by Rebecca Fox
What does it mean to think pedagogically in the presence of children—not in theory, not in hindsight, but live and uncertain, with other adults watching, probing, disagreeing?
Loris Malaguzzi and the Teachers: Dialogues on Collaboration and Conflict among Children, Reggio Emilia 1990 is not a tidy book. It is messy in the way real dialogue is messy—layered with competing interpretations, unfinished questions, and vulnerable insights. But therein lies its power. Rather than offering a finished account of Reggio Emilia's approach, the book invites us into its construction, page by page.
At the heart of the text are transcribed conversations among Reggio educators, including Malaguzzi himself, as they review footage of children embroiled in social conflict. The setting is the Diana municipal preschool, one of Reggio’s flagship schools. The teachers are deeply embedded in the children’s lives. But they are not authorities here. They are thinkers in community, listening, pausing, puzzling.
And Malaguzzi? He does not direct. He provokes, wonders aloud, interrupts and encourages. His method is not that of a distant theorist, but of a deeply invested co-thinker—asking, not declaring. “The teacher is a visitor in the children's lives,” he suggests, “and a student of their meanings.”
Conflict as Curriculum
The central story involves a group of four- and five-year-old children engaged in recurring episodes of physical and verbal conflict. Rather than interpreting this as misbehavior to be corrected or avoided, the educators recognize the conflict as a meaningful part of social and cognitive development. But how to respond?
Their dialogue revolves around a pivotal question: how can teachers intervene without interrupting the children’s ownership of the experience? Or as Malaguzzi reframes it, “How do we sustain the children’s capacity to elaborate and re-elaborate their own theories through struggle?”
In this framing, conflict is not a disruption—it is a generative space. The children are not deviants from peace but researchers of justice, belonging, and power. And the adults? They are ethnographers of this delicate unfolding.
The teachers do not always agree. Some worry the conflict has gone on too long; others defend the children’s right to work through it without adult moralizing. These tensions are not smoothed over—they are honored. This is part of the pedagogical process.
Thinking Together, Thinking Differently
One of the most striking features of the book is the way disagreement is not just tolerated but welcomed. The team includes teachers, atelieristas (studio teachers), and pedagogistas (pedagogical coordinators), all with distinct viewpoints. Malaguzzi mediates but does not resolve; he is as curious about the teachers as he is about the children.
Their collective inquiry is a model of what Reggio calls collegiality—not a bureaucratic collaboration, but a philosophical one. Teachers reflect together not to standardize responses but to deepen their perception. This challenges the privatized, autonomous model of teaching so common elsewhere. In Reggio, the teacher is never alone.
This way of working requires courage. One teacher admits feeling uncertain and exposed when her interpretations differ from the group. Another voices guilt over not noticing a key moment in the children’s dialogue. These reflections are not signs of failure—they are the curriculum for the adults. Vulnerability becomes a teacher disposition.
Malaguzzi in Context
It is tempting to read Malaguzzi here as a guru, and indeed his charisma and clarity are undeniable. But this book shows a more human Malaguzzi: playful, sharp, occasionally exasperated. He models an ethic of thinking-with rather than thinking-for. His language is often metaphorical—he speaks of “the cinema in children’s minds,” or how “the light of conflict casts long shadows of meaning.”
Malaguzzi’s interest was never in creating a reproducible model. As he notes elsewhere, “We are not interested in forming teachers who merely carry out orders, but teachers who are researchers of meaning.” This book enacts that claim in real time.
In closing:
This is not a polished guidebook. It is something better: a philosophical laboratory. Loris Malaguzzi and the Teachers invites us to witness a moment in which education is not the transmission of peace but the co-construction of complexity. For anyone living or working with children, it offers a path—not toward certainty, but toward fidelity: to children, to dialogue, and to the pedagogical promise of conflict itself.
Key Takeaways and Next Steps (For Teachers and Parents)
What You Can Do Tomorrow
- Reframe conflict as inquiry: When children disagree, pause before stepping in. Ask yourself: What are they trying to understand through this moment?
- Debrief with others: Start or join a reflective group with other educators or caregivers. Share video clips, observations, or notes—not to find answers but to deepen understanding.
- Ask better questions: Replace quick judgments (“Who started it?”) with generative ones: “What do you think was important to each child?” “What patterns do you notice?”
Longer-Term Shifts to Consider
- Build a culture of pedagogical dialogue: Teaching should not be solitary. Cultivate space for regular, collective interpretation of children’s behavior—not in evaluation meetings, but in open-ended inquiry.
- Invest in teacher research: Document your classroom with the intention of revisiting it. Let your daily work become the material for professional growth, not just accountability.
- Challenge behaviorist reflexes: Let go of the idea that all conflict must be solved quickly. Instead, allow tension to linger if it helps reveal children’s ethical, emotional, and social questions.
Questions to Live With
- How do I respond to children's struggles—not just with sympathy, but with intellectual respect?
- What would it look like to treat my co-teachers or parenting partners as collaborators in meaning-making, not just task-sharing?
- Where in my work do I still seek control, and what am I afraid will happen if I loosen my grip?