until they would eventually converge. In my third year, a colleague
asked me about my research methodology, and I admitted to her that I had no
idea. She was surprised, wondering how I could begin a dissertation without selecting
a methodology. She was right, but I was honest with her. However, I was
confident that I was making substantial progress in my academic journey and,
more importantly, that I was enjoying every moment of it.
It was only after I had almost completed my PhD dissertation that
I knew the exact name of my research methodology: post-qualitative inquiry.
This approach challenges traditional qualitative methods by rejecting
predetermined procedures and fixed humanist assumptions, instead emphasizing
openness, flexibility, and relationality (St. Pierre, 2021). Interestingly, my
advisor never mentioned this method while I was working on my dissertation. In the
interview, she explained, ‘I simply did not want to limit you within one method or label but
wanted you to freely explore the subject matter. My
job as your advisor was to ensure that you were actually
learning something and that you were enjoying it. And you were!’
My tribulations
Despite the thrilling experiences as narrated above, I often
experienced feelings of aimlessness and self-doubt during my PhD studies.
Without a clear-cut pathway, I spent considerable time figuring things out for
myself, and at times felt adrift. Perhaps a bit more specific guidance from my advisor would have
made the journey easier. I also worried about my
future career. Since my dissertation was not a direct continuation of my
previous work in TESOL, I was unsure whether I would be welcomed back into the
TESOL community upon returning to Vietnam.
Another challenge lay in my struggle to reconcile the
construct of ‘learner autonomy’ with both critical theory and my CHC heritage.
I continually questioned whether I had genuinely transformed or had been absorbed
into an academic hegemony that estranged me from my own cultural heritage. This
question arose toward the end of my PhD, as I became more familiar with
postcolonial theories. However, I never shared this with my advisor. Over time,
as I became an academic advisor myself, I realized that my transformation would
not have been possible without her ‘interventions’—her firm refusal to suggest
a thesis topic, her insistence on my soul-searching, and especially her
distinction between ‘advice’ and ‘order.’ As an academic advisor, I have
debated with myself how much direct intervention is necessary for my students,
so that their development of autonomy would be possible. Like me, my advisor must
have grappled with the paradox that is noted in the literature: while rejecting
hierarchical power structures, she still needed to exercise a form of guiding
authority to foster her students’ autonomy. Instead of relying on traditional
strategies that presume inequality, she used alternative ones, such as silence
and waiting. By withholding immediate solutions, she pushed me to articulate my
ideas and make my own decisions. As she later explained, ‘Waiting is also an
action,’ and ‘Silence could be very powerful.’ What she tried to
secure for me was an ‘infrastructure’ for authentic learning and growth,
manifesting in her consistent presence and willingness to listen to me without
imposing her own agenda.
Finally, as a result of my
‘postmodern’ doctoral journey, I found it difficult to integrate into the
‘modern’ academic world—both during and after my PhD. Writing a
post-qualitative dissertation and pursuing a multidisciplinary agenda left me
in a liminal space, where I struggled to construct a coherent academic identity
and a genuine sense of belonging. For several years after graduation, I
dismissed publication as a compliance with the neoliberal ‘publish or perish’ culture.
This resistance, however, came at a cost: it delayed my professional visibility
and limited my participation in the broader scholarly community.
Re-integrating into Vietnamese higher
education
When I returned to Vietnam in 2017, I realized that while the
academic environment here had changed, I had changed much more. At first, the
gap between the two seemed difficult to reconcile. I noted this in my journal: ‘I am not sure
if I can survive this environment any longer!’ However, I gradually
learned to seek small ways to transform it within my capacity. For instance,
although I cannot fully reform my university’s assessment regime, I have
introduced project-based tasks, portfolios, and peer assessments wherever
possible in my classrooms. Emancipatory pedagogy is easier to enact in student supervision—by
deliberately narrowing the power gap between myself and my postgraduate
students.
Some
emancipatory ideas can be powerful in the West but may not make sense in
Vietnam. For instance, an emphasis on radical individualism, open critique of
authority, or the complete flattening of hierarchical relationships, which are the
hallmarks of emancipatory pedagogy, can conflict with traditional values of
harmony, respect for elders, and collective identity in my CHC culture. What is
seen as "liberating" in the West may be perceived as disrespectful at
home. This cultural dissonance challenges educators like me to critically adapt
and re-interpret emancipatory pedagogy in culturally appropriate ways, while
ensuring that its core tenets are skillfully enacted.
