Standard 5: The Power That’s Inside (Part 2)

This is my second entry of the five-part series. Here, I will talk about Standard 5: Inquiry, Research, and Scholarship.

For the three people who follow me on this website, I imagine you can probably see why this standard is near and dear to my heart. In fact, this focus is what motivated me to apply to a doctoral program.

As a teacher, I had questions and wondered about things I wasn’t able to address. My naivety assumed that academia always had the answers (or at least the answers I wanted).

Turns out it’s a lot more complicated than that.

Academia has some answers, but I think it has even more questions. 

Was I scammed? Was I a fool? Did I make a huge mistake?

No.

It took some time, but I realize that it’s okay to have fewer answers than questions. Even at my current age, maybe I’m still naive.

“The Power That’s Inside” (Pokémon Theme Song)

When it comes to this standard, I already knew the power that it hinted at. I italicize that word because my understanding of what constitutes “inquiry,” “research,” and “scholarship” has a degree of power baked into it.

I associate them with prestige, intellect, and expertise. And while I still do, I also think that it creates a natural separation between researchers and others. The others, in this case, are largely educators and practitioners.

It makes sense, right? For example, my program is a Doctor of Education (Ed.D.), but there is also the commonly known Doctor of Philosophy (PhD). It almost implies distinct paths.

But then something slowly shifted. My program’s studies began to blur the lines between inquiry, research, scholarship, and practice.

But still…

When I think of inquiry, research, or scholarship, why don’t I think of a teacher?

Was it my experience as a teacher? It did feel like we were just being told what to do, either by the district or by “evidence-based practices” from universities.

Was it how the public generally perceives teachers? I’m thinking about the quote: “Those who can’t do, teach.” To be fair, I think this was an original quote that has long been distorted from its intent. 

Or was it the imaginary hierarchy of legitimacy that I picked up on during my teacher preparation program? Again, the researchers lead the charge, and the practitioners apply their findings. It’s usually not the other way around…

Teachers don’t have the “power that’s inside.” Right…?

Electric Shock Showdown

I might as well continue the Pokémon theme. In the show, Ash is the protagonist and partners with his (our) beloved Pikachu. If you didn’t know this, which rock did you live under?

In Episode 14, Ash and Pikachu (the yellow rat thing) battle a gym leader (Lt. Surge) and his Raichu (the plump orange rat thing). Raichu is the evolved form of Pikachu. Typically, as Pokémon evolve into their next forms, they are stronger.

In the first battle, Pikachu gets demolished. As Pikachu is recovering from its injuries, Ash contemplates whether he should evolve Pikachu into a Raichu with the help of a Thunderstone.

Ash lets Pikachu decide what it wants because once it evolves, it can’t go back.

Pikachu stares at the Thunderstone, then slaps it out of Ash’s hand with its tail. Then, Pikachu lectures Ash, and the subtitles say something along the lines of it will beat Raichu as it is without having to evolve.

Or in Pikachu’s words: “Pika, Pikachu! Pika. Pi, Pi, Pi, Pikachu! Chu! Pika, Pikachu!”

As you can imagine, Pikachu ends up beating Raichu in the second battle using the speed it developed that Raichu never did as a Pikachu.

I picked this image because Pikachu did not need to become a Raichu to prove its value. It drew on its own strengths that the other didn’t have.

A Wild Researcher Appears!

My first “evolution” in thinking was realizing that educators can be inquirers, researchers, and scholars. These identities can actually overlap.

Jacobs et al. (2015) studied 16 doctoral students who engaged in practitioner inquiry, which the authors define as a “systematic, intentional study by educators of their own practice” (p. 374). This can include action research and teacher research.

It’s interesting because one participant noted that they previously viewed research and practice as “two separate paths,” but realized they could intersect (p. 389). This is very similar to the shift I experienced.

In the end, the authors concluded that the doctoral students improved their teaching, contributed to their program, and developed a broader understanding of research through practitioner inquiry. This is great stuff.

At the same time, Jacob and colleagues note that practitioner knowledge doesn’t suddenly become “legitimate.” It also needs to be systematized, transparent, and rigorous.

