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This article reports on a study of Western male English language teachers and considers the ways in which their identities were shaped in relation to discourses of masculinity and heterosexuality. The article first argues that masculinity and heterosexuality have remained unmarked categories in research on TESOL teacher identities. It then draws on interview data with 11 White Australian men and considers the discourses of gender and sexuality in their accounts of English language teaching in Japanese commercial eikaiwa gakkô (English language conversation schools). The analysis suggests that although some enjoy the privileges that attach to being a White, Western male, they also struggle to negotiate the eikaiwa gakkô as a contact zone where the professional and personal, the educational and commercial, the pedagogical and the sexual coexist. In this ambiguous space, discourses of White male embodiment, and of sexualised desire between teacher and student, are perceived to be in conflict with discourses of an acceptable masculine professional identity, and may limit the professional and pedagogical aspirations of the male teachers. The article concludes that it is timely for conversations about gender and sexuality as aspects of professional identity to include accounts of masculinity and heterosexuality as integral to professional practice in TESOL. doi: 10.1002/tesq.51 Ben: We had a contest around Valentine's Day, who could cover their desk in chocolate the fastest.Ros: This was a contest amongst the men?Ben: Yes, the women had a duty to buy chocolate for the men.Ros: Was that a Japanese custom?Ben: Yes, the idea was to cover your desk with chocolate, because you could. So you'd try to curry favour with the students, but that wasn't difficult

Skyrocketing military spending, ongoing military conflicts, and human displacement worldwide have significant consequences for the teaching and learning of English. TESOL increasingly requires a robust research base that can provide informed, critical guidance in preparing English language teachers for work in and near conflict zones, for teaching refugees and asylum seekers, and, more broadly, for teaching English in highly militarized times. This investigation, which takes the form of a transdisciplinary, translocal literature review, consolidates and extends TESOL's peace-conflict studies through a close examination of two areas that are connected but rarely considered in tandem: TESOL's multiple involvements and entanglements in armed and militarized conflicts and their aftermath, and the challenges of teaching English in a conflict zone or for students who have escaped or been exiled from one. Implications for pedagogy and further research are suggested. The argument is, in short, that the dialectical relationship between TESOL and conflict is in urgent need of collegial scrutiny, that teachers need to be equipped to facilitate critical and creative engagement with English not apart from broader sociopolitical realities but in relation to these, and that the implications of conflict for language learning are relevant across the wider TESOL community, given world developments.

In this paper we ask how critical language studies can be rethought to promote a better understanding of the place of humans in the more-than-human world. We discuss the growing body of work that relates concern with the environment with other forms of political activism, particularly ecological feminism. Broadening this discussion to focus on the place of language and pedagogy in the myth of human exceptionalism, we ask what this means for human engagement with the more-than-human world. The critical posthuman language project we propose overturns the assumptions of human centrality that have underpinned much educational thought and practice, questions the ways in which we define the human and non-human, and opens up new forms of engagement with the material, corporeal and affective world. Swimming with sharks 06:00 Shelly Beach, NSW coast: Late summer and the air and water are warm. I slip into the salty ocean in my cossie and a pair of plastic goggles, hoping to swim with sharks. My feet leave the sandy bottom and I look straight down as I glide over waving seaweeds and schools of tiny fish. When I meet a massive school of yellowtail I reach out in the vain attempt to touch their shiny bodies with mine. I know I never will, they dart away so quickly. I keep swimming steadily, breathing from side to side, heading towards the area that my swim friends call 'shark alley'. Then I see one, two, a dozen or more: dusky whaler sharks. Their muscular bodies move through the water so effortlessly, propelled by a graceful tail wave. We have so many with us this season, I'm not sure why. We're grateful for their presence. Later today, a few beaches to the north of where I swim, the bloody bodies of two juvenile dusky whaler sharks are found abandoned on the beach. They each measure only a metre in length, they have hooks in their mouths and their flesh is punctured by stab wounds. Although they've been

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