Embracing both heritages strategically
Both CHC values and emancipatory pedagogy have made up who I
am, but they cannot co-exist seamlessly. Over the years, I have come to see
myself as an adaptive switch that continually shifts between CHC and
emancipatory pedagogy in response to different educational instances and
cultural settings. In traditional Vietnamese classrooms, where hierarchy and
teacher-centeredness seem more appropriate, I draw upon CHC values such as
structured guidance and respectful distance. In other contexts, such as
small-group discussions or supervising postgraduate students, I deliberately
enact emancipatory principles, such as learner autonomy, critical dialogue, and
equal relationships, as informed by Freire and Rancière.
Rather than treating these paradigms as mutually exclusive, I navigate between
them fluidly, like a bilingual navigating between two
languages. This adaptive switching is not a compromise but a form of contextual
sensitivity and pedagogical skillfulness—an approach that enables me to remain
loyal to the essences of both traditions while responding meaningfully to
diverse student needs and institutional realities. My negotiation with them is
far from complete, but it is precisely this ongoing movement that makes my
academic work both engaging and meaningful.
Stuck between two
opposing ideologies—CHC and emancipatory pedagogy—I had
to figure out ways to move forward with my PhD program and therefore develop my
autonomy through a long and turbulent process of negotiation. Such a detailed description
of autonomy negotiation and development is unseen in the literature, although
several studies have linked doctoral education to identity formation. For
instance, Cotterall (2011) argued that doctoral education is as much about
identity formation as it is about knowledge production. In my case, however, autonomy
development proved no less significant than the production of new academic
knowledge. This present paper also exposes the dynamics of autonomy negotiation,
rather than of identity formation.
During this process, my academic
advisor’s role is undeniable. This finding aligns with Rhouma (2024),
who also found that autonomy development among PhD students correlates with their
advisors’ supervisory styles. However, the present paper also investigates how
my advisor’s supervisory approach was informed by the critical theory and how it
unfolded in alternative, concrete strategies. With her approach, I sometimes found
my PhD journey precarious and risky, but strangely enough, this coincided with a
remark by Biesta (2016), who argued that it is risks that make education
‘beautiful’.
Ultimately, this autoethnography proves that not all
postgraduate students are, by definition, autonomous because their sense of
autonomy depends significantly on their cultural backgrounds, as proven by my
own case. It also points out that pursuing postgraduate studies in a foreign country
could be much more demanding than it seems to be. Consequently, it confirms the
belief that further studies into the matter should be conducted in the
future.
Development into an independent scholar was perhaps the
biggest achievement of my PhD studies—thanks to my ongoing negotiation with my
home heritage (CHC) and the emancipatory pedagogy. Interestingly, I learned
about emancipatory pedagogy less from books and more from the relationships
with my academic advisors, my peers, and the PhD program. The process was
neither easy nor risk-free, but it left a lasting imprint—cognitively,
emotionally, and even physically—on how I conceptualize myself as a scholar and
an academic advisor.
This autoethnography has important implications for different
stakeholders, including international PhD students, academic advisors, and
program managers. International PhD students may need to be aware of the
challenges awaiting them. Like me, they may have to struggle with a new set of
values different from their home values. This necessitates their full
awareness, constant reflection, and timely adaptation in
order to survive the program. Likewise, academic advisors working with
international PhD students may need to develop an early awareness of the subtle
differences in cultural values and philosophical assumptions between themselves
and their advisees. In particular,
they must cultivate the art of intervention to ensure that their
students receive adequate support but still have space for personal growth. Although
there is no fixed formula for effective supervision, an awareness of potential
differences may prepare them for any challenges they may encounter during the
supervisory process. For program managers, I believe that it is useful to
develop an open working regime where transparency is prioritized. Implicit
assumptions and expectations may hurt academic relationships at the
postgraduate level.
Because this paper is primarily grounded in my lived
experiences, which were recalled after nearly a decade, it inevitably includes
elements of subjectivity and bias. Such limitations, however, are inherent in
autoethnographic research (Adams et al., 2017; Chang, 2016). As a retrospective
account, it also tends to foreground positive experiences, while negative ones are
not adequately explored. These challenges will be examined in another paper. In
the future, I will investigate supervisory practices in Vietnam, particularly
how emancipatory pedagogy is enacted in the Vietnamese academic settings and
how Vietnamese postgraduate students respond to it.
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