Similarly, Lynn and Smith-Maddox (2007) noted that inquiry, as a practice, helped pre-service teachers question their assumptions, better connect theory with practice, and consider what social justice teaching should look like. Along the way, the authors noted how teacher identity also develops through the process. The participants were able to pinpoint what they knew and what they didn’t.

While reflection and dialogue are good starting points, it still requires action. While identifying problems, such as ability tracking, is a part of the research, being able to take action is truly a strength as practitioners.

Educators, including teachers, coaches, administrators, and policymakers, are researchers in their own right.

The Elite Four: Academia

My next shift in thinking surrounds legitimacy. So, while I have accepted that practitioners can produce knowledge, I see another bump in the road: academia. Or the Elite Four if we are continuing the Pokémon theme.

In Jacobs et al.’s (2015) study, the same 16 doctoral students uncovered a tension related to educational research. Some of the participants reported receiving “negative messages” from other scholars and that practitioner inquiry was not “real research” (p. 390). Understanding this criticism, the authors believed that it would diminish the strength of inquiry and continue to divide practitioner inquiry from research that could be published.

Similarly, Barhuizen’s (2021) study follows Ana, a teacher educator starting a doctoral program. Ana shares how she was rejected from a university position because of her lack of research experience. It’s not that she didn’t have any research experience. Ana had teaching experience and action research experience, but she didn’t have the experience that the university was looking for.

Ana concluded at the time: “I’m not enough” (p. 369).

Remember the imaginary hierarchy? Here, the academics are the Raichus of the world, while teachers are the Pikachus. Teachers and teacher educators have to continue to prove their worth.

But this doesn’t mean that universities should lower the standards of rigor. I think higher institutions need to start asking what actually counts as knowledge. Jacobs et al. are arguing that inquiry is valuable and plays a vital role in research and scholarship. Barkhuizen suggests that university faculty and staff should also begin to value well-conducted classroom-based research.

Like Pikachu, practitioner inquiry shouldn't have to evolve into academic research to be valued.

And The Journey Continues…

To recap, my two shifts in thinking were recognizing practitioners as producers of knowledge and realizing that institutions also need to reconsider the value of practitioner knowledge.

As Barkhuizen opens with, doctoral students are usually the first time that teachers and teacher educators engage in research in a “sustained, systematic way” (p. 358). But what if inquiry started with preservice teachers or educators who never return to school? 

In my future work, it may be better to question my assumptions and practices aloud and encourage others to do the same. But I need to model inquiry.

But as Lynn and Maddox say, inquiry cannot stop with questioning and conversation. There still needs to be action. Otherwise, we are just sitting around venting. And I believe that’s the strength that practitioners have.

This next part is where I struggle. Who am I to change the narrative of practitioner research? I can barely change my diet.

But I don’t have to be alone on this. Standard 5 lists collaboration as integral to our work and our research. As Jacobs et al. noticed, collaborative inquiry helped their doctoral students develop a voice and contribute to their programs. Could this work in a work setting? To help teachers become both “advocates” and “analysts,” as Darling-Hammond puts it.

In addition to networking with colleagues, I believe I should conduct my own rigorous practitioner research and share it with others. It may not be exactly how academics would do things, but that might be the point. 

As an insider, I understand colleagues, students, families, and communities in ways an outside researcher may not. Others and I can use these strengths to our advantage.

Just like Pikachu, teachers may already have the power that’s inside. We just need to recognize it for ourselves, speak up about it, share it with others, and do something about it.

Pika Pi.

References

Barkhuizen, G. (2021). Identity dilemmas of a teacher (educator) researcher: Teacher research versus academic institutional research. Educational Action Research, 29(3), 358–377. https://doi.org/10.1080/09650792.2020.1842779

Jacobs, J., Yendol-Hoppey, D., & Dana, N. F. (2015). Preparing the next generation of teacher educators: The role of practitioner inquiry. Action in Teacher Education, 37(4), 373–396. https://doi.org/10.1080/01626620.2015.1078758

EP014: Electric Shock Showdown. (2026, April 26). In Bulbapedia. https://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/w/index.php?title=EP014&oldid=4538292

Lynn, M., & Smith-Maddox, R. (2007). Preservice teacher inquiry: Creating a space to dialogue about becoming a social justice educator. Teaching and Teacher Education, 23(1), 94–105. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tate.2006.04.004