In a friendly, but heated, debate with a decidedly chauvinistic gentleman, he exasperated, blurted out and said to me, "You know what you are? You're a...a FEMINIST!" I laughed and said, "Thank you". And, though I've been called worse, I know he didn't mean that in a good way. Indeed, my most memorable professor, who subsequently turned out to be my mentor and friend, employs a very obviously Feminist pedagogy in her literature classes; most of which have to do with literature by and about women. As a result, no few young, male (and one might hope progressive), students routinely dropped her class. The problem being, they would suggest, was that she needed a man.
But, as I am beginning to see, it may be more than a notion to commit to one pedagogical influence, as there are worthy points made in most of what I've read thus far. I feel naturally inclined toward a Feminist focus: Is it because I am a woman? Or, because of my Alabama bred, refined, Southern-bell, ex-beauty queen of a mentor? But, as a product of working-class, black America I am also drawn to Cultural Studies, and even Critical pedagogies.
For as long as women have contributed to letters and literature, there has been some effort to silence them; to put them in a “place”. If I can teach composition in such a way that will help ensure that never happens again, then I want to do that too.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Desperately Seeking "Spaces for Resistance and Agency"
The article "Critical Pedagogy: Dreaming of Democracy," by Ann George, is the most exciting I've read thus far. I like the idea that, as pedagogy, it has the potential to open people's consciousness. I truly believe that's what college is supposed to do. Unfortunately, as George points out, most schools, most institutions, are put in place to do just the opposite; that instructors are in place, and students are sent to learn, an "ideology...as unquestionable as air". But, if we can just find those "spaces for resistance and agency" then, perhaps there is hope that the masses can become more than simply cultural sheep.
This reading reminds me of a passage in the book The Third Wave by futurist Alvin Toffler, where he discusses the creation of the public school system and how it was developed just as the “industrial era” was evolving, (and, I am paraphrasing here). Basically, (if I understand correctly), it (the public school system) was created not so that children could learn the three "R's, reading, (w)riting and (a)rithmatic. Somebody needed to work in all those factories that were being built to produce 500 widgets an hour. People who used to work the farm during the previous "agricultural era" were convinced that they could make more money working ten to twelve hour days producing those widgets. But, what were they supposed to do with the eight children they had to help them work the farm? Public schools were created, not only to provide a space for those children, but also, (and probably more importantly), to teach them: punctuality, obedience and repetitiveness. That way, when their folks died early from stress and unhealthy working conditions, there would be someone to replace them who'd already learned how to be on time for work, mind the boss, and make widgets over and over...and over again.
This reading reminds me of a passage in the book The Third Wave by futurist Alvin Toffler, where he discusses the creation of the public school system and how it was developed just as the “industrial era” was evolving, (and, I am paraphrasing here). Basically, (if I understand correctly), it (the public school system) was created not so that children could learn the three "R's, reading, (w)riting and (a)rithmatic. Somebody needed to work in all those factories that were being built to produce 500 widgets an hour. People who used to work the farm during the previous "agricultural era" were convinced that they could make more money working ten to twelve hour days producing those widgets. But, what were they supposed to do with the eight children they had to help them work the farm? Public schools were created, not only to provide a space for those children, but also, (and probably more importantly), to teach them: punctuality, obedience and repetitiveness. That way, when their folks died early from stress and unhealthy working conditions, there would be someone to replace them who'd already learned how to be on time for work, mind the boss, and make widgets over and over...and over again.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
On "Cultural Studies and Composition"
I didn’t understand what the big deal was at first, but now, I think I am beginning to see.
I graduated, not so long ago, with a Bachelors degree in English—with a Literature emphasis. Just before graduation day, I went around the school to say so long to professors I felt had been particularly influential. One of those was an adjunct professor who taught World Literature, and proclaimed, at the beginning of her class, that she taught part-time because of her love for literature, and to fund the feed for her second love; horses. When I told her of my intention to continue on to graduate school and ultimately earn a PhD. she began this low, menacing grumble, something about the Rhet and Comp people, along with the new department head, was slowing trying to eliminate literature from freshmen English. She all but made me promise to always teach literature, and not be inoculated by “those people”.
And, perhaps I was being lured.
English was a new program at my college, which until a year or two before, had been a two-year community college. I was actually one of the first four-year students, and one of the first English majors. The English program began with mostly literature courses, and even English 1102 was taught with a literature emphasis. By the second year of the program there was decidedly a “Literature” emphasis and a “Writing” emphasis. Composition and Rhetoric instructors were being imported to open the writing center and highlight the whole “Writing Across the Curriculum” thing. The professors that I will call the, “Comp and Rhet Divas,” were suggesting in polite conversations with students about how there were more jobs to be had after graduation for those who came over to their side.
I had planned to write more about the essay on “Cultural Studies and Composition” by Diana George and John Trimbur; about extracting stuff from pop culture and the media in exchange for traditional literary text. And, about how I hate that some black students enter a African American Literature class expecting to read the popular black fiction that has become unfortunately, too popular, and not knowing nearly enough about the history and tradition of African American Literature and Writing. But, then I read “Diversity, Ideology, and Teaching Writing” by Maxine Hairston; about how she, (I imagine, with a fist raised in the air), argued for the establishment of “psychological and intellectual independence from the literary critics who are at the center of power in most English departments”.
Then, I thought of my literature professor, and her horses, and how she told me that a Ph. D. would only zap the love of literature right out of me; which is the reason she never pursued one. Because she loved literature too much.
