Today at lunch, one of my colleagues and I were discussing how students are skilled in deciphering the differences between Target-brand boots and Uggs, yet many of them have very little interest or skill in deciphering reliable, or authentic, sources of information on the internet. The internet is an amazing resource that, when used for educational purposes, helps to de-center education from a traditional hegemonic perspective and embrace open-ended learning opportunities that offer diverse perspectives, the way Cultural Studies theorists promote.
The internet provides an “open-access democratic education” to “ordinary people” who desire an understanding of “intellectual questions in relation to their own lives” (75). But without knowing how to evaluate sources on the internet, are students and “ordinary people” bound to fail in the world of mass communication and popular culture without the skills necessary “to become better writers and readers as citizens, workers, and critics of their culture” (Berlin 145)? George and Trimbur anticipate the answer to this when they briefly mention the detrimental institutional polarization of literature and composition/rhetoric.
At the institutions I have taught, rhetoric is the forefront of only one class: the AP Rhetoric and Composition course. Even my former school in North Carolina, whose English Department Chair claimed that the curriculum was AP aligned, rhetoric was never part of the “master plan” until a student took that one course. Would an emphasis on rhetoric prepare students and “ordinary people” to explore this “open-access democratic education” in hopes of becoming “better writers and readers as citizens, workers, and critics of their culture”? Because some form of rhetoric is found in almost any kind of text, popular culture and mass communication are bound to become subjects at some point in a rhetoric-infused classroom. By examining popular culture and mass communication through the lens of rhetoric, students can learn how to decipher the author’s purpose, the rhetorical strategies he or she uses to achieve that purpose, and the assumptions the author makes about his or her audience.
Although theorist Maxine Hairston may not approve of the reintroduction of rhetoric into the writing classroom for fear of teachers inoculating their ideology on to young, impressionable students, teaching rhetoric to students teaches them to question what anyone tells them by considering the speaker’s aim, strategies, and assumptions. When rhetoric is taught properly, students will view exchanges in a classroom as texts, a teacher’s lessons as a text, and information on the internet as a text; therefore, the problem is not rhetoric in a classroom but rather the questionable ability of some teachers to teach rhetoric. While this could be viewed as a valid concern, it should not trump empowering students to become free-thinking, life-long learners who can take charge of their own education using the internet.
30 September 2008
Bringing the Everyday into the Writing Classroom
"Cultural Studies and Composition" (Diana George and John Trimbur)
The passage that caught my eye in this week’s reading is the notion that “the cultural studies approach to the writing classroom addressed the question of what constitutes the content of a composition course with the idea that content is right under our noses, in the culture of everyday life” (82). As I read this passage, I recalled that students in my writing classrooms have produced some of their best writing in response to discussions about everyday objects and issues associated with daily life.
When asked to respond to an issue regarding a high speed automobile chase clipped from a newspaper my students produced well written summaries, in-depth problem analysis and cohesive recommendations for solutions. They didn’t know the people involved nor had they visited the area where the issue occurred but they personally identified with the dilemma facing the individuals in the article. High speed police chases happen in our community from time to time and are reported in the newspaper, on the radio and on TV. Students understand this issue from their community experience.
When asked to free-write in response to a picture of a lone tree in a wintery field, they wrote from their hearts. I was amazed at the skilled use of beautiful language to describe what they were seeing in the picture. Without prodding, they unconsciously drew on simile and metaphor to describe emotions ranging from loneliness to joy. My students live in rural areas and have experienced similar scenes near their homes and thus the picture carried a message that connected with their own experience.
I believe the outcome of the free write sessions was favorable because students were writing about events and items they were familiar with from their own environments. They were connecting with the subject matter in ways that were meaningful to them and thus had no difficulty putting their thoughts on paper in quite sophisticated ways.
On the other hand, when asked to summarize and respond to a passage in Richard Rodriguez’s Hunger of Memory for example, these same students seem to morph into writers grasping for words to work into a 4-5 page “formal” essay. While some do a good job, others really struggle with the task.
One observation I’ve made is that for the most part, my classroom is made up of 18-20 year old, white, male and female, middle class students who have always lived within a 50 mile radius of the classroom. Most have not travelled far from home. They are representative of the communities they come from. Thus, I believe my students have a hard time connecting with the dilemma facing someone like Rodriguez, a young Hispanic student growing up in California in the 1950’s and 1960’s. They find it hard to internalize Rodriguez’s journey since it doesn’t resonate with their own experience. Rodriguez is just another guy who exists outside the vacuum of the nearby community and talks about his problems in written text form.
Unlike the free writing assignments involving the newspaper article and the picture of the tree, my students find it difficult to connect with Rodriguez’s experience. While they write about his experience, they are doing it from a distance. When compared to results from the free write sessions, the essays involving the Rodriguez discussion come across as synthetic and artificial. The presence of fresh ideas and the beauty of the language is lost.
Thus the passage from this week’s reading holds truth for me. As we gaze out upon students in our classrooms, content for discussion and writing is sitting right in front of our noses. Students produce their best writing when they writing about content that is closest to what they know. Could a more diverse classroom handle the Rodriguez writing assignment any better? If our discourse arises from our own background then how can our students write about the experiences of someone like Rodriguez in a non-synthetic manner? If discourse is formed by the language of families and friends and ultimately creates a way of thinking, speaking and writing, how do we help our students recognize and identify with cultural boundaries such as the ones Rodriguez identifies in his writing,
The passage that caught my eye in this week’s reading is the notion that “the cultural studies approach to the writing classroom addressed the question of what constitutes the content of a composition course with the idea that content is right under our noses, in the culture of everyday life” (82). As I read this passage, I recalled that students in my writing classrooms have produced some of their best writing in response to discussions about everyday objects and issues associated with daily life.
When asked to respond to an issue regarding a high speed automobile chase clipped from a newspaper my students produced well written summaries, in-depth problem analysis and cohesive recommendations for solutions. They didn’t know the people involved nor had they visited the area where the issue occurred but they personally identified with the dilemma facing the individuals in the article. High speed police chases happen in our community from time to time and are reported in the newspaper, on the radio and on TV. Students understand this issue from their community experience.
When asked to free-write in response to a picture of a lone tree in a wintery field, they wrote from their hearts. I was amazed at the skilled use of beautiful language to describe what they were seeing in the picture. Without prodding, they unconsciously drew on simile and metaphor to describe emotions ranging from loneliness to joy. My students live in rural areas and have experienced similar scenes near their homes and thus the picture carried a message that connected with their own experience.
I believe the outcome of the free write sessions was favorable because students were writing about events and items they were familiar with from their own environments. They were connecting with the subject matter in ways that were meaningful to them and thus had no difficulty putting their thoughts on paper in quite sophisticated ways.
On the other hand, when asked to summarize and respond to a passage in Richard Rodriguez’s Hunger of Memory for example, these same students seem to morph into writers grasping for words to work into a 4-5 page “formal” essay. While some do a good job, others really struggle with the task.
One observation I’ve made is that for the most part, my classroom is made up of 18-20 year old, white, male and female, middle class students who have always lived within a 50 mile radius of the classroom. Most have not travelled far from home. They are representative of the communities they come from. Thus, I believe my students have a hard time connecting with the dilemma facing someone like Rodriguez, a young Hispanic student growing up in California in the 1950’s and 1960’s. They find it hard to internalize Rodriguez’s journey since it doesn’t resonate with their own experience. Rodriguez is just another guy who exists outside the vacuum of the nearby community and talks about his problems in written text form.
Unlike the free writing assignments involving the newspaper article and the picture of the tree, my students find it difficult to connect with Rodriguez’s experience. While they write about his experience, they are doing it from a distance. When compared to results from the free write sessions, the essays involving the Rodriguez discussion come across as synthetic and artificial. The presence of fresh ideas and the beauty of the language is lost.
Thus the passage from this week’s reading holds truth for me. As we gaze out upon students in our classrooms, content for discussion and writing is sitting right in front of our noses. Students produce their best writing when they writing about content that is closest to what they know. Could a more diverse classroom handle the Rodriguez writing assignment any better? If our discourse arises from our own background then how can our students write about the experiences of someone like Rodriguez in a non-synthetic manner? If discourse is formed by the language of families and friends and ultimately creates a way of thinking, speaking and writing, how do we help our students recognize and identify with cultural boundaries such as the ones Rodriguez identifies in his writing,
29 September 2008
Those oh-so-overbearing Leftists
Wow – what a reading! To me, “Cultural Studies and Composition” was even more dense than “Rhetorical Pedagogy” and almost as ambivalent owing to the deluge of references and the disparate relationship between and among its theories and practices.
Most interesting to me are the reactions to the Cultural Studies approach, including the contending positions regarding Berlin’s ideas. Hairston includes Berlin in the group of scholars whom she accuses of “forcing leftist ideology on vulnerable young people instead of teaching writing” like Miller who describes the approach as “teaching ‘texts rather than their making,’ ‘awareness rather than rhetoric,’ and ‘the power of meanings rather than the making of statements’” (84). I found all this very confusing because, earlier in this same article, George and Trimbur tell us that for Berlin, “cultural studies offered a way to address such privileging of poetics by restoring rhetoric to the center of the curriculum, as an integrative method that emphasized both textual interpretation and production” (80). Hairston and Miller’s statements here border on alarmist, from both the expressive and current-traditional sides. Out of curiosity, I did a little research on both Hairston and Miller.
Maxine Hairston is a highly celebrated figure in the teaching community, is memorialized in a number of awards, and spent her career fighting for the ‘professionalization’ of teaching writing. She wrote the article quoted above just one year before her retirement, and it incited more response than any other that had appeared in the journal of College Composition and Communication. Interestingly, in her highly celebrated article “The Winds of Change,” she pushes writing teachers forward and offers twelve aspects of what she sees as a new emerging paradigm, the second of which is to teach “strategies for invention and discovery,” where “instructors help students to generate content and discover purpose.” So it would seem she encourages cultural diversity and urges instructors to get students thinking as long as it’s not about anything ‘political’ – good luck finding that combination.
Susan Miller has written a number of award-winning books and articles regarding composition pedagogy and related areas, one of which makes her statement quoted above especially surprising. In Assuming the Positions: Cultural Pedagogy and the Politics of Ordinary Writing in Early America (which won not one but two outstanding book awards), she examines ‘ordinary’ writing from a time when Americans “had access to literacy” but not to “national mass schooling” in order to present “how ordinary acts of writing simultaneously appropriate and mutate an expanding range of human identities that become available in specific cultures over time.” If that’s not cultural studies, I don’t know what is. Specifically, it sounds like Berlin’s social epistemic rhetoric which he describes in "Social-Epistemic Rhetoric, Ideology, and English Studies" as “the study and critique of signifying practices in their relation to subject formation within the framework of economic, social, and political conditions.”
While both Hairston and Miller have certainly done a great deal to assist in the evolution of writing pedagogies, it seems to me that they fail to grasp the goals and purpose of the application of cultural studies, foremost, empowering the student’s perspective and expanding the scope of study to include the types of writing with which students have familiarity. Although a cultural studies pedagogy could by no means stand alone (like any other pedagogy), it does not ask to. Awareness and inspiration are necessary for invention, without which writing cannot take place. This method descends from its high place to meet students where they are, demonstrate the value of their insights, and encourage intellectual curiosity, all of which I am sure Hairston and Miller would applaud.
Most interesting to me are the reactions to the Cultural Studies approach, including the contending positions regarding Berlin’s ideas. Hairston includes Berlin in the group of scholars whom she accuses of “forcing leftist ideology on vulnerable young people instead of teaching writing” like Miller who describes the approach as “teaching ‘texts rather than their making,’ ‘awareness rather than rhetoric,’ and ‘the power of meanings rather than the making of statements’” (84). I found all this very confusing because, earlier in this same article, George and Trimbur tell us that for Berlin, “cultural studies offered a way to address such privileging of poetics by restoring rhetoric to the center of the curriculum, as an integrative method that emphasized both textual interpretation and production” (80). Hairston and Miller’s statements here border on alarmist, from both the expressive and current-traditional sides. Out of curiosity, I did a little research on both Hairston and Miller.
Maxine Hairston is a highly celebrated figure in the teaching community, is memorialized in a number of awards, and spent her career fighting for the ‘professionalization’ of teaching writing. She wrote the article quoted above just one year before her retirement, and it incited more response than any other that had appeared in the journal of College Composition and Communication. Interestingly, in her highly celebrated article “The Winds of Change,” she pushes writing teachers forward and offers twelve aspects of what she sees as a new emerging paradigm, the second of which is to teach “strategies for invention and discovery,” where “instructors help students to generate content and discover purpose.” So it would seem she encourages cultural diversity and urges instructors to get students thinking as long as it’s not about anything ‘political’ – good luck finding that combination.
Susan Miller has written a number of award-winning books and articles regarding composition pedagogy and related areas, one of which makes her statement quoted above especially surprising. In Assuming the Positions: Cultural Pedagogy and the Politics of Ordinary Writing in Early America (which won not one but two outstanding book awards), she examines ‘ordinary’ writing from a time when Americans “had access to literacy” but not to “national mass schooling” in order to present “how ordinary acts of writing simultaneously appropriate and mutate an expanding range of human identities that become available in specific cultures over time.” If that’s not cultural studies, I don’t know what is. Specifically, it sounds like Berlin’s social epistemic rhetoric which he describes in "Social-Epistemic Rhetoric, Ideology, and English Studies" as “the study and critique of signifying practices in their relation to subject formation within the framework of economic, social, and political conditions.”
While both Hairston and Miller have certainly done a great deal to assist in the evolution of writing pedagogies, it seems to me that they fail to grasp the goals and purpose of the application of cultural studies, foremost, empowering the student’s perspective and expanding the scope of study to include the types of writing with which students have familiarity. Although a cultural studies pedagogy could by no means stand alone (like any other pedagogy), it does not ask to. Awareness and inspiration are necessary for invention, without which writing cannot take place. This method descends from its high place to meet students where they are, demonstrate the value of their insights, and encourage intellectual curiosity, all of which I am sure Hairston and Miller would applaud.
