Tag: CLT

The CEFR, Can Do Statements, and the Confusion Around Learning Outcomes

May 16, 2026May 16, 2026 Jay Leonard Schwartz

Part 1 of a short ELT Vista series exploring learning outcomes, CEFR descriptors, operationalization, accreditation culture, and the growing tension between standardized educational systems and the human realities of language learning.

The Historical Confusion

It was recently suggested to me that all learning outcomes came from the CEFR Can Do statements.

Historically, this is inaccurate. However, pedagogically, the misunderstanding also reveals something much larger about modern language education and how easily different ideas become collapsed into a single narrative. If this were merely a matter of correcting revisionist history, the issue would be relatively minor. My concern, however, extends to how this false narrative affects real students, real teachers, and real classrooms—in other words, the human arena itself.

Learning outcomes did not suddenly appear with the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages (CEFR). Educational systems had already been working with objectives, competencies, performance criteria, behavioral outcomes, and various forms of outcome-based education for decades before the CEFR was formally published in 2001. Figures such as Benjamin Bloom, Ralph Tyler, and Robert Mager had already contributed significantly to broader educational theories surrounding objectives and measurable performance long before the CEFR emerged from the work of the Council of Europe.

The CEFR descriptors themselves were heavily informed by communicative-functional approaches and descriptor research during the 1990s, particularly through the work of Brian North and related European language assessment projects. In other words, the Can Do descriptors were not the origin of learning outcomes themselves. Rather, they were part of a much larger educational and assessment tradition already developing internationally.

However, over time, these distinctions became blurred. Publishers, examinations, institutions, curriculum systems, accreditation structures, and commercial educational ecosystems increasingly operationalized Can Do language so successfully that many teachers understandably began associating learning outcomes almost exclusively with CEFR-style descriptors.

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The Age of Anxiety and the Teacher

May 3, 2026May 3, 2026 eltvista.com

Extending the Moment of Hesitation

Stella Adler, acting coach and drama theorist, once remarked that “life beats down and crushes the soul, and art reminds you that you have one.” She was speaking in the context of the twentieth century, a period marked by war, economic depression, and the dislocations of modern life. Yet her observation continues to resonate today. Many writers have described modern society as an age of anxiety—a time in which institutions grow larger, systems become more complex, and individuals often find themselves navigating pressures that feel impersonal and difficult to influence.

Teachers, perhaps more than most professionals, recognize this condition. They encounter it not only in policy and institutional design, but in the daily negotiation between what is required and what is possible in the classroom.

The modern language teacher works within a dense web of expectations. Administrative structures demand documentation and measurable outcomes. Schools operate under financial pressures that often translate into part-time contracts, limited job security, and wages that struggle to keep pace with the cost of living. Experience—once considered the foundation of professional authority—can sometimes be treated as secondary to credentials, paperwork, or the latest fashionable methodology. Meanwhile, the broader culture celebrates entertainers, athletes, and now even social-media influencers with enthusiasm that rarely extends to those whose work quietly shapes the intellectual and human development of others.

And still, teachers continue to show up in classrooms every day.

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All Dogs Must Wear Pants: When the Ridiculous Becomes Communicative

April 3, 2026April 4, 2026 Jay Leonard Schwartz

An Absurd Suggestion from the Constituents

Imagine presenting the following situation to a class.

A newly formed political party has invited suggestions from its local constituents about laws that might improve the community. Party members must review the proposals and decide which ones should become official policy. Among the suggestions submitted is the following:

All dogs must wear pants in public.

Students are members of the political party. Their task is to discuss the proposal and decide whether the party should officially propose the law.

To reach a decision, they might discuss questions such as:

Why would someone propose this law?
Who might benefit from it?
What problems could it create?
Would it apply to all animals?

The premise is obviously ridiculous. Yet the interaction that follows often becomes surprisingly lively. Students debate practicality, fairness, ethics, modesty, enforcement, and even fashion. They interrupt one another with alternative ideas. They defend positions and challenge arguments. They comment on how ludicrous the whole thing is because animals are not people, etc.

The scenario is absurd. The communication, however, is real.

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When “Pay Attention” Isn’t Enough: Teacher Language, Presence, and the Humanistic Classroom

February 7, 2026 Jay Leonard Schwartz

You are about to enter another dimension—not only of sight and sound, but of mind. A place where expectation meets interruption. Next stop: the classroom.

You are already in the middle of the lesson. The grammar point is unfolding exactly as planned. Examples sit on the board. Your explanation is measured and clear. Yet the room is drifting. You sense the disconnect and wandering eyes.

A glow from handheld screens. Fingers scrolling. A backpack unzipped. Someone whispering. Eyes moving everywhere except toward you. A bag of potato chips is opened.

Tensely, you pause, allowing the moment to correct itself, but it does not. You reach, almost instinctively, for imperative speech—the professional language of control many teachers have been conditioned to trust.

“Pay attention!”

Your intention is entirely sound. You want to teach. You want the class with you. You want your preparation —and your professionalism—to matter. You want respect. You demand respect. You are the authority.

The words land. The room quiets, at least on the surface. And yet, you sense that something still is missing. Students may comply, yet they are not fully present.

And you feel the added tension immediately, because beneath imperative speech lies something deeply human: the desire to be taken seriously and to know that your voice carries weight.

So it is worth asking, if only for a moment:

What are you hoping to do with the attention you are demanding? To move through the explanation? To secure the grammar point? Ensure the lesson proceeds as intended?

After all, learning does not occur simply because a room grows quiet. Students can obey an imperative without ever entering the thinking. Perhaps, then, the deeper question is not whether students are paying attention. Perhaps it is what makes attention possible in the first place.

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