I graduated, not so long ago, with a Bachelors degree in English—with a Literature emphasis. Just before graduation day, I went around the school to say so long to professors I felt had been particularly influential. One of those was an adjunct professor who taught World Literature, and proclaimed, at the beginning of her class, that she taught part-time because of her love for literature, and to fund the feed for her second love; horses. When I told her of my intention to continue on to graduate school and ultimately earn a PhD. she began this low, menacing grumble, something about the Rhet and Comp people, along with the new department head, was slowing trying to eliminate literature from freshmen English. She all but made me promise to always teach literature, and not be inoculated by “those people”.
And, perhaps I was being lured.
English was a new program at my college, which until a year or two before, had been a two-year community college. I was actually one of the first four-year students, and one of the first English majors. The English program began with mostly literature courses, and even English 1102 was taught with a literature emphasis. By the second year of the program there was decidedly a “Literature” emphasis and a “Writing” emphasis. Composition and Rhetoric instructors were being imported to open the writing center and highlight the whole “Writing Across the Curriculum” thing. The professors that I will call the, “Comp and Rhet Divas,” were suggesting in polite conversations with students about how there were more jobs to be had after graduation for those who came over to their side.
I had planned to write more about the essay on “Cultural Studies and Composition” by Diana George and John Trimbur; about extracting stuff from pop culture and the media in exchange for traditional literary text. And, about how I hate that some black students enter a African American Literature class expecting to read the popular black fiction that has become unfortunately, too popular, and not knowing nearly enough about the history and tradition of African American Literature and Writing. But, then I read “Diversity, Ideology, and Teaching Writing” by Maxine Hairston; about how she, (I imagine, with a fist raised in the air), argued for the establishment of “psychological and intellectual independence from the literary critics who are at the center of power in most English departments”.
Then, I thought of my literature professor, and her horses, and how she told me that a Ph. D. would only zap the love of literature right out of me; which is the reason she never pursued one. Because she loved literature too much.
On "Collaborative Pedagogy"
Having always thought of my writing as a personal, solitary exercise, I must say, the thought of sharing that actual process with others makes me a little uncomfortable. But, as someone who views literature from a rather New Historicist perspective, I do believe that what is ultimately manifested on the page is a result of many influences.
In an essay on "Collaborative Pedagogy", Rebecca Moore Howard considers the differences between collaborative learning and collaborative writing with regards to writing centers. As a tutor in a college writing center, it didn't take long to realize that most students, (no matter what level of writing skills they possessed), were simply looking for someone to proofread what they had written. That is, they wanted someone else to dot their "i's," cross their "t's," and make sure all the commas were in the right place. Often, they wanted to know if their paper "flowed". But, if I did my job properly, rather than simply spell-check papers, I was able to help someone discover ways to make the writing, (and perhaps the experience of writing,) less tedious and more adventurous. Did I tell them what to write? Of, course not. And, most certainly, I didn't write for them. Hopefully, I gave them something that they will use in countless more writing tasks. Is this collaborative writing? According to Howard, there are some who are concerned that it might be. However, I see collaborative writing as when two or more people come together with the intention of creating one work, such as The Gilded Age by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner. (Though, most people have never heard of Mr. Warner.)
As a student, I find that collaborative learning, such as small-group discussions, can be potentially very helpful. I personally enjoy discussing literature with other people who are learning the same things that I am; particularly on the graduate level when our subjects and focuses become narrower, and more specific. (However, I'm not sure I felt the same way when I was learning how to graph line equations in math class.) I, in fact, decided upon my thesis subject through conversations with a colleague about our mutual interest in writers from New Orleans. I learn a lot in our discussions about his Louisiana home, and comparisons between his writer/subject and my own. Does that make my thesis (or his) a collaboration? Absolutely not. But, it does help to make the research feel alive, significant and worth the effort. And, that in turn, might help make my paper “flow”.
In an essay on "Collaborative Pedagogy", Rebecca Moore Howard considers the differences between collaborative learning and collaborative writing with regards to writing centers. As a tutor in a college writing center, it didn't take long to realize that most students, (no matter what level of writing skills they possessed), were simply looking for someone to proofread what they had written. That is, they wanted someone else to dot their "i's," cross their "t's," and make sure all the commas were in the right place. Often, they wanted to know if their paper "flowed". But, if I did my job properly, rather than simply spell-check papers, I was able to help someone discover ways to make the writing, (and perhaps the experience of writing,) less tedious and more adventurous. Did I tell them what to write? Of, course not. And, most certainly, I didn't write for them. Hopefully, I gave them something that they will use in countless more writing tasks. Is this collaborative writing? According to Howard, there are some who are concerned that it might be. However, I see collaborative writing as when two or more people come together with the intention of creating one work, such as The Gilded Age by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner. (Though, most people have never heard of Mr. Warner.)
As a student, I find that collaborative learning, such as small-group discussions, can be potentially very helpful. I personally enjoy discussing literature with other people who are learning the same things that I am; particularly on the graduate level when our subjects and focuses become narrower, and more specific. (However, I'm not sure I felt the same way when I was learning how to graph line equations in math class.) I, in fact, decided upon my thesis subject through conversations with a colleague about our mutual interest in writers from New Orleans. I learn a lot in our discussions about his Louisiana home, and comparisons between his writer/subject and my own. Does that make my thesis (or his) a collaboration? Absolutely not. But, it does help to make the research feel alive, significant and worth the effort. And, that in turn, might help make my paper “flow”.
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