Assembling and Understanding the Self
Consider:
"[Joseph] Harris suggests looking at students as 'at once rock fans and intellectuals, who watch old sitcoms and read criticism, who wear Levis and look skeptically at advertising' (233). He recommends such assignments as asking students to look at the way they use popular texts in forming their own identities and, instead of simply applying an interpretive method, to think about how that method works and what its uses and limits might be" (George and Trimbur 83).
---
It seems appropriate that I'm writing this while listening to Copeland (one of my favorite bands) streaming from their Myspace page. And in fact it is Myspace, and the endless quiz-bulletins my Myspace friends post as minute glimpses into the self, that I think of when I read this quotation.
Coke or Pepsi?
Butter or margarine?
Baths or showers?
Or the more open ended:
What's the last think you ate?
What are the last three songs you listened to on your iPod?
Who's the last person you IMed?
(It's funny how these quizzes, and their writers, assume that the self can be neatly slotted into trite binaries like the ones above...but I digress.)
Although I find these quizzes hopelessly silly, I think there is something about their utter popularity that is quite telling. We--not all but many in modern culture--seem to enjoy expressing who we are by aligning ourselves with (or against) particular pieces of pop culture.
Scan any Facebook page and you can see this. Scan MINE--I'm guilty. I've tried to say, this is me! by arranging just the right collection of cultural references.
What is it about how we collect cultural symbols that helps deliminate who we are as human beings?
"Okay, so you like THAT tv show, those bands, those movies, but you don't have a cell phone and you shop at these stores . . . I understand you as X type of person."
Yes, we can debate whether or not WE do this--and by we I mean the older, the wiser, the aware. Those living the examined life in the examined world. But I think that it's still safe to contend that even when when know what we are doing, we do it anyway. We draw linking lines from ourselves to cultural objects (or between us and them, separating ourselves). We just do it with more intention.
What I'm really wondering is this: how can we use this idea to reach our students? Can we use pop culture to show our students that we get them, that we acknowledge there is a complex youth sub-culture eminating out of the complexity?
I have, for the last four or five years, been fascinated by this idea--the idea that if we acknowledge the sub-culture of youth, we open up an entire vein of repressed, tense, complex, volatile, deep, thoughtful, throbbing, consuming artistic energy. Possibility. Teeming rivers that we might, as teachers, help funnel into creative outlets that produce first messy, angsty, self-centered writing and then, through response and revision, later emerge as shaply, authetic text.
Why can't we, even one day of our many class days together, start with the worlds that so enfold our students, helping them see how understanding their pop culture definitions can lead to self-awareness, authetic voice and, later, lasting text?
I'll be thinking about it, even though, I admit, there are aspects of current youth culture I find utterly stupid, confusing and even damaging. But what help does my judgment provide? If I can't get my students to think about it, who cares what I think?
Hmm.
Note: I consider my response on cultural studies to be a sliver--a Myspace-quiz-sized glimpse, if you will--of what we can do with the ideas shared in our text. There are certainly more complex, sophisticated takes on CS to be had. This is simply the one that was most meaningful to me after reading what I can at best call a chaotic article. After whirling and swirling throughout it, this is where I landed.
"[Joseph] Harris suggests looking at students as 'at once rock fans and intellectuals, who watch old sitcoms and read criticism, who wear Levis and look skeptically at advertising' (233). He recommends such assignments as asking students to look at the way they use popular texts in forming their own identities and, instead of simply applying an interpretive method, to think about how that method works and what its uses and limits might be" (George and Trimbur 83).
---
It seems appropriate that I'm writing this while listening to Copeland (one of my favorite bands) streaming from their Myspace page. And in fact it is Myspace, and the endless quiz-bulletins my Myspace friends post as minute glimpses into the self, that I think of when I read this quotation.
Coke or Pepsi?
Butter or margarine?
Baths or showers?
Or the more open ended:
What's the last think you ate?
What are the last three songs you listened to on your iPod?
Who's the last person you IMed?
(It's funny how these quizzes, and their writers, assume that the self can be neatly slotted into trite binaries like the ones above...but I digress.)
Although I find these quizzes hopelessly silly, I think there is something about their utter popularity that is quite telling. We--not all but many in modern culture--seem to enjoy expressing who we are by aligning ourselves with (or against) particular pieces of pop culture.
Scan any Facebook page and you can see this. Scan MINE--I'm guilty. I've tried to say, this is me! by arranging just the right collection of cultural references.
What is it about how we collect cultural symbols that helps deliminate who we are as human beings?
"Okay, so you like THAT tv show, those bands, those movies, but you don't have a cell phone and you shop at these stores . . . I understand you as X type of person."
Yes, we can debate whether or not WE do this--and by we I mean the older, the wiser, the aware. Those living the examined life in the examined world. But I think that it's still safe to contend that even when when know what we are doing, we do it anyway. We draw linking lines from ourselves to cultural objects (or between us and them, separating ourselves). We just do it with more intention.
What I'm really wondering is this: how can we use this idea to reach our students? Can we use pop culture to show our students that we get them, that we acknowledge there is a complex youth sub-culture eminating out of the complexity?
I have, for the last four or five years, been fascinated by this idea--the idea that if we acknowledge the sub-culture of youth, we open up an entire vein of repressed, tense, complex, volatile, deep, thoughtful, throbbing, consuming artistic energy. Possibility. Teeming rivers that we might, as teachers, help funnel into creative outlets that produce first messy, angsty, self-centered writing and then, through response and revision, later emerge as shaply, authetic text.
Why can't we, even one day of our many class days together, start with the worlds that so enfold our students, helping them see how understanding their pop culture definitions can lead to self-awareness, authetic voice and, later, lasting text?
I'll be thinking about it, even though, I admit, there are aspects of current youth culture I find utterly stupid, confusing and even damaging. But what help does my judgment provide? If I can't get my students to think about it, who cares what I think?
Hmm.
Note: I consider my response on cultural studies to be a sliver--a Myspace-quiz-sized glimpse, if you will--of what we can do with the ideas shared in our text. There are certainly more complex, sophisticated takes on CS to be had. This is simply the one that was most meaningful to me after reading what I can at best call a chaotic article. After whirling and swirling throughout it, this is where I landed.
Culture in Danger
As I read these pages about cultural studies I could not escape the thoughts of how relevant this idea is in our current world. Our culture is in danger and seems to be moving in the wrong direction.
From Gramsci, Hall took the notion that political rule is only rarely, as in times of deep social crisis, the result of physical coercion by the state. Rather political is more typically negotiated between the rulers and the ruled in the arena of civil society, where social groups and class fractions struggle for political and moral leadership in education, religion, the mass media, and so on.(75) If we take the time to examine, or study, the culture of our recent history we can see a total breakdown, a lapse, in our collective society. We are in the midst of a great social crisis, one that has been thrust upon us through politics under the falsehood of faith and fear.
There is no struggle for political or moral leadership in our education system. Take for example, the demand for schools to teach abstinence only sex education. Sure, they don't to teach it, but unless they do they will be refused government funding. The hand of the government dropped the constitution in order to clutch a bible. Schools are now on the verge of clouding young minds with the demand to teach creationism over evolution. How can this happen? Isn't that what church is for? As Williams notes, while the effort "to define a clearer subject, to establish a discipline, to bring order to the work" are "laudable ambitions," there is the danger of forgetting or losing touch with the original point of the project, namely that "people's questions are not answered by the existing distribution of the educational curriculum([160]79).
What will those who come after us see of our mass media? Will they see a culture of free thinking and openness of ideas? No, they will see that our culture was a giant mess with a foundation built on a giant list of what the government said we could not say or do. There are all of the words that are not allowed to be spoken on the television or radio, or printed on the public pages. Say them or write them and what happens? Well, no one really knows because everyone is to afraid to go ahead and say them. Culture has given up the struggle, and a nipple exposed is a national crisis. Richard Miller notes that "forms of culture are taken up and revised by the people living in it"(83). I ask are we, as those living in our culture, revising with censorship in tact? I feel that we are because it has become so ingrained in our way of thinking that we are unable to move beyond it. People see their own nipples everyday, and here the word shit about as often. Just don't let it slip into our mass media or we all will probably die from it.
From Gramsci, Hall took the notion that political rule is only rarely, as in times of deep social crisis, the result of physical coercion by the state. Rather political is more typically negotiated between the rulers and the ruled in the arena of civil society, where social groups and class fractions struggle for political and moral leadership in education, religion, the mass media, and so on.(75) If we take the time to examine, or study, the culture of our recent history we can see a total breakdown, a lapse, in our collective society. We are in the midst of a great social crisis, one that has been thrust upon us through politics under the falsehood of faith and fear.
There is no struggle for political or moral leadership in our education system. Take for example, the demand for schools to teach abstinence only sex education. Sure, they don't to teach it, but unless they do they will be refused government funding. The hand of the government dropped the constitution in order to clutch a bible. Schools are now on the verge of clouding young minds with the demand to teach creationism over evolution. How can this happen? Isn't that what church is for? As Williams notes, while the effort "to define a clearer subject, to establish a discipline, to bring order to the work" are "laudable ambitions," there is the danger of forgetting or losing touch with the original point of the project, namely that "people's questions are not answered by the existing distribution of the educational curriculum([160]79).
What will those who come after us see of our mass media? Will they see a culture of free thinking and openness of ideas? No, they will see that our culture was a giant mess with a foundation built on a giant list of what the government said we could not say or do. There are all of the words that are not allowed to be spoken on the television or radio, or printed on the public pages. Say them or write them and what happens? Well, no one really knows because everyone is to afraid to go ahead and say them. Culture has given up the struggle, and a nipple exposed is a national crisis. Richard Miller notes that "forms of culture are taken up and revised by the people living in it"(83). I ask are we, as those living in our culture, revising with censorship in tact? I feel that we are because it has become so ingrained in our way of thinking that we are unable to move beyond it. People see their own nipples everyday, and here the word shit about as often. Just don't let it slip into our mass media or we all will probably die from it.
25 September 2008
Pop Goes the Culture!
When we lived in New York, I often took my daughter to the Museum of Television and Radio. There, I showed her videos of cartoons I used to watch on Saturday mornings when I was her age. They even had the old commercials for Trix cereal and Ovaltine. We had a blast watching reruns of Rocky and 
Bullwinkle, Mr. Peabody and his boy Sherman, and Dudley Dooright. My point in doing this wasn’t just for entertainment, but to share with her some of the artifacts from my youth.
Bullwinkle, Mr. Peabody and his boy Sherman, and Dudley Dooright. My point in doing this wasn’t just for entertainment, but to share with her some of the artifacts from my youth.Despite my somewhat romanticized notions about television from the ‘60s, I must admit to a certain disappointment in reading this week’s chapter on “Cultural Studies and Composition.” I felt somewhat short-changed. Pop culture, expressed through mass media, does little to demonstrate who I really am, where I come from, what my beliefs are. All it does, in fact, is tell me why I turned out to have such a ridiculous sense of humor.
This chapter leaves me doing a mental inventory of my personal deficiencies held in the light of modern culture. For example, why do I find this suggestion, quoted by Joseph Harris, to be so repugnant?: “(Ask) students to look at the way they use popular texts in forming their own identities.” Perhaps it comes from a vision of a classroom containing so diverse a population of students that what is considered “pop” to one student is foreign to another. In an effort to fit in, would some students resort to some contrived response?
I was relieved to finally read beyond this point of “the popularity of the popular” as the authors picked up steam and addressed the work of Maxine Hairston. She argues that multicultural responsibility is achieved by enabling students to reflect on their personal (and varied) experiences through their writing. This, of course, takes the pressure off of students to try to wrap their heads around “popular” works, which someone other than them has presumed to be culturally significant. A fine line exists between acknowledging the omnipresence of pop culture and insulting students by infusing it into the classroom in a manner presumed to resonate for each and every one of them. The importance of a cultural icon, like a vernacular or symbol, is in the eye of the beholder.
I like Hairston’s approach because she celebrates what’s going on in the classroom and who occupies its desks. She doesn’t start out by asking how a student feels about a cultural artifact; she starts out asking for a student to share a real experience, “so that students ‘can understand the rich tapestry of cultures that their individual stories make up.’” [(191) 85]. We won't do any harm by suggesting there might be a place for components of pop culture in one’s writing. But through the ethnography, a culturally sound composition class allows students to define for themselves what is meaningful for them.
24 September 2008
Thank you for my bleary eyes, collaborative pedagogy
I've been staring at my computer screen for the last 2 hours, typing and arranging sheets of directions and information for my students to use in class tomorrow and DANG...my eyes hurt. And my head hurts. I'm sitting here, on my nice green couch, watching t.v. on Hulu (I don't have a regular set), yearning to return to my freezer for just one more bite of Samoa ice cream (Girl Scout 'special edition' by Edy's--go quickly!) and I'M SUPPOSED TO ANTICIPATE THE NEEDS OF MY SEEMINGLY UNKNOWABLE AND USUALLY MOODY W131 STUDENTS?
Thank you, collaborative pedagogy.
If I can ignore my eyes and my persuasive stomach, I'm not really that upset. Just tired. And honestly, the thought of having to write my (already late) blog about collaborative learning has me a wee bit testy. I'd rather toss my laptop aside and dive into Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (and this desire is not at all diminished by the fact I've read this book 6-ish times).
It's really a labor of love, collaborative pedagogy. It's our way of reaching out to our students without them realizing it, saying, hey, I DO care about you. Even if you are moody. Even if you hate writing. I want to help you learn authentically. And I'll do it through collaborative pedagogy.
Because I DO think CP encourages that--authentic learning. Let's let THEM tell US what is what about this and that. Yes, it'll need to be moderated, but let's give them a chance and a voice, etc. It's funny how teenagers/young adults are so possessed with a fervor for themselves in every situation except their education. What the heck is that about? They would be so pleased to sit back and let us "bank" into their brains for an hour. And they'd also be the ones who would bitch back to us/their parents/their friends about how they didn't learn anything in class and how that class was LAME.
