One of the lines in a prescribed poem – Chris van Wyk’s I Have My Father’s Voice – reads, “to scribble my way through matric”.
If you were asked to define the word ‘scribble’, how would you respond? You would likely have no difficulty giving its meaning. So far so good. But what if you were asked what the poet’s choice of the word ‘scribble’ revealed about his relationship with school in his matric year?
To answer fully, there are two steps: First, define ‘scribble’. You get 1 out of 2. But there is a second.
Consider its connotations: carelessness or even curiosity, and use these to discuss the relationship between the poet and his matric year. 2 out of 2. You’ve done it. But without knowing, you’ve employed inference: the ability to derive meaning that is implied rather than explicitly stated.
In a recent English test, 28% of our learners got 2 out of 2; that is, just 17 learners out of 60. Against the research, though, that statistic is above average. Every three years, the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) undertakes the Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA) research. The study evaluates education systems by measuring 15-year-olds’ scholastic performance in mathematics, science, and reading. According to their latest findings, only around 7% of students reached higher levels of reading proficiency. In layman’s terms, while many learners can locate explicitly stated information, only a small proportion can integrate ideas across a text or infer implied meaning. During the 26 years of OECD cycles, higher-order reading proficiency has remained persistently low.
Surely, every generation has struggled with inference. But given our inroads into cognitive science, and with such a visible decline, we can and should be concerned about these results.
Inferential skills – and how they grow
In summary, inferential skills grow when language exposure is long-form, ambiguous, and corrective. Discussion like this allows for contextual and nuanced focus.
Conversely, inferential skills weaken when language exposure is fragmented, explicit, and non-corrective. Given the pace of the world, and the additional distractions of technology, it is not difficult to believe that learners inhabit a world promoting the latter.
Where has good old conversation gone?
I am certain that many of us millennials can remember the trips to granny and grandpa’s house and the ensuing conversation. They were full of protracted explanations of fairly normal events. I recall listening to my uncle typically relaying the story of a regular trip: ‘The journey began at 6am; we set off, the three of us….’
But we would listen: one by one, each person would relay and then respond. And as these long-form discussions progressed, subconsciously, we were doing three things that contemporary learners spend very little time doing:
1. Decoding incomplete meaning (people don’t say everything explicitly)
2. Inferring intention or implication (“what do they mean by that?”)
3. Getting feedback quickly (If we asked, we would learn quickly whether we were right or wrong)
Has conversation really disappeared?
Yet walking through the school corridors and on the break fields, I had to believe that decent conversation was still happening. Of course, learners still speak, don’t they? What about conversations with friends and parents? Surely the ability to develop inference was still there? Of course, the answers are all yes. But here it is necessary to understand that while language has not disappeared, the structure of language exposure and its landscape have changed.
In a piece[1] on conversation analysis, UCLA Associate Professor Giovanni Rossi suggests what many educators see but perhaps struggle to articulate: that verbal interaction is becoming increasingly instructional and transactional, and, consequently, there is less opportunity for extended inferential thinking. As speech now competes in a world defined by multitasking, the potential for any narrative form of explanation is reduced. Adolescents – and adults – live in a world where discussion fights for attention, and where conversation is characterised by instructive, short-turn transactions. The online dialogue exemplifies this.
On a recent school tour, I sat chatting to one of my students. Looking at his phone, we shared a laugh; I couldn’t quite understand the lingo of his online texts. One of the messages – he doesn’t mind me sharing – read:
Student A: I tripped
Student B: 💀💀💀 Bro 😭
The skulls confused me, but I got the point. And before anyone thinks I am out to enlist all learners on a Shakespearean course, or that student B should have responded, “I am terribly sorry”, I’m not. What we can admit, though, is that a large chunk of communication, certainly with adolescents, occurs through the types of conversation shown above. And while their everyday language is effective, it is defined by short bursts of reactive-type information rather than ‘meaning-chains’ of communication. In fact, the social media world rewards brevity rather than the ability to express clear, concise opinion[2]. To this end, it is not only the distraction of social media but also its introducing a compressed type of language. Both weaken the muscles of meaning inference.
So, what about reading?
If conversation is where inference develops, reading is where its calibre is exposed. While a learner’s level of reading may compromise understanding, reading ability plays a crucial role in identifying inferential weakness.
There is a significant ‘meaning gap’ between conversation and the deliberate cognitive act of reading. When learners share verbal forms of communication, they do so within a network of visual and gestural clues. The visual of an emoji, for example, brings vivid meaning to a message. But in live conversation, meaning is also distributed through cues; even the atmosphere of a group bolsters comprehension. In reading, though, and certainly in exam-style reading, all these elements are removed. Now the learner must hold the text in working memory, gauge implicit meaning, determine author intent, and do so all without the clues of visual or verbal feedback. The result? Inference skills become critical. And where these skills are weak, learners tend to answer poorly.
Pondering this, I was reminded of a departmental discussion about statistics on the 2025 barriers to learning. Of the thousands of learners granted “accommodations”, the largest percentage, outside of additional time and a separate venue, required readers. Writing this piece, it became clearer why. When someone reads aloud, they re-invest written text with prosody: the tone, pace and emphasis effectively re-inject text with meaning. In the accommodation context, live reading becomes a cognitive need rather than a simple matter of preference.
So, what can we do?
If inference is developed through language exposure, the solution may not require cave-bound, Crood-like discussions with granny and grandpa. But it will require time and repetition.
As parents, instructional language is a comfortable way to communicate. It is also necessary. But as a mould to shape inference, it is limited. An explanation for decisions is better: “No, you can’t”, is not as effective as, “No, you can’t because I’m worried about you being alone outside.” The former breeds compliance while the latter welcomes inference, and perhaps fosters a more benevolent, co-operative child.
Reading aloud is as helpful. When parents read to their children, the realities of immediate feedback and discussion are allowed. Questions like, “Why do you think she said that?”, or “Do you think she was truly happy?” are excellent for inference. But on a more practical level, parents may choose books that are above their child’s independent-reading level. Here the possibility of richer language, and the excitement of deeper plots and motives become prevalent. All these ideas are achievable in a normal day. But for extended homework, How to Read a Book by Mortimer J. Adler[3] provides a useful guide, and is suitable for both adult and younger readers.
In the school setting, educators could allow for similar ideas in the classroom. I fondly recall my own attempt. Tired of regurgitating past papers, I gave the class a drawing with a single caption: ‘Explain what could have happened.’ The image was of a fallen chair, surrounded by strewn paper.
After some silence, the first response came; “Sir, this was after [so and so in the class] stole the examination papers!” So and so responded abruptly and then followed with his own attempt; as interesting as the opinions were, at least the class were enjoying inference. But there was also something light and human about it, giving me a chance to reflect.
In a world increasingly carved for speed and brevity, meaning making should be more than a curriculum objective. Learners are first human beings. And given their innate need for connectedness, personal relationship, and even humour, making meaning is something they actually love to do.
[Image: by WBMUL]
The views of the writer are not necessarily the views of the Daily Friend or the IRR.
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[1] https://www.researchgate.net/publication/346836734_Conversation_Analysis_CA
[2] https://dl.acm.org/doi/10.1145/3359147 – The authors explore this idea in an interesting article.
[3] Mortimer J. Adler and Charles Van Doren, How to Read a Book: The Classic Guide to Intelligent Reading (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1972).