(Oh how we must wait and wait for perspective to settle in.)
I'd love to blame them--the students--for making teachers run from collaborative pedagogy because said students resisted so mightily. But I can't. We (teachers) are outside Plato's cave and now we've got to run back in and get them to turn away from the shadows of the real and face the sun.
But oh, it's exhausting. And I'm tired, and not making any sense. (Is this what the blog has become? Pseudo-thought space?) I admit to not being academic--perhaps it's not the expectation. It's CERTAINLY not my tendency. I'd rather try to see the humanity glimmering through the pedagogy--who are the people, and how are they affected by all this? And by people, I mean teachers AND students. How do we use the pedagogy to walk across the gap necessarily created by roles like "teacher" and "student"?
P.S. Confession: I don't like DOING collaborative activities when I am in the role of student. (Gasp.) They make me squirm. Although, they might be good for me. And Mark's collaborative writing on Tues was awesome. My class will do that before the term is up, even if just as "let's have fun with language and ideas today." Anyway. It's true. I suck at collaborative work because I'm a control freak. But maybe the whole process is good for me--is a good lesson in how to be a better human as well as a more engaged/effective learner. Hmm.
Thank you, collaborative pedagogy.
If I can ignore my eyes and my persuasive stomach, I'm not really that upset. Just tired. And honestly, the thought of having to write my (already late) blog about collaborative learning has me a wee bit testy. I'd rather toss my laptop aside and dive into Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (and this desire is not at all diminished by the fact I've read this book 6-ish times).
It's really a labor of love, collaborative pedagogy. It's our way of reaching out to our students without them realizing it, saying, hey, I DO care about you. Even if you are moody. Even if you hate writing. I want to help you learn authentically. And I'll do it through collaborative pedagogy.
Because I DO think CP encourages that--authentic learning. Let's let THEM tell US what is what about this and that. Yes, it'll need to be moderated, but let's give them a chance and a voice, etc. It's funny how teenagers/young adults are so possessed with a fervor for themselves in every situation except their education. What the heck is that about? They would be so pleased to sit back and let us "bank" into their brains for an hour. And they'd also be the ones who would bitch back to us/their parents/their friends about how they didn't learn anything in class and how that class was LAME.
(Oh how we must wait and wait for perspective to settle in.)
I'd love to blame them--the students--for making teachers run from collaborative pedagogy because said students resisted so mightily. But I can't. We (teachers) are outside Plato's cave and now we've got to run back in and get them to turn away from the shadows of the real and face the sun.
But oh, it's exhausting. And I'm tired, and not making any sense. (Is this what the blog has become? Pseudo-thought space?) I admit to not being academic--perhaps it's not the expectation. It's CERTAINLY not my tendency. I'd rather try to see the humanity glimmering through the pedagogy--who are the people, and how are they affected by all this? And by people, I mean teachers AND students. How do we use the pedagogy to walk across the gap necessarily created by roles like "teacher" and "student"?
P.S. Confession: I don't like DOING collaborative activities when I am in the role of student. (Gasp.) They make me squirm. Although, they might be good for me. And Mark's collaborative writing on Tues was awesome. My class will do that before the term is up, even if just as "let's have fun with language and ideas today." Anyway. It's true. I suck at collaborative work because I'm a control freak. But maybe the whole process is good for me--is a good lesson in how to be a better human as well as a more engaged/effective learner. Hmm.
23 September 2008
Aunt Nellie's Rottweiler
Group work. There are no other two words in the English language which, when combined in this particular manner, can draw a more visceral response in me.
OK. I admit it. I am a born skeptic when it comes to anything which even remotely concerns itself with "group work."
Now then, I have no doubt that the author of this chapter got some fine writing specimens from her students in the collaborative scenario which she described. But we must all concede that the tone of her writing suggested, if ever so slightly perhaps, a hint of idealism. I suspect that she was still basking in that honeymoon period which traditionally follows closely on the heels of the final day of a very long semester spent among a band of feuding sophomores. Was it pride or relief in the voice of her text? By her own account, blood was practically drawn to generate those collaborative masterpieces.
At what cost does collective genius come?
And is collaborative writing appropriate, nay inevitable, for all students at one time or another?
"Yes," Ms. Howard would argue. It will prepare students for the real world where collaborative work is a necessity. She will say that the constructionist (i.e. interactive) approach to teaching and learning fosters a deeper comprehension of the topic. She will add, wagging her authoritative finger at folks like me, that writers gain understanding of the impact and effectiveness of their original texts by engaging in small-group reader response.
I tried to come to this chapter with an open mind. Really, I did.
But the truth… yes, the ugly little truth… is that we still must contend with the inevitable and uneven distribution of power in group settings. And adolescent group settings? “Oy vey,” as Grandma Rose would say. It’s there -- that power… like Aunt Nellie’s sociopathic Rottweiler that accompanies her whenever she comes over for tea, and shamelessly tears about the place. Everyone can see that "Brunhilda" has yet again torn the Belgian lace curtains to shreds, but no one talks about it. We sit there, snickering nervously at how "cute" she is, dropping lumps of sugar in our cups and trying not to look at our watches. Why? Because we love Aunt Nellie, so we’re willing to put up with her flea-bag mongrel.
And so, a teacher is willing to put up with a power struggle (or even worse, the meek and silent -- perhaps even collective -- acquiescence to one power-hungry student) in order to accommodate her constructionist ideals.
"Get into groups." How often I heard those words when I was a student at the School of Education. Perhaps there was a basis for it. Certainly there is a place for it. But my concern lies in turning too quickly to group work as the default mechanism, even a perceived panacea to troubleshoot that great pedagogical conundrum teachers face on a daily basis: "What the heck do I do with the kids NOW??!!!"
Group work.
Though I make arguments here against it (and perhaps too passionately), I concede that the chapter is on solid ground in its advocacy of collaborative writing. It is right to apply theories of how collaboration can make its academic mark. But I feel it is important to take issue with some of its content, if only to maintain a heightened awareness of our impact as educators.
Howard shares that even in our individual writing, some would say we are collaborating -- with our environment, with the author of a book we are responding to, with a prospective or imagined audience.
But what if an individual student is responding, not because of, but in spite of his relationship with the world around him? That being said, one could argue that the definition of collaboration in individual writing is synonymous with reaction.
Is it also reaction in a group setting? The reaction of meek acquiescence to a greater power in a group setting could then also be defined as collaboration. And if that is the case, what has that student gained? And what has he lost? We cannot afford to simply slip into that false sense of security we afford ourselves by small group work. The group may be smaller, but the meek and silent are still there -- perhaps even more intimidated, more repressed, more powerless because, by virtue of decreased numbers, their exposure is enhanced.
OK. I admit it. I am a born skeptic when it comes to anything which even remotely concerns itself with "group work."
Now then, I have no doubt that the author of this chapter got some fine writing specimens from her students in the collaborative scenario which she described. But we must all concede that the tone of her writing suggested, if ever so slightly perhaps, a hint of idealism. I suspect that she was still basking in that honeymoon period which traditionally follows closely on the heels of the final day of a very long semester spent among a band of feuding sophomores. Was it pride or relief in the voice of her text? By her own account, blood was practically drawn to generate those collaborative masterpieces.
At what cost does collective genius come?
And is collaborative writing appropriate, nay inevitable, for all students at one time or another?
"Yes," Ms. Howard would argue. It will prepare students for the real world where collaborative work is a necessity. She will say that the constructionist (i.e. interactive) approach to teaching and learning fosters a deeper comprehension of the topic. She will add, wagging her authoritative finger at folks like me, that writers gain understanding of the impact and effectiveness of their original texts by engaging in small-group reader response.
I tried to come to this chapter with an open mind. Really, I did.
But the truth… yes, the ugly little truth… is that we still must contend with the inevitable and uneven distribution of power in group settings. And adolescent group settings? “Oy vey,” as Grandma Rose would say. It’s there -- that power… like Aunt Nellie’s sociopathic Rottweiler that accompanies her whenever she comes over for tea, and shamelessly tears about the place. Everyone can see that "Brunhilda" has yet again torn the Belgian lace curtains to shreds, but no one talks about it. We sit there, snickering nervously at how "cute" she is, dropping lumps of sugar in our cups and trying not to look at our watches. Why? Because we love Aunt Nellie, so we’re willing to put up with her flea-bag mongrel.
And so, a teacher is willing to put up with a power struggle (or even worse, the meek and silent -- perhaps even collective -- acquiescence to one power-hungry student) in order to accommodate her constructionist ideals.
"Get into groups." How often I heard those words when I was a student at the School of Education. Perhaps there was a basis for it. Certainly there is a place for it. But my concern lies in turning too quickly to group work as the default mechanism, even a perceived panacea to troubleshoot that great pedagogical conundrum teachers face on a daily basis: "What the heck do I do with the kids NOW??!!!"
Group work.
Though I make arguments here against it (and perhaps too passionately), I concede that the chapter is on solid ground in its advocacy of collaborative writing. It is right to apply theories of how collaboration can make its academic mark. But I feel it is important to take issue with some of its content, if only to maintain a heightened awareness of our impact as educators.
Howard shares that even in our individual writing, some would say we are collaborating -- with our environment, with the author of a book we are responding to, with a prospective or imagined audience.
But what if an individual student is responding, not because of, but in spite of his relationship with the world around him? That being said, one could argue that the definition of collaboration in individual writing is synonymous with reaction.
Is it also reaction in a group setting? The reaction of meek acquiescence to a greater power in a group setting could then also be defined as collaboration. And if that is the case, what has that student gained? And what has he lost? We cannot afford to simply slip into that false sense of security we afford ourselves by small group work. The group may be smaller, but the meek and silent are still there -- perhaps even more intimidated, more repressed, more powerless because, by virtue of decreased numbers, their exposure is enhanced.
2 heads are better than 1, right?
“Collaborative Pedagogy” by Rebecca Moore Howard
My first reaction to reading the opening was, Oh no, not another wide-open ambiguous pedagogy! My next thought was how can collaboration yield its own pedagogy? Will the author argue for group work all the time? Well, I was half right ☺
Collaborative Pedagogy (CP) does utilize group work to accomplish ‘better’ writing, according to Howard’s interpretation of CP supporters. In addition to group work, CP stresses the social element of writing, going as far as saying “all writing is collaborative” (Howard 55). While I believe that writers need collaboration with a reader or with a particular text, I’m not sure I completely agree with doing away with solitary writing. In fact, I got the feeling that some CP advocates would like to do away with current documentation methods (APA, MLA) citing that writing isn’t a solitary action so it doesn’t make sense to continue using other sources to denote between the writer’s ideas and those of others. In some countries documentation (of sources) doesn’t exist; therefore, writers use that country’s great works in their own writing as a sign of respect or reverence. Are CP advocates saying writing should be more like this? What would be the implications? The volume of work per field of study/discipline is quite large, can every scholar or scholar-in-training know these works in such a detailed way that they become common knowledge among that discipline? I don’t think so, but I digress.
Removing solidarity could cause some students to become lazy or too reliant on others for critical thinking and invention. While there are many benefits to collaboration, ‘true’ (ideal) collaboration may never exist.
On the positive side of CP…
Students find confidence in having others to work with. Their idea pool is larger (2 heads are better than one, right?). Group work/collaboration happens in the work world, so knowing how to collaborate is an asset. Writers can get valuable (sometimes) feedback from reader during collaborative sessions in a writing classroom (peer response/review), conferences (teacher-student), and writing center tutorials. [I do think some would argue that peer review and teacher-student conferences aren’t always effective, but students and even teachers can be taught peer review/tutoring skills.]
What I liked about this chapter, after it’s all said and done, was pages 62-66. Howard gives writing/teachers advice for using CP in a classroom. As a teacher, this is helpful. One thing I wish Howard would’ve elaborated on was the writer and text collaboration. Applications for integrating text-writer collaboration would’ve been helpful to read.
In the end, collaboration is necessary and helpful. I think, for me, the key is figuring out how much collaboration I want to use in my classroom. [I already use group work (not group papers), peer review, and student-teacher conferences. Sometimes I successfully use text-writer collaboration too.]
My first reaction to reading the opening was, Oh no, not another wide-open ambiguous pedagogy! My next thought was how can collaboration yield its own pedagogy? Will the author argue for group work all the time? Well, I was half right ☺
Collaborative Pedagogy (CP) does utilize group work to accomplish ‘better’ writing, according to Howard’s interpretation of CP supporters. In addition to group work, CP stresses the social element of writing, going as far as saying “all writing is collaborative” (Howard 55). While I believe that writers need collaboration with a reader or with a particular text, I’m not sure I completely agree with doing away with solitary writing. In fact, I got the feeling that some CP advocates would like to do away with current documentation methods (APA, MLA) citing that writing isn’t a solitary action so it doesn’t make sense to continue using other sources to denote between the writer’s ideas and those of others. In some countries documentation (of sources) doesn’t exist; therefore, writers use that country’s great works in their own writing as a sign of respect or reverence. Are CP advocates saying writing should be more like this? What would be the implications? The volume of work per field of study/discipline is quite large, can every scholar or scholar-in-training know these works in such a detailed way that they become common knowledge among that discipline? I don’t think so, but I digress.
Removing solidarity could cause some students to become lazy or too reliant on others for critical thinking and invention. While there are many benefits to collaboration, ‘true’ (ideal) collaboration may never exist.
On the positive side of CP…
Students find confidence in having others to work with. Their idea pool is larger (2 heads are better than one, right?). Group work/collaboration happens in the work world, so knowing how to collaborate is an asset. Writers can get valuable (sometimes) feedback from reader during collaborative sessions in a writing classroom (peer response/review), conferences (teacher-student), and writing center tutorials. [I do think some would argue that peer review and teacher-student conferences aren’t always effective, but students and even teachers can be taught peer review/tutoring skills.]
What I liked about this chapter, after it’s all said and done, was pages 62-66. Howard gives writing/teachers advice for using CP in a classroom. As a teacher, this is helpful. One thing I wish Howard would’ve elaborated on was the writer and text collaboration. Applications for integrating text-writer collaboration would’ve been helpful to read.
In the end, collaboration is necessary and helpful. I think, for me, the key is figuring out how much collaboration I want to use in my classroom. [I already use group work (not group papers), peer review, and student-teacher conferences. Sometimes I successfully use text-writer collaboration too.]
Collaboration, Context, and Rhetoric
Collaborative pedagogy provides an important social context in which students learn to discuss ideas in a thoughtful, constructive way. Reading the methods of employing collaborative pedagogy, I recognized that many of my methods align with this approach when it comes to classroom discussion and the “power politics” of a classroom, namely, de-centering power so the majority of the power is in the hands of the students. However, like any pedagogy, collaborative pedagogy needs to be tempered with other approaches as well, specifically when it comes to the concept of “socially justified belief.”
Case in point, today in my AP Rhetoric and Composition class, we were reading the introduction to Jeffrey Walker’s Investigating Arguments: Readings for College Writing, a book used in college for a class entitled “Texts, Subtexts, and Contexts.” The introduction is in the form of a dialogue between Socrates and Phaedrus, in which the two argue about what rhetoric is, both, of course, using rhetorical strategies to persuade his opponent. Upon reading a bandwagon argument, I asked the students if bandwagon arguments were a strong way to win an argument. They unanimously said “yes.” I then rephrased my question asking, “Well, is it a logical way to win an argument?” Again, they responded with the affirmative. After some discussion, they were willing to agree that bandwagon arguments are not an appeal to logos, but rather pathos. After establishing this, I then asked in the form of an example: if everyone were cheating on a certain quiz, does that mean it is okay to cheat since everyone else is doing it? Once again, the haunting “yes” returned to the room.
In a school where integrity, scholarship, and respect are the tenets of the honor code, does the collaborative approach, with the notion of “socially justified belief,” construct a community? Or does it become an excuse for dishonorable decision-making? Does socially justified belief (SJB) lead to a new kind of learning? Or does it promote an environment of bandwagoning, peer pressure, and ignorance?
While I know that the collaborative approach, generally speaking, can be very positive and very powerful, I’m not sure that SJB achieves its aim of divergent thinking. In a high school classroom, it’s possible that SJB promotes the pressure to conform and allows for misconceptions and stereotypes to breed freely rather than shedding light on misconceptions. Perhaps the concept of SJB is more successful in post-secondary institutions where students are more likely to question assumptions and to speak up, even if their beliefs seem to be in the minority. Then again, when I consider how some of my English classes were as an undergraduate, these discussions ultimately seemed to be a test of students’ rhetorical skills, and the discussions seemed to end in more of a consensus rather than difference.
Case in point, today in my AP Rhetoric and Composition class, we were reading the introduction to Jeffrey Walker’s Investigating Arguments: Readings for College Writing, a book used in college for a class entitled “Texts, Subtexts, and Contexts.” The introduction is in the form of a dialogue between Socrates and Phaedrus, in which the two argue about what rhetoric is, both, of course, using rhetorical strategies to persuade his opponent. Upon reading a bandwagon argument, I asked the students if bandwagon arguments were a strong way to win an argument. They unanimously said “yes.” I then rephrased my question asking, “Well, is it a logical way to win an argument?” Again, they responded with the affirmative. After some discussion, they were willing to agree that bandwagon arguments are not an appeal to logos, but rather pathos. After establishing this, I then asked in the form of an example: if everyone were cheating on a certain quiz, does that mean it is okay to cheat since everyone else is doing it? Once again, the haunting “yes” returned to the room.
In a school where integrity, scholarship, and respect are the tenets of the honor code, does the collaborative approach, with the notion of “socially justified belief,” construct a community? Or does it become an excuse for dishonorable decision-making? Does socially justified belief (SJB) lead to a new kind of learning? Or does it promote an environment of bandwagoning, peer pressure, and ignorance?
While I know that the collaborative approach, generally speaking, can be very positive and very powerful, I’m not sure that SJB achieves its aim of divergent thinking. In a high school classroom, it’s possible that SJB promotes the pressure to conform and allows for misconceptions and stereotypes to breed freely rather than shedding light on misconceptions. Perhaps the concept of SJB is more successful in post-secondary institutions where students are more likely to question assumptions and to speak up, even if their beliefs seem to be in the minority. Then again, when I consider how some of my English classes were as an undergraduate, these discussions ultimately seemed to be a test of students’ rhetorical skills, and the discussions seemed to end in more of a consensus rather than difference.
Collaborative Pedagogy: Pros and Cons
When your collaborating with a professor about a paper idea and your in the process of exchanging ideas, is it easy to determine where the idea is coming from? When I need help with a paper, I like to go somewhere to get my brain juices flowing, an atmosphere that stimulates conversation and dialogue. This atmosphere consists of either two or more individuals and in the process, I find myself thinking, "that's an excellent idea to work with and it would definitely make a great thesis, was it mine, whose was it?" During this exchange, it is almost impossible to determine who comes up with with what, since it is the product of collborative dialogue or thinking.
When it comes to collaborative pedagogy, I can see why the issue of plagiarism continues to be a drawback. Though the notion of author-centered writing is traditional and lacking, as Howard explains in her article, the need for self-accreditation is an tenet in writing valued by both teachers and students. As a writer, I would want to be given credit for my ideas and as a reader, I would appreciate and respect originality. For me, originality is not an outdated requirement in composition pedagogy but is a necessary tenet in the field.
According to Howard and Andrea Lunsford, traditional composition pedagogy is no longer applicable in the classroom. Because of a significant paradigm shift in western education and history, there has been a so called shift from an author-centered/objective mentality to a reader-centered/subjective one. The shift occurs in an epistemological sense too: we have moved from viewing reality and knowledge as something inherently created in nature and innately accessible by man, to the notion that knowledge is a product of particular social conditions, making it difficult, and even impossible to assess or obtain. In a way, the collaborative approach to writing is paradoxically an objective approach to understanding a subjective system. Anne Rugger Gere articulates, 'Knowledge conceived as socially constructed or generated validates the "learning" part of collaborative learning because it assumes that interactions of collaborations can lead to new knowledge or learning."
I have to admit this article is one of the few articles I've come across in our book that gives one concrete examples of the applications of its pedagogy. Howard outlines the benefits of small-group pedagogy, diminishing the role of an educator and enabling students to teach each other; however, in my experience, lectures focused exclusively on the small-group pedagogy approach can easily lose structure, particularly around college freshmen and high school seniors. Though they may begin discussing the given topic, the group tends to lose focus if opinions are merely floating across the room and there is no real debate, or if some of the students have not completed their assignments and take advantage of the freedom to discuss subtly related subjects to kill time.
What I found greatly beneficial to collaborative writing is the recommendation that peer responses be read out loud instead of silently. If they are read silently, students or writers perform as critics and automatically begin to edit the paper. If it is read out loud, students can take the role of a reader or audience and respond with forethought. Thus, writers can use these responses as constructive criticism and develop their work with an audience's point of view in mind. There is also a disadvantage to peer response work at the classroom level. If students are only given feedback from other students, they are limiting the exposure of their work to a particular audience. Most of the time, students have to be prepared to write material that will be reviewed by their superiors and not by their peers. The ultimate judgement is going to come from one's superiors or from a specific academic group.
Social writing for a social world
Rebecca Moore Howard offers Kenneth A. Bruffee’s three principles as the basis of collaborative pedagogy, but they stand here without qualification. If I were to disagree with his very first premise (“thought is internalized conversation”), which I am inclined to do in the absence of supporting evidence or argument, how can I approach this pedagogy?
To me, the value in collaborative pedagogy lies not in the fact that it is a more natural means of communication but that it can help students learn to communicate in a means that is advantageous in our social world, especially in the workplace. Howard invokes Lunsford’s recognition that employees are increasingly asked to perform collaborative tasks that involve groups working together at all levels to discover and resolve problems, and to report on findings. This type of collaboration can involve the first three categories that Howard presents in this article, learning, contribution to solo-authored texts, and writing, though I argue that writing in fact contains both of the others.
Because of the social stigma related to collaboration, it is easy to see why Howard chose to present these as separate categories. As she points out, “the very notion of collaboration contradicts a long cultural tradition that privileges the individual agent and especially the solitary author” (55). This value penetrates all levels of writing, down to the ideas that comprise it, thus it is difficult to get people to accept the idea of collaborative invention even while some of our most prized authors made active use of it.
While some of my most rewarding classroom experiences as a student have involved collaborative learning and contribution, I have never participated in collaborative writing and have a hard time imagining doing so. I see its possibility in my future professional career, and so would love the opportunity to try it in a classroom setting.
The last category seems to stand apart from the others. While Howard presents writer/text collaboration as something novel, it seems to me what every writer does. Our knowledge is comprised of the information that we take in, and so all that we have read becomes a stimulus for creation. While this type of collaboration in its strictest form may disregard idea ownership as we currently understand it, as a whole it differs very little from the student who writes an essay response to a piece of literature. I would be interested to hear about this area from my fellow students – how do you understand writer/text collaboration?
To me, the value in collaborative pedagogy lies not in the fact that it is a more natural means of communication but that it can help students learn to communicate in a means that is advantageous in our social world, especially in the workplace. Howard invokes Lunsford’s recognition that employees are increasingly asked to perform collaborative tasks that involve groups working together at all levels to discover and resolve problems, and to report on findings. This type of collaboration can involve the first three categories that Howard presents in this article, learning, contribution to solo-authored texts, and writing, though I argue that writing in fact contains both of the others.
Because of the social stigma related to collaboration, it is easy to see why Howard chose to present these as separate categories. As she points out, “the very notion of collaboration contradicts a long cultural tradition that privileges the individual agent and especially the solitary author” (55). This value penetrates all levels of writing, down to the ideas that comprise it, thus it is difficult to get people to accept the idea of collaborative invention even while some of our most prized authors made active use of it.
While some of my most rewarding classroom experiences as a student have involved collaborative learning and contribution, I have never participated in collaborative writing and have a hard time imagining doing so. I see its possibility in my future professional career, and so would love the opportunity to try it in a classroom setting.
The last category seems to stand apart from the others. While Howard presents writer/text collaboration as something novel, it seems to me what every writer does. Our knowledge is comprised of the information that we take in, and so all that we have read becomes a stimulus for creation. While this type of collaboration in its strictest form may disregard idea ownership as we currently understand it, as a whole it differs very little from the student who writes an essay response to a piece of literature. I would be interested to hear about this area from my fellow students – how do you understand writer/text collaboration?
Rhetoric as Good Reasons
One interesting rhetorician is John Gage, who has written a textbook (The Shape of Reason). I don't know the textbook (yet), but I read two articles by him that are both quite interesting. One is the following, from 2005, that is quite philosophical yet readable and relevant in this political season:
rhetoric.sdsu.edu/lore/3_3/gage.pdf
The other is older, a classic on the "good reasons" approach to rhetorical pedagogy. I found it in a textbook on rhetoric edited by Covino and Joliffe that has many good selections. Gage's essay is called "Why Write?" I'd be happy to make copies for anyone who is interested.
rhetoric.sdsu.edu/lore/3_3/gage.pdf
The other is older, a classic on the "good reasons" approach to rhetorical pedagogy. I found it in a textbook on rhetoric edited by Covino and Joliffe that has many good selections. Gage's essay is called "Why Write?" I'd be happy to make copies for anyone who is interested.
22 September 2008
Just doing what comes natural...
These last two essays have left me somewhat bereft of confidence in my ability to teach writing, but at last, this collaborative pedagogy is something that I can relate to! I find it a bit humorous that something that comes so naturally to my teaching style has a labeled pedagogy, since, like the author; I view collaboration as “an aid to learning’ and not so much the three convoluted principles posited by Kenneth Bruffee on page
And even though I get the idea of the individual “hero” author of our culture, I don’t often see it at the freshman level. They are not concerned so much with their individual authorship as they are with grasping a concept and being successful transferring those ideas on paper or in discussion. Most often they accomplish that by way of at least, some group work. So, cultural tradition not withstanding, my students love working together on projects and assignments. I’m not sure if it’s the two-heads-are-better-than-one concept or the- misery-loves-company idea that they find so appealing. Either way, any form of group work, whether it is a pair responding to a prompt or a group researching a hot button issue, team effort is most always embraced.
Bruffee’s ideas that collaborative pedagogy “provides a social context in which students can experience and practice the kinds of conversations valued by college teachers” (56) fits like a glove for the social constructivist ideology embraced by this university’s School of Education. According to Richard Rorty, “knowledge…is constructed in the community and acquired in interaction with that community” (56). Aren’t we creating a community of sorts, every time we ask kids to get into a group to work out the meaning of a particular idea? As a graduate of this university, I have been steeped in social constructivist pedagogy and therefore find collaboration second-nature.
I find it both comforting and liberating to know that I am not that “sage on the stage” as I do not like the idea of lecturing. In fact, I do it infrequently, preferring a mini-lesson of ideas followed by lots of supported practice. This collaborative method forces more of the learning on the students rather than the teacher. “Much more frequently, scholars note ways in which collaborative pedagogy levels the teacher-student hierarchy. When teachers are no longer dispensing knowledge in lectures, but guiding students in the collaborative process of discovering and constructing knowledge, students are empowered” (57).
While I understand the pitfalls of group work, I believe the benefits far outweigh them. We’ve all either witnessed or been a part of a dysfunctional group. There is the obvious leader, the one who thinks he/she should be the leader, the divided supporters of each, and the ones who could care less because they intend to let the group carry them anyway. Of course, there are those who would rather go it alone and sink or swim on their own merit. As an educator I usually respect that, unless one of my goals for the assignment is the act of collaboration itself. I think it’s important that students learn to work together in a variety of environments, as this is more often than not how the work place operates.
It was—and is—important to establish norms for a group if it is to have any chance of success. The members must agree on what behaviors are acceptable and what are not and the consequences thereof. I try to let students create those norms as well, but their societal pressures often make it difficult.
I remember clearly my class here after a lengthy hiatus (let’s see, I raised a family, ran a business, and had my first grandchild before returning to academia). I was taking a speech class that required a group demonstration and therefore, a group working together to give that demonstration. I was quite concerned that the young pups in my class would not see me as a viable group member, but instead, as the old woman with nothing to offer. I wanted more than anything to prove my worth as a group member and establish myself in the circle of valuable groupies.
I think most everyone wants to feel as though they are a contributor to the "cause," whether that's in the classroom or the boardroom. We all want to know that we have thoughts and ideas that others view as important.
And even though I get the idea of the individual “hero” author of our culture, I don’t often see it at the freshman level. They are not concerned so much with their individual authorship as they are with grasping a concept and being successful transferring those ideas on paper or in discussion. Most often they accomplish that by way of at least, some group work. So, cultural tradition not withstanding, my students love working together on projects and assignments. I’m not sure if it’s the two-heads-are-better-than-one concept or the- misery-loves-company idea that they find so appealing. Either way, any form of group work, whether it is a pair responding to a prompt or a group researching a hot button issue, team effort is most always embraced.
Bruffee’s ideas that collaborative pedagogy “provides a social context in which students can experience and practice the kinds of conversations valued by college teachers” (56) fits like a glove for the social constructivist ideology embraced by this university’s School of Education. According to Richard Rorty, “knowledge…is constructed in the community and acquired in interaction with that community” (56). Aren’t we creating a community of sorts, every time we ask kids to get into a group to work out the meaning of a particular idea? As a graduate of this university, I have been steeped in social constructivist pedagogy and therefore find collaboration second-nature.
I find it both comforting and liberating to know that I am not that “sage on the stage” as I do not like the idea of lecturing. In fact, I do it infrequently, preferring a mini-lesson of ideas followed by lots of supported practice. This collaborative method forces more of the learning on the students rather than the teacher. “Much more frequently, scholars note ways in which collaborative pedagogy levels the teacher-student hierarchy. When teachers are no longer dispensing knowledge in lectures, but guiding students in the collaborative process of discovering and constructing knowledge, students are empowered” (57).
While I understand the pitfalls of group work, I believe the benefits far outweigh them. We’ve all either witnessed or been a part of a dysfunctional group. There is the obvious leader, the one who thinks he/she should be the leader, the divided supporters of each, and the ones who could care less because they intend to let the group carry them anyway. Of course, there are those who would rather go it alone and sink or swim on their own merit. As an educator I usually respect that, unless one of my goals for the assignment is the act of collaboration itself. I think it’s important that students learn to work together in a variety of environments, as this is more often than not how the work place operates.
It was—and is—important to establish norms for a group if it is to have any chance of success. The members must agree on what behaviors are acceptable and what are not and the consequences thereof. I try to let students create those norms as well, but their societal pressures often make it difficult.
I remember clearly my class here after a lengthy hiatus (let’s see, I raised a family, ran a business, and had my first grandchild before returning to academia). I was taking a speech class that required a group demonstration and therefore, a group working together to give that demonstration. I was quite concerned that the young pups in my class would not see me as a viable group member, but instead, as the old woman with nothing to offer. I wanted more than anything to prove my worth as a group member and establish myself in the circle of valuable groupies.
I think most everyone wants to feel as though they are a contributor to the "cause," whether that's in the classroom or the boardroom. We all want to know that we have thoughts and ideas that others view as important.
20 September 2008
Ethos, Pathos, Logos, and...Romeos???
Like Jake, I found this essay to be less than enlightening, but I must admit that this is not a concept that I’ve ever studied before. I have heard the word and I understood it enough…to keep my mouth shut.
I never seemed to be able to wrap my head around it.. So I confess that I didn’t go into the text with much in the way of prior knowledge and quite honestly, I walked away from the reading with little more. While I can certainly appreciate the ethos represented by Covino and his plethora of credits, those very same citations became cumbersome and obtrusive. Never one to be thwarted easily, I decided to do a little research on my own, hoping to find a way to make meaning of the rhetoric.
So after an hour or so on the internet, I had a better idea or at least didn’t feel quite so stupid.
In its basic form rhetoric is “the art of speaking or writing effectively and persuasively” (Merriman-Webster). Well, that seems simple enough. Why is this so complicated? It’s so complicated because no one seems to be able to agree on just what is the “real” theory of rhetoric. The concept of rhetoric is so profound that it goes back to 600 BCE with the Sophists (who are they?). In Ancient Greece guys like Aristotle and Socrates (them I know) and a bunch of their cronies sat around in their bed sheets thinking deep thoughts and waxing poetic in the original philosopher’s think tank. Here in the “cradle of civilization” is where much of our traditional theories of rhetoric originate, but even those brainiacs couldn’t agree. So while the theorists battle it out, once again, I’ll look through the eyes of my freshman for some common ground that we can use in the classroom.
Personally, I like the idea from Gerard A. Hauser (Introduction to Rhetorical Theory, 1986):
“Rhetoric is an instrumental use of language…One person engages another person in an exchange of symbols to accomplish some goal. It is not communication for communication’s sake. Rhetoric is communication that attempts to coordinate social action…its goal is to influence human choices on specific matters that require immediate attention.”
Kenneth Burke agrees when he defines rhetoric as “the use of symbols to induce cooperation in those who by nature respond to symbols” (45). As human beings, we are the users of symbols. We are the writers, the speech makers, the ones who can make sense of those symbols. Ancient rhetoric focused primarily on speech, but today’s rhetoric encompasses not only the spoken and written word, but also the symbols found in media such as film, radio, television, internet, etc.
Think about the recent political conventions… better examples of rhetoric can not be found.
I get the idea of the relevance of rhetoric as it, “increased professional attention to the teaching of writing… [Which legitimized the field of composition]… (37). Kinneavy posits the importance of the communication triangle of writer, audience, and context as the “relationship that attends all language use” (37) Isn’t this something we talk about with our students when they are writing? Think about your audience, the message that you, the writer, want to get across, and the best medium to present that message? If rhetoric is the talk that prompts action, then aren’t we teaching rhetoric whenever we ask kids to respond to a prompt that forces them to take a stand, support that stance with evidence, and thereby convince the audience of their idea of truth?
The last quarter of the freshman year is driven by the big idea of “Making Good Choices.” A study of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet anchors this design. At the end of the play, I ask my students to consider the following and choose either option A or B.
Friar Lawrence has been accused of involuntary manslaughter in the deaths of Romeo and Juliet. Remember that involuntary manslaughter is the unlawful killing of another human being without intent.
A. You are the prosecuting attorney in the case against Friar Lawrence. It is your job to prove that the friar is guilty and deserves to be punished.
B. You are the defense attorney in the case against Friar Lawrence. It is your job to prove that the friar is not guilty and therefore deserves no punishment.
Directions: You must take a stance, establish your credibility with the jury, support your claims with evidence from the play, citing both speaker and line, and then make a passionate plea to the jury in hopes that you will persuade them of either guilt or innocence.
We are considering the writer, the audience, and the context, as students are forced to establish ethos (credibility), pathos (emotional appeal), and logos (deductive reasoning) in order to make a persuasive appeal that will instigate some action.
Geez, I guess I’ve been teaching rhetoric all along…who knew??
I never seemed to be able to wrap my head around it.. So I confess that I didn’t go into the text with much in the way of prior knowledge and quite honestly, I walked away from the reading with little more. While I can certainly appreciate the ethos represented by Covino and his plethora of credits, those very same citations became cumbersome and obtrusive. Never one to be thwarted easily, I decided to do a little research on my own, hoping to find a way to make meaning of the rhetoric.
So after an hour or so on the internet, I had a better idea or at least didn’t feel quite so stupid.
In its basic form rhetoric is “the art of speaking or writing effectively and persuasively” (Merriman-Webster). Well, that seems simple enough. Why is this so complicated? It’s so complicated because no one seems to be able to agree on just what is the “real” theory of rhetoric. The concept of rhetoric is so profound that it goes back to 600 BCE with the Sophists (who are they?). In Ancient Greece guys like Aristotle and Socrates (them I know) and a bunch of their cronies sat around in their bed sheets thinking deep thoughts and waxing poetic in the original philosopher’s think tank. Here in the “cradle of civilization” is where much of our traditional theories of rhetoric originate, but even those brainiacs couldn’t agree. So while the theorists battle it out, once again, I’ll look through the eyes of my freshman for some common ground that we can use in the classroom.
Personally, I like the idea from Gerard A. Hauser (Introduction to Rhetorical Theory, 1986):
“Rhetoric is an instrumental use of language…One person engages another person in an exchange of symbols to accomplish some goal. It is not communication for communication’s sake. Rhetoric is communication that attempts to coordinate social action…its goal is to influence human choices on specific matters that require immediate attention.”
Kenneth Burke agrees when he defines rhetoric as “the use of symbols to induce cooperation in those who by nature respond to symbols” (45). As human beings, we are the users of symbols. We are the writers, the speech makers, the ones who can make sense of those symbols. Ancient rhetoric focused primarily on speech, but today’s rhetoric encompasses not only the spoken and written word, but also the symbols found in media such as film, radio, television, internet, etc.
Think about the recent political conventions… better examples of rhetoric can not be found.
I get the idea of the relevance of rhetoric as it, “increased professional attention to the teaching of writing… [Which legitimized the field of composition]… (37). Kinneavy posits the importance of the communication triangle of writer, audience, and context as the “relationship that attends all language use” (37) Isn’t this something we talk about with our students when they are writing? Think about your audience, the message that you, the writer, want to get across, and the best medium to present that message? If rhetoric is the talk that prompts action, then aren’t we teaching rhetoric whenever we ask kids to respond to a prompt that forces them to take a stand, support that stance with evidence, and thereby convince the audience of their idea of truth?
The last quarter of the freshman year is driven by the big idea of “Making Good Choices.” A study of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet anchors this design. At the end of the play, I ask my students to consider the following and choose either option A or B.
Friar Lawrence has been accused of involuntary manslaughter in the deaths of Romeo and Juliet. Remember that involuntary manslaughter is the unlawful killing of another human being without intent.
A. You are the prosecuting attorney in the case against Friar Lawrence. It is your job to prove that the friar is guilty and deserves to be punished.
B. You are the defense attorney in the case against Friar Lawrence. It is your job to prove that the friar is not guilty and therefore deserves no punishment.
Directions: You must take a stance, establish your credibility with the jury, support your claims with evidence from the play, citing both speaker and line, and then make a passionate plea to the jury in hopes that you will persuade them of either guilt or innocence.
We are considering the writer, the audience, and the context, as students are forced to establish ethos (credibility), pathos (emotional appeal), and logos (deductive reasoning) in order to make a persuasive appeal that will instigate some action.
Geez, I guess I’ve been teaching rhetoric all along…who knew??
19 September 2008
The Rhetorical Oracle
The rhetorical oracle lived on a hill
Just yonder from Pondering Swamp.
He spent his days in persuasive zeal
and histrionic pomp.
But the village agreed, he knew how to say
the things that folks wanted to hear.
He knew what to do. Yes! He sure had a way
Of planting ideas in your ear.
When the oracle spoke -- a grandiloquent master --
Waxing lugubrious prose,
We never considered impending disaster
Or the will that a word could impose.
A volcanic explosion erupted one day,
And the oracle sprung with a start.
He was slightly annoyed when his hill was destroyed.
Now he pushes a hot dog cart.
Just yonder from Pondering Swamp.
He spent his days in persuasive zeal
and histrionic pomp.
But the village agreed, he knew how to say
the things that folks wanted to hear.
He knew what to do. Yes! He sure had a way
Of planting ideas in your ear.
When the oracle spoke -- a grandiloquent master --
Waxing lugubrious prose,
We never considered impending disaster
Or the will that a word could impose.
A volcanic explosion erupted one day,
And the oracle sprung with a start.
He was slightly annoyed when his hill was destroyed.
Now he pushes a hot dog cart.
16 September 2008
A Dangerous Game of Inventing Truths
"Socrates suspects rhetoric--especially as it is practiced by the sophists--as a dangerous deferral of the pursuit of ideal truth" (41).
Rhetoric:
1. the available means of persuasion
2. the study of misunderstanding and its remedies
3. the performance of literacy
4. everything
Or perhaps as Socrates suggests, rhetoric is a dangerous tool. Taking rhetoric outside of the writing classroom for a minute, since "rhetoric is everything" anyway, and examining it in the context of a medical lab, a courtroom, or a boardroom, rhetoric has the power to begin and stop research, free and imprison the innocent, and make and break billion-dollar deals. Since persuasion has become such a powerful player in everything from politics to aesthetics, has it become an obstacle to the pursuit of truth, justice, and honor? Do we turn to "base rhetoric" to rationalize poor decisions we make or poor actions we take in order to sleep more soundly at night? When did the power to persuade become the power to excuse and abuse?
In Covino's brief history of rhetoric, it is clear that over the years, scholars have favored Aristotle's notion of contingent, relative truth over Plato's notion of ideal truth. In this sense, the end point of the history of rhetoric is fairly similar to Aristotle's starting point: reality is constructed by language. By using language to define our own realities and our own truths, and eventually redefine our own realities and our own truths, this notion of rhetoric does not simply help us see ambiguity and "misunderstandings," but, more severely, it serves as a hallucinogen that distorts and manipulates.
I need to keep thinking about this...particularly as someone who is teaching a composition and rhetoric course.
In the meantime, I will enjoy reading the theories of rhetorical scholars who do what Plato warns all against: talking in circles to prove their own points rather than working together in pursuit of the truth.
Rhetoric:
1. the available means of persuasion
2. the study of misunderstanding and its remedies
3. the performance of literacy
4. everything
Or perhaps as Socrates suggests, rhetoric is a dangerous tool. Taking rhetoric outside of the writing classroom for a minute, since "rhetoric is everything" anyway, and examining it in the context of a medical lab, a courtroom, or a boardroom, rhetoric has the power to begin and stop research, free and imprison the innocent, and make and break billion-dollar deals. Since persuasion has become such a powerful player in everything from politics to aesthetics, has it become an obstacle to the pursuit of truth, justice, and honor? Do we turn to "base rhetoric" to rationalize poor decisions we make or poor actions we take in order to sleep more soundly at night? When did the power to persuade become the power to excuse and abuse?
In Covino's brief history of rhetoric, it is clear that over the years, scholars have favored Aristotle's notion of contingent, relative truth over Plato's notion of ideal truth. In this sense, the end point of the history of rhetoric is fairly similar to Aristotle's starting point: reality is constructed by language. By using language to define our own realities and our own truths, and eventually redefine our own realities and our own truths, this notion of rhetoric does not simply help us see ambiguity and "misunderstandings," but, more severely, it serves as a hallucinogen that distorts and manipulates.
I need to keep thinking about this...particularly as someone who is teaching a composition and rhetoric course.
In the meantime, I will enjoy reading the theories of rhetorical scholars who do what Plato warns all against: talking in circles to prove their own points rather than working together in pursuit of the truth.
Ethos, Pathos, Logos...that's all I know...
Rhetorical Pedagogy
“Rhetorical Pedagogy” by William A. Covino
I admit rhetoric is something I have minimal knowledge about. All I know is ethos, pathos, logos, and a few of the famed theorists in rhetoric (e.g. Aristotle). Rhetorical Pedagogy (RP) seems to have some trouble figuring out how they fit into the modern make-up of compositional theory. That said, the historical presence of rhetoric has always been strong, but as time has progressed the historical/traditional rhetoricians have had trouble defining themselves and their field in modern education. While rhetoric has been everything from strictly structured to ambiguous and globally encompassing, rhetoric’s attention to audience, context, the message being portrayed via language is still necessary to consider today in teaching writing. However, what to take from RP seems to be the struggle for teachers. Personally, I think some rhetorical training and/or a thorough review of RP in a class would’ve been helpful to me as a budding teacher. I can see the value of knowing those early concepts and perhaps I could use some of those concepts in class more effectively, if I knew more. Therefore, I do question how much of RP should be a part of my teaching style/class. I also wonder how to use RP in a freshman composition class where the students don’t usually write a ‘traditional’ persuasive paper (yes, I aware that ‘traditional’ is somewhat nondescript on my end). Can I use RP in other ways, for other papers, and with text? I think so, but I feel I don’t know enough about the foundational theories/texts; therefore, RP seems to a large mountain to scale and I don’t know where to start. I even have trouble getting students to understand rhetorical strategies, which often start with the ‘basic’ ethos, pathos, and logos. I hope class will give me some practical applications or ideas of how to take this pedagogy and build upon what I already try to do.
“Rhetorical Pedagogy” by William A. Covino
I admit rhetoric is something I have minimal knowledge about. All I know is ethos, pathos, logos, and a few of the famed theorists in rhetoric (e.g. Aristotle). Rhetorical Pedagogy (RP) seems to have some trouble figuring out how they fit into the modern make-up of compositional theory. That said, the historical presence of rhetoric has always been strong, but as time has progressed the historical/traditional rhetoricians have had trouble defining themselves and their field in modern education. While rhetoric has been everything from strictly structured to ambiguous and globally encompassing, rhetoric’s attention to audience, context, the message being portrayed via language is still necessary to consider today in teaching writing. However, what to take from RP seems to be the struggle for teachers. Personally, I think some rhetorical training and/or a thorough review of RP in a class would’ve been helpful to me as a budding teacher. I can see the value of knowing those early concepts and perhaps I could use some of those concepts in class more effectively, if I knew more. Therefore, I do question how much of RP should be a part of my teaching style/class. I also wonder how to use RP in a freshman composition class where the students don’t usually write a ‘traditional’ persuasive paper (yes, I aware that ‘traditional’ is somewhat nondescript on my end). Can I use RP in other ways, for other papers, and with text? I think so, but I feel I don’t know enough about the foundational theories/texts; therefore, RP seems to a large mountain to scale and I don’t know where to start. I even have trouble getting students to understand rhetorical strategies, which often start with the ‘basic’ ethos, pathos, and logos. I hope class will give me some practical applications or ideas of how to take this pedagogy and build upon what I already try to do.
Back to our Aristotelian Roots - Rhetorical Pedagogy
If, as Covino states early in his article, “a rhetorical pedagogy […] keeps in view the skills and contingencies that attend a variety of situations and circumstances” (37), is there room for some elements of this pedagogy in today’s writing classroom? As I read the article I was hoping to find more answers. What I did find interesting, however, was Covino’s review of the history of rhetoric, especially his description of its disappearance with the rise of objective scientific inquiry and the resulting current-traditional rhetoric. However, it seems the door was opened for another look at rhetorical pedagogy during twentieth-century rejection of rules-bound methods. My snapshot-only knowledge of Aristotelian rhetoric and its focus on “invention” and the use of language to shape our world tell me there might be something in it for writing teachers as we struggle to impart knowledge about methods of discourse in our classrooms.
The Old is the New is the Old Again (but it's probably best if we don't concern ourselves with defining the term)
If the goal of rhetorical pedagogy is to empower the student to search for truth, the meaning of everything, and to examine the connection "between constructed and actual experience" (47), I have to recognize this as a laudable goal and a philosophically ambitious view of language. But rhetorical pedagogy assumes a lot about the student it is trying to liberate and refine.
First, it assumes that the same privileges afforded to the educated classes thousands of years ago which allowed rhetoric to flourish are the same held by students today. It assumes that the student comes to the class equipped with a solid educational base and a world view reinforced by a family structure which places a high value on education and the search for truth, clarity and understanding. An education interrupted by hunger, poverty, violence or simple indifference at home poses a problem to the student of rhetorical pedagogy.
It also assumes that the student has some recognition of their command of their language, that they haven't been told their language is "wrong" or that it and their thoughts need correction, and that the language and methodology they are being taught hasn't been used against them.
From what I understand of it, I admire rhetorical pedagogy for its emphasis on the power of language, but I'm worried that it simply reinforces mimicry of the language of the dominant class, ethnicity, gender, and race rather than fostering the variances of languages used within minority communities.
I'm basing this off my own experiences with rhetorical pedagogy both as a student and a teacher. As a student, I thought the rigid structure and emphasis of function over form was insulting. As I teacher, I found it insulting as well, and ultimately, seemed to appeal more to administrators and text book publishers than those in the classroom. Is that harsh? Probably.
Again, I think I see the goal and the need for what rhetorical pedagogy is trying to accomplish, but I think it's a bit presumptuous to heap this on the student (especially considering that the definition of rhetoric is a moving target- what it is exactly?). I'm not comfortable in declaring this pedagogy unusable; I'm sure it has a time and a place, but I haven't been able to figure out either (again, speaking from my experience).
The structure and discipline it offers is attractive, but when I hear those terms - "structure" "topic sentences" "controlled writing" - I can't help but interpret that as "good writing is such and such". Where does that leave writing that does not mimic the model de jour? By definition, that would mean it's considered bad, right?
O brave new pedagogy with such ambiguity in't
This pedagogy appears to be the one most applicable, so far, to my area of interest in the English M.A. program here at IUPUI in the promising insight that the study of rhetoric offers in the area of bringing awareness of how "discourse indicates the motives and desires -- the interests -- of writers, audiences, and the institutions they represent" (Covino 48) even as the definition of its focus is not agreed upon: what exactly is rhetoric?
My own position is a synthesis of Sophistic ideas and those Covino links to Aristotelian roots whose precepts seem to answer the problems raised by pedagogies that emphasize process while preserving and furthering their aim of self actualization which Robert Burnham triumphantly links to the “centrality of ethos” in Aristotle’s Rhetoric (21). Ethos, though certainly important, cannot stand alone; it is only one third of Aristotle’s triangle of rhetoric. Covino proposes a reconciliation of the expressive with its fellow foundational elements in James Kinneavy’s modernization, the “communication triangle:”
Covino points out the structuralistic elements of the Sophistic ideas that challenge Aristotelian theories of rhetoric when he names truth a “contingent phenomenon” (40) and invokes Mikhail Bakhtin’s dialogical materialism that calls for “a rhetorical pedagogy that (1) recognizes that material reality is ideologically and linguistically constructed and (2) asks questions about the relation of that construction to lived experience” (47). This means of giving process pedagogies a more rigorous foundation stands opposed to Plato’s Socrates who says the way to approach an ideal rhetoric is to “first know the truth about every single subject on which he speaks or writes” (40) and appears an apt solution to the problems that arise when absolute truth is a goal for expression in a culturally diverse linguistic community, culminating in Kenneth Burke’s definition of rhetorical invention: “the process of exploiting the dialogical relationship among ideas, attitudes, and beliefs” (46). In defining rhetoric as “a mode of altering reality” (47) Lloyd Bitzer recognizes the inherent power of language over consciousness while implying the importance of structure, because, as Bakhtin says above, it is the logic within any language that gives it form and thus power.
So why is all of this important to me in my studies? My interest in language and literature stems from my deeper interest in philosophy, especially epistemology, and sociology – why is our culture the way it is today? By understanding how an author wields rhetoric in his writing process and by examining the different manifestations of the text in the separate extant versions and the circumstances of their editing, I believe I can gain insight into the philosophical development of our society. My hope is that with a clear understanding our evolution we may more productively create our future.
My own position is a synthesis of Sophistic ideas and those Covino links to Aristotelian roots whose precepts seem to answer the problems raised by pedagogies that emphasize process while preserving and furthering their aim of self actualization which Robert Burnham triumphantly links to the “centrality of ethos” in Aristotle’s Rhetoric (21). Ethos, though certainly important, cannot stand alone; it is only one third of Aristotle’s triangle of rhetoric. Covino proposes a reconciliation of the expressive with its fellow foundational elements in James Kinneavy’s modernization, the “communication triangle:”
a rhetorical pedagogy consists in encouraging writing that is not restricted to self-expression or the acontextual generation of syntactic structures or the formulaic obedience to rules, but instead keeps in view the skills and contingencies that attend a variety of situations and circumstances. (37)From this definition it follows that rhetoric is, or can be, a logical and educated means through which one may express and thereby clarify one’s own perception of truth.
Covino points out the structuralistic elements of the Sophistic ideas that challenge Aristotelian theories of rhetoric when he names truth a “contingent phenomenon” (40) and invokes Mikhail Bakhtin’s dialogical materialism that calls for “a rhetorical pedagogy that (1) recognizes that material reality is ideologically and linguistically constructed and (2) asks questions about the relation of that construction to lived experience” (47). This means of giving process pedagogies a more rigorous foundation stands opposed to Plato’s Socrates who says the way to approach an ideal rhetoric is to “first know the truth about every single subject on which he speaks or writes” (40) and appears an apt solution to the problems that arise when absolute truth is a goal for expression in a culturally diverse linguistic community, culminating in Kenneth Burke’s definition of rhetorical invention: “the process of exploiting the dialogical relationship among ideas, attitudes, and beliefs” (46). In defining rhetoric as “a mode of altering reality” (47) Lloyd Bitzer recognizes the inherent power of language over consciousness while implying the importance of structure, because, as Bakhtin says above, it is the logic within any language that gives it form and thus power.
So why is all of this important to me in my studies? My interest in language and literature stems from my deeper interest in philosophy, especially epistemology, and sociology – why is our culture the way it is today? By understanding how an author wields rhetoric in his writing process and by examining the different manifestations of the text in the separate extant versions and the circumstances of their editing, I believe I can gain insight into the philosophical development of our society. My hope is that with a clear understanding our evolution we may more productively create our future.
15 September 2008
Reality is Rhetorical
"The idea that reality is 'rhetorical' has brought into focus the problem of defining rhetoric itself. When we teach 'rhetoric,' what is it that we are teaching? One answer is, 'everything' (Covino 47).
"Rhetoric is a mode of altering reality. . . " (Bitzer, qtd in Covino 47).
---
Oh most beautiful solution: rhetoric.
Oh most complicated task: rhetoric.
Oh most nebulous definition: rhetoric.
Oh most majority-centric past: rhetoric.
Let me be frank: I think we can learn a lot from rhetorical pedagogy. If my students could THINK and CONSTRUCT ARGUMENTS the way that rhetoricians of old did--I would celebrate mightily.
Perhaps the thing I like most about rhetorical pedagogy (RP) is the idea that, through our rhetorical choices, we really and truly create the universe in which our ideas are sounded.
(All those interested in god-hood, here's your ticket.)
Why is this good? This, I think, opens up rhetorical pedagogy to all people, regardless of age/gender/color/background/ethnicity/etc. etc. etc. In a framework of a rhetorician's choosing, more methodologies become admissible.
Now, I'm not saying that there won't be significant work at hand, especially if the writer is proposing a reality readers may be unaccustomed to. However, the opportunity is significant. And I see this as bringing 'functional' or 'academic' writing closer to the creative arts--context, rhetorical universe, etc. is quite important there. Isn't that what the creative writers do--understand what's been done and then change it, or oblige its continuance?
More than anything, though, rhetoric's 'past'--its old, dead, white guy past--gives the modern rhetorician something to either work with, or, even, against. Do you fancy some inverted binaries? Go forth!
Now: what would it take to teach this? What would students have to be exposed to, to support a RP? I'd like to think about it further, and I just may with my extended project for this class. I really believe in pressing students to become aware of the written context that exists so far outside of their reality, it sometimes seems. Let's make our students aware that their existence is part of a greater whole and that their writing is too.
And that is all, for now.
"Rhetoric is a mode of altering reality. . . " (Bitzer, qtd in Covino 47).
---
Oh most beautiful solution: rhetoric.
Oh most complicated task: rhetoric.
Oh most nebulous definition: rhetoric.
Oh most majority-centric past: rhetoric.
Let me be frank: I think we can learn a lot from rhetorical pedagogy. If my students could THINK and CONSTRUCT ARGUMENTS the way that rhetoricians of old did--I would celebrate mightily.
Perhaps the thing I like most about rhetorical pedagogy (RP) is the idea that, through our rhetorical choices, we really and truly create the universe in which our ideas are sounded.
(All those interested in god-hood, here's your ticket.)
Why is this good? This, I think, opens up rhetorical pedagogy to all people, regardless of age/gender/color/background/ethnicity/etc. etc. etc. In a framework of a rhetorician's choosing, more methodologies become admissible.
Now, I'm not saying that there won't be significant work at hand, especially if the writer is proposing a reality readers may be unaccustomed to. However, the opportunity is significant. And I see this as bringing 'functional' or 'academic' writing closer to the creative arts--context, rhetorical universe, etc. is quite important there. Isn't that what the creative writers do--understand what's been done and then change it, or oblige its continuance?
More than anything, though, rhetoric's 'past'--its old, dead, white guy past--gives the modern rhetorician something to either work with, or, even, against. Do you fancy some inverted binaries? Go forth!
Now: what would it take to teach this? What would students have to be exposed to, to support a RP? I'd like to think about it further, and I just may with my extended project for this class. I really believe in pressing students to become aware of the written context that exists so far outside of their reality, it sometimes seems. Let's make our students aware that their existence is part of a greater whole and that their writing is too.
And that is all, for now.
10 September 2008
pull a tooth
I finished reading Covino's essay Rhetorical Pedagogy and felt as if by reading it, I now understand less about rhetoric than I did before. It is clear that he has read just about all that there is to read on the subject, what isn't clear is what he really thinks about the subject. I would have really preferred to been shown a clear argument on what he has concluded about the meaning of rhetorical pedagogy. Instead, he presents us with, seemingly, every idea about rhetoric ever presented alongside laundry lists of books and authors and seldom without even a brief summary of what these authors have to say.
My grasp of rhetoric, at least up until now, was a fairly simple notion of the search for truth. Begin with the big picture, and whittle the question down bit by bit until the focus of the big picture is captured and identified. Start big, end small. The questions are regulated by the ethos, pathos and logos, but there is still the idea of reaching, or at least attempting, to reach a conclusion. Covino manages to begin with the big picture and make it into an even larger picture, brings it even further out of focus and drops the name of anyone he could find along the way.
In his defense, there is the question of audience. Yes, anyone reading this essay may be either familiar with many of the author's ideas before reading this essay, or looking for sources for thier own research purposes. That still doesn't make it okay to list five authors, multiple times, in one paragraph within a ten page essay.
I could be making the mistake of confusing a writer writing about rhetoric with the idea of an actual rhetorician. At the same time, I have no greater an understanding of what Rhetorical Pedagogy is as there were no clearly defined terms to his essay, and certainly no moral reason for it.
I am probably totally wrong, and anyone reading this is going to think I am an idiot for not seeing some easily defined and clearly presented points jumping off of the pages of this essay. Maybe I have been blinded by my dislike for the way this essay was written.
My grasp of rhetoric, at least up until now, was a fairly simple notion of the search for truth. Begin with the big picture, and whittle the question down bit by bit until the focus of the big picture is captured and identified. Start big, end small. The questions are regulated by the ethos, pathos and logos, but there is still the idea of reaching, or at least attempting, to reach a conclusion. Covino manages to begin with the big picture and make it into an even larger picture, brings it even further out of focus and drops the name of anyone he could find along the way.
In his defense, there is the question of audience. Yes, anyone reading this essay may be either familiar with many of the author's ideas before reading this essay, or looking for sources for thier own research purposes. That still doesn't make it okay to list five authors, multiple times, in one paragraph within a ten page essay.
I could be making the mistake of confusing a writer writing about rhetoric with the idea of an actual rhetorician. At the same time, I have no greater an understanding of what Rhetorical Pedagogy is as there were no clearly defined terms to his essay, and certainly no moral reason for it.
I am probably totally wrong, and anyone reading this is going to think I am an idiot for not seeing some easily defined and clearly presented points jumping off of the pages of this essay. Maybe I have been blinded by my dislike for the way this essay was written.
09 September 2008
Expressive Pedagogy
First of all, I agree with Kim that the article "Expressive Pedagogy: Practice/Theory, Theory/Practice" by Christopher Burnham was quiet hard to get through and I feel that I am a seasoned reader of academic writing.
That little expression of support aside, I will now delve into the depths of the article and what I gleaned from it. First of all, I see similarities between Process Pedagogy (PP) and Expressive Pedagogy (EP). There is an element in each that is devoted to the individual--in process the individual's creative process in regards to creating writing, while in expressive a focus on the individual's voice and making meaning & self-development through language. And I should add that I don't believe that these two pedagogies are ignoring their social obligation (if that is what I should call it) in any regard (as critics have tried to point out). Only if the pedagogy is followed as pure, truly pure, might the social disregard become an issue. Moving on...
Briton's standing on/contribution to EP is interesting because he combines linguistics, literary criticism, philosophy, and psychology in his work (Burnham 26). Examining theory and building theory from multiple backgrounds/theories allows for a more diverse foundation. Elements of EP might be highly criticized and questionable, but isn't that par for any theory, especially those in the humanities? There are qualities that can't be denied, like EP's longevity.
Now time for teacher reflection: In my teaching experience I have used ideas from Elbow, such as center of gravity and his ideas on reader response. I believe it is necessary for students to find a voice in order to be productive and aware citizens. Following the crowd doesn't allow for awareness/growth. Voice gives a person an individualistic quality and gives writing interest, something an audience wants to read. Furthermore, balancing personal writing/expression with academic discourse conventions is a challenge every teacher in college writing faces. Which do we teach them first? Do we try to teach them both? Should a student find their voice (or at least comfort with writing) before teaching them conventions? Is teaching them conventions up to English composition teachers? (I could go on.) And it is a balancing act regardless of which pedagogy you adhere to. Teachers are learning (or know) that students need to feel comfortable with writing and expressing themselves before they are really ready to learn and understand the academic discourse conventions. Well, at least I think that. Conventions can be slipped in while teaching students to express themselves but probably shouldn't be the focus of a composition class. Well, I shall sign off for now.
That little expression of support aside, I will now delve into the depths of the article and what I gleaned from it. First of all, I see similarities between Process Pedagogy (PP) and Expressive Pedagogy (EP). There is an element in each that is devoted to the individual--in process the individual's creative process in regards to creating writing, while in expressive a focus on the individual's voice and making meaning & self-development through language. And I should add that I don't believe that these two pedagogies are ignoring their social obligation (if that is what I should call it) in any regard (as critics have tried to point out). Only if the pedagogy is followed as pure, truly pure, might the social disregard become an issue. Moving on...
Briton's standing on/contribution to EP is interesting because he combines linguistics, literary criticism, philosophy, and psychology in his work (Burnham 26). Examining theory and building theory from multiple backgrounds/theories allows for a more diverse foundation. Elements of EP might be highly criticized and questionable, but isn't that par for any theory, especially those in the humanities? There are qualities that can't be denied, like EP's longevity.
Now time for teacher reflection: In my teaching experience I have used ideas from Elbow, such as center of gravity and his ideas on reader response. I believe it is necessary for students to find a voice in order to be productive and aware citizens. Following the crowd doesn't allow for awareness/growth. Voice gives a person an individualistic quality and gives writing interest, something an audience wants to read. Furthermore, balancing personal writing/expression with academic discourse conventions is a challenge every teacher in college writing faces. Which do we teach them first? Do we try to teach them both? Should a student find their voice (or at least comfort with writing) before teaching them conventions? Is teaching them conventions up to English composition teachers? (I could go on.) And it is a balancing act regardless of which pedagogy you adhere to. Teachers are learning (or know) that students need to feel comfortable with writing and expressing themselves before they are really ready to learn and understand the academic discourse conventions. Well, at least I think that. Conventions can be slipped in while teaching students to express themselves but probably shouldn't be the focus of a composition class. Well, I shall sign off for now.
Trusting Your Conscious Behavior
Response 2
After I read the excerpt on expressive pedagogy, I remembered Virginia Woolf’s views on fiction in her critical essay, “Modern Fiction.” Though she was critiquing fiction, I think the characteristics she believes fiction should have can be applied to writing and pedagogy. According to Burnham, expressive pedagogy places a significant emphasis on the writer. His voice or his “imaginative, psychological, social and spiritual development” is what teachers should examine; how these elements influence or shape society should also be a criterion. This is how Virginia Woolf defines fiction as well. She argues that writers, and in our case students, spend too much time trying to please their audience and not enough time discovering what they want to say. In “Modern Fiction” she writes, “ […] if a writer were a free man and not a slave, if he could write what he chose, not what he must, if he could base his work upon his own feeling and not upon convention, there would be no plot, no comedy, no tragedy, no love interest or catastrophe in the accepted style […].” In other words, if we spend too much time elaborating our conventions then we can’t spend time discovering our individuality.
I like the notion that the act of writing helps a writer discover his identity. Burnham explains, “Elbow’s Writing Without Teachers (1973) values the act of writing as a means for both making, meaning, and creating identity.” Writing should be a process that leads you to discover who you are and what you believe. As I write, I usually do not have a purpose in mind, but the process of writing enables me to discover one. I then have one of those “Aha!” moments and find myself saying, “So this what I think about this.” I take the delicate grasp I had on a vague idea and solidify it on paper and in words. Burnham further confirms, “According to Murray, ‘The writer is constantly learning from the writing that it intends to say. The writer listens for evolving meaning…The writing itself helps the writer see the subject.”
That writing is not linear process is an idea I strongly agree with. My thoughts and reflections are never conceived in an organized format. In composition classes organization and discovery should be considered an objective instead of a prerequisite. Woolf emphasizes that the writer should be concerned with his own state of consciousness instead of a historical, literary state of consciousness. She explains, “Let us record the atoms as they fall upon the mind in the order in which they fall, let us trace the pattern, however disconnected and incoherent in appearance, which each sight or incident scores upon the consciousness.” Learning from great writers or the classics should serve as a guideline and not as formula. I am not interested in repeating what has already been said; instead, I’d like to bring to my own perspective to the table. Maybe this is a better way to achieve what the expressivists refer to as “voice” or “ethos.” Approaching writing with integrity and originality allows you to contribute to the scholastic endeavor instead of providing prefabrications on what has already been said.
After I read the excerpt on expressive pedagogy, I remembered Virginia Woolf’s views on fiction in her critical essay, “Modern Fiction.” Though she was critiquing fiction, I think the characteristics she believes fiction should have can be applied to writing and pedagogy. According to Burnham, expressive pedagogy places a significant emphasis on the writer. His voice or his “imaginative, psychological, social and spiritual development” is what teachers should examine; how these elements influence or shape society should also be a criterion. This is how Virginia Woolf defines fiction as well. She argues that writers, and in our case students, spend too much time trying to please their audience and not enough time discovering what they want to say. In “Modern Fiction” she writes, “ […] if a writer were a free man and not a slave, if he could write what he chose, not what he must, if he could base his work upon his own feeling and not upon convention, there would be no plot, no comedy, no tragedy, no love interest or catastrophe in the accepted style […].” In other words, if we spend too much time elaborating our conventions then we can’t spend time discovering our individuality.
I like the notion that the act of writing helps a writer discover his identity. Burnham explains, “Elbow’s Writing Without Teachers (1973) values the act of writing as a means for both making, meaning, and creating identity.” Writing should be a process that leads you to discover who you are and what you believe. As I write, I usually do not have a purpose in mind, but the process of writing enables me to discover one. I then have one of those “Aha!” moments and find myself saying, “So this what I think about this.” I take the delicate grasp I had on a vague idea and solidify it on paper and in words. Burnham further confirms, “According to Murray, ‘The writer is constantly learning from the writing that it intends to say. The writer listens for evolving meaning…The writing itself helps the writer see the subject.”
That writing is not linear process is an idea I strongly agree with. My thoughts and reflections are never conceived in an organized format. In composition classes organization and discovery should be considered an objective instead of a prerequisite. Woolf emphasizes that the writer should be concerned with his own state of consciousness instead of a historical, literary state of consciousness. She explains, “Let us record the atoms as they fall upon the mind in the order in which they fall, let us trace the pattern, however disconnected and incoherent in appearance, which each sight or incident scores upon the consciousness.” Learning from great writers or the classics should serve as a guideline and not as formula. I am not interested in repeating what has already been said; instead, I’d like to bring to my own perspective to the table. Maybe this is a better way to achieve what the expressivists refer to as “voice” or “ethos.” Approaching writing with integrity and originality allows you to contribute to the scholastic endeavor instead of providing prefabrications on what has already been said.
Yes and No
I do so love to experience theory on the page--in this case, the academic essays that fill our comp pedagogy book. But I always worry that by the time I've managed to travel from point A--the beginning--to point B--the end, I have lost something. I certainly react to moments in the middle, making joyful, feverish annotations or brow-furrows as I read passages that alternatively thrill and puzzle me. But did I get it?
I guess I can thank expressive pedagogy for one thing: it does value me and, particularly, my written reaction. I can feel supported in my moderate bewilderment because hey, at least I've troubled to try out some ideas in writing.
And that is where expressive pedagogy gets my YES. YES, to getting students to write from their experiences. YES to a pedagogy that creates a space for voices (Burham 33). YES to valuing individuality.
But I can't say YES without qualification. (When can we ever? Maybe just to chocolate cake.) I am continually concerned with a pedagogy that purports to derive all of its meaning from reflection and from the self. Expressive pedagogy seems to be asking us to agree that, were we to sit and reflect enough, and were we to share those reflections with others doing similar work, we could discover all we needed to know about the world, universe, and so forth. Expressive pedagogy asks one to buy into a particular way of understanding humanity, meaning-making, our role the universe, etc... That's not NECESSARILY bad, if one agrees with the ideology it seemingly supports. We simply need to be aware that by backing a particular pedagogy, we're aligning with a particular world view.
And does that undermine the very nature of expressive pedagogy? Is expressive pedagogy self-negating? Expressive pedagogy is supported by a particular ideology, yet it encourages multiplicity and rejection of the hard-and-fast.
Perhaps I'm over-reacting. It's happened before.
Overall, there is much good in expressive pedagogy. I just don't think it'll work in a pure form--but then, what does? We should take what we need and get out.
I guess I can thank expressive pedagogy for one thing: it does value me and, particularly, my written reaction. I can feel supported in my moderate bewilderment because hey, at least I've troubled to try out some ideas in writing.
And that is where expressive pedagogy gets my YES. YES, to getting students to write from their experiences. YES to a pedagogy that creates a space for voices (Burham 33). YES to valuing individuality.
But I can't say YES without qualification. (When can we ever? Maybe just to chocolate cake.) I am continually concerned with a pedagogy that purports to derive all of its meaning from reflection and from the self. Expressive pedagogy seems to be asking us to agree that, were we to sit and reflect enough, and were we to share those reflections with others doing similar work, we could discover all we needed to know about the world, universe, and so forth. Expressive pedagogy asks one to buy into a particular way of understanding humanity, meaning-making, our role the universe, etc... That's not NECESSARILY bad, if one agrees with the ideology it seemingly supports. We simply need to be aware that by backing a particular pedagogy, we're aligning with a particular world view.
And does that undermine the very nature of expressive pedagogy? Is expressive pedagogy self-negating? Expressive pedagogy is supported by a particular ideology, yet it encourages multiplicity and rejection of the hard-and-fast.
Perhaps I'm over-reacting. It's happened before.
Overall, there is much good in expressive pedagogy. I just don't think it'll work in a pure form--but then, what does? We should take what we need and get out.
08 September 2008
On seeing the trees...
I’ve just finished reading Burnham’s article and I have to tell you that the one thing, the one emotion that I feel at this moment is …heavy-sigh-induced relief. I am relieved that I made it through the maze of academic verbosity that describes this piece. After twisting this way and turning that way to find some source of meaning in this labyrinth of academia, I was frustrated at best and downright mad at worst. I think I must have come into the academic world too late in life to appreciate this convoluted inversion of discourse. Either that or my intellectual side is so steeped in practicality and simplicity that I can’t see the trees for the forest.
According to Steve, expressivism and process share a lot of the same trees in this forest, so I will begin looking for the familiar branches of process pedagogy as the signposts among the dense undergrowth. Burnham states that that “expressivist pedagogy employs free writing, journal keeping, reflective writing, and small-group dialogic collaborative response to foster a writer’s aesthetic, cognitive, and moral development…(and) encourages a sense of writer presence (voice) even in research-based writing” (19). Well now, doesn’t this just sound familiar? Tobin says essentially the same thing, “it was the version of process that emphasized free writing, voice, personal narrative, and writing as a form of discovery…that influenced classroom practice” (Tobin 9) It seems that both pedagogies are so interwoven that it’s difficult to tell where one begins and the other ends. (The deeper we get into the forest, the thicker the trees) Although I do get the sense that expressivism is a good deal more concerned about my “rhetorical training…a moral undertaking concerned with justice, self-control, and virtue” (Burnham 21)
Rhetorical training notwithstanding, I’m going to stick with my strong suit and look with my practical teacher’s eye to find what exists in the maze for me as an educator. What I find is something that has become essential to my growth as an educator: expressive pedagogy is entrenched in reflective practice—a vehicle for thoughts and ideas, successes and failures, emotions and even, data. And the basis for expressivism: the ubiquitous journal. Even Peter Elbow admits that it was his own journal writing that formed the cornerstone of expressivism. “Expressive pedagogy is systematic and purposeful, based on a theory of relations between language, meaning making, and self-development. Elbow’s free writing, based originally on his own journal writing, requires self-conscious language processing” (Burnham 35).
Through this medium, we privately make sense of what, why, and how we do what we do. It is in that making of meaning that we are spurred to action. As an educator-especially one with the propensity for questioning the status quo- my reflective practice is essential to my sanity. It is the place where I work out ideas, pat myself on the back, kvetch about things I hate, and look for better ways to reach kids. This is self-actualization at its finest; those steps to higher order thinking that spur us on to action…or get some of us in trouble.
So—do I think journal writing will set a fire to the social activists’ flame of my students? Hardly!! But—it might just make them think outside their narrow little box of Whiteland, Indiana. It might allow them to consider a bigger picture of society if they are urged to reflect on ideas of a larger scope like racism, poverty, courage, heroes, identity, etc. For example...
One of the most profound moments of every year occurs while reading To Kill a Mockingbird.
Before we get to the part where Atticus faces the mob in front of the jail, we spend a day or two defining and discussing the idea of mob justice, including Jim Crow laws and the Klan. I usually end this discussion with a clip from Mississippi Burning. They see first hand the cruelty of the ignorant when they view the scenes where three young college boys are brutally murdered, where black folks are savagely beaten while leaving church, and where a father of four is hung from a tree on his own farm.
When it is finished we write our feelings in our journals (I write, as well). There is no need for discussion—in fact, it is one of the few times that I don’t have to remind them to keep quiet. Many stay beyond the passing bell to finish their thoughts and there have been more than a few tears. What I find in their writing is a mixed bag of emotions. They don’t know whether to be angry or sad. Most often they are just embarrassed; embarrassed that this is their legacy.
Does this change them? Who knows…it does, however, give them a moment to pause, to think about the idea of discrimination, ignorance, and cruelty beyond reason and maybe, it will be the pause that keeps one of them from saying something cruel or stops another from picking a fight. Baby steps...
Sometimes that’s all we can hope for...from a little journal.
According to Steve, expressivism and process share a lot of the same trees in this forest, so I will begin looking for the familiar branches of process pedagogy as the signposts among the dense undergrowth. Burnham states that that “expressivist pedagogy employs free writing, journal keeping, reflective writing, and small-group dialogic collaborative response to foster a writer’s aesthetic, cognitive, and moral development…(and) encourages a sense of writer presence (voice) even in research-based writing” (19). Well now, doesn’t this just sound familiar? Tobin says essentially the same thing, “it was the version of process that emphasized free writing, voice, personal narrative, and writing as a form of discovery…that influenced classroom practice” (Tobin 9) It seems that both pedagogies are so interwoven that it’s difficult to tell where one begins and the other ends. (The deeper we get into the forest, the thicker the trees) Although I do get the sense that expressivism is a good deal more concerned about my “rhetorical training…a moral undertaking concerned with justice, self-control, and virtue” (Burnham 21)
Rhetorical training notwithstanding, I’m going to stick with my strong suit and look with my practical teacher’s eye to find what exists in the maze for me as an educator. What I find is something that has become essential to my growth as an educator: expressive pedagogy is entrenched in reflective practice—a vehicle for thoughts and ideas, successes and failures, emotions and even, data. And the basis for expressivism: the ubiquitous journal. Even Peter Elbow admits that it was his own journal writing that formed the cornerstone of expressivism. “Expressive pedagogy is systematic and purposeful, based on a theory of relations between language, meaning making, and self-development. Elbow’s free writing, based originally on his own journal writing, requires self-conscious language processing” (Burnham 35).
Through this medium, we privately make sense of what, why, and how we do what we do. It is in that making of meaning that we are spurred to action. As an educator-especially one with the propensity for questioning the status quo- my reflective practice is essential to my sanity. It is the place where I work out ideas, pat myself on the back, kvetch about things I hate, and look for better ways to reach kids. This is self-actualization at its finest; those steps to higher order thinking that spur us on to action…or get some of us in trouble.
So—do I think journal writing will set a fire to the social activists’ flame of my students? Hardly!! But—it might just make them think outside their narrow little box of Whiteland, Indiana. It might allow them to consider a bigger picture of society if they are urged to reflect on ideas of a larger scope like racism, poverty, courage, heroes, identity, etc. For example...
One of the most profound moments of every year occurs while reading To Kill a Mockingbird.
Before we get to the part where Atticus faces the mob in front of the jail, we spend a day or two defining and discussing the idea of mob justice, including Jim Crow laws and the Klan. I usually end this discussion with a clip from Mississippi Burning. They see first hand the cruelty of the ignorant when they view the scenes where three young college boys are brutally murdered, where black folks are savagely beaten while leaving church, and where a father of four is hung from a tree on his own farm.
When it is finished we write our feelings in our journals (I write, as well). There is no need for discussion—in fact, it is one of the few times that I don’t have to remind them to keep quiet. Many stay beyond the passing bell to finish their thoughts and there have been more than a few tears. What I find in their writing is a mixed bag of emotions. They don’t know whether to be angry or sad. Most often they are just embarrassed; embarrassed that this is their legacy.
Does this change them? Who knows…it does, however, give them a moment to pause, to think about the idea of discrimination, ignorance, and cruelty beyond reason and maybe, it will be the pause that keeps one of them from saying something cruel or stops another from picking a fight. Baby steps...
Sometimes that’s all we can hope for...from a little journal.
Ethos, Humanism, and Individualism! Oh, my!
In reading “Expressive Pedagogy: Practice/Theory, Theory/Practice” by Christopher Burnham, I kept finding myself thinking that we live in quite an exciting time! It seems that many of the proverbial pieces are in place for the culmination of something wonderful.
While it initially seemed strange to me that the four branches of process pedagogy should compete as Tobin and Faigley say they do (10), I now see the productivity of such competition: while each division surely hopes to nullify the other, in trying to do so they actually stimulate the others to become more conscious of themselves, much in the same way that Burnham’s “role shifting” serves to evolve meaning, and consequently a writer’s understanding of his knowledge, in writing (24). Gradin’s link between romanticism and expressivism may never have come about had she not felt the need to defend the pedagogy against the claim that it “values invidualism to the exclusion of social concerns” much in the same way that Elbow’s invocation of Plato’s ethos in voice theory was stimulated by antitheoretical claims against expressivism (29).
While opposing branches of process pedagogy appear to unconsciously stimulate others’ evolution, there is also evidence of the beginning of conscious, albeit begrudging, inter-branch verifications. Burnham gives the example of Bruner, apparently at the forefront of cognitive theory, who writes of the “transactional self,” a model of self that Burnham describes as allowing “metacognition and reflection” that “‘penetrates knowledge,’ allowing us to own that knowledge” (28). Thus Bruner admits the cornerstone of expressivism, the paramount importance of the transaction between the self and information, or the community of knowledge, in facilitating learning (27) even as he works by the methods of an opposing branch of process.
Burnham’s summary of Elbow’s “About Voice and Writing” serves to further explicate this phenomenon: “writers need to use both [the expressivist and postmodern views of self],” both the “believer” and the “doubter,” in order to activate writing’s “locus for power” (30). As the many parts of process work to further their own ends, each serves as a stimulant to the other in a communal authorship of the process pedagogy.
Gradin’s description of the aim of the expressive pedagogy, to “empower people through voice” and to activate “personal awareness to act against oppressive material and psychological conditions” (29) is, according to Plato in Poetics, the aim of literature: catharsis. It has been a recorded goal of our greatest philosophers and teachers since Socrates, and it can be seen even in our earliest recorded stories. What the expressive pedagogy adds to this catharsis is the means to amplify its effectiveness exponentially by shifting the point of its origin from without to within. I cannot begin to imagine the kind of future we could collectively create if we were to develop a pedagogy that would foster the birth of such catharsis within the minds of our students, and ourselves. It is an exciting time, indeed.
While it initially seemed strange to me that the four branches of process pedagogy should compete as Tobin and Faigley say they do (10), I now see the productivity of such competition: while each division surely hopes to nullify the other, in trying to do so they actually stimulate the others to become more conscious of themselves, much in the same way that Burnham’s “role shifting” serves to evolve meaning, and consequently a writer’s understanding of his knowledge, in writing (24). Gradin’s link between romanticism and expressivism may never have come about had she not felt the need to defend the pedagogy against the claim that it “values invidualism to the exclusion of social concerns” much in the same way that Elbow’s invocation of Plato’s ethos in voice theory was stimulated by antitheoretical claims against expressivism (29).
While opposing branches of process pedagogy appear to unconsciously stimulate others’ evolution, there is also evidence of the beginning of conscious, albeit begrudging, inter-branch verifications. Burnham gives the example of Bruner, apparently at the forefront of cognitive theory, who writes of the “transactional self,” a model of self that Burnham describes as allowing “metacognition and reflection” that “‘penetrates knowledge,’ allowing us to own that knowledge” (28). Thus Bruner admits the cornerstone of expressivism, the paramount importance of the transaction between the self and information, or the community of knowledge, in facilitating learning (27) even as he works by the methods of an opposing branch of process.
Burnham’s summary of Elbow’s “About Voice and Writing” serves to further explicate this phenomenon: “writers need to use both [the expressivist and postmodern views of self],” both the “believer” and the “doubter,” in order to activate writing’s “locus for power” (30). As the many parts of process work to further their own ends, each serves as a stimulant to the other in a communal authorship of the process pedagogy.
Gradin’s description of the aim of the expressive pedagogy, to “empower people through voice” and to activate “personal awareness to act against oppressive material and psychological conditions” (29) is, according to Plato in Poetics, the aim of literature: catharsis. It has been a recorded goal of our greatest philosophers and teachers since Socrates, and it can be seen even in our earliest recorded stories. What the expressive pedagogy adds to this catharsis is the means to amplify its effectiveness exponentially by shifting the point of its origin from without to within. I cannot begin to imagine the kind of future we could collectively create if we were to develop a pedagogy that would foster the birth of such catharsis within the minds of our students, and ourselves. It is an exciting time, indeed.
Writing as a Disciplined and Creative Act
What I find intriguing about Maxine Hairston’s article is her summary on the research conducted to understand and implement process pedagogy. The basis of this research is controversial and subjective since it’s mostly founded on classroom case studies. Thus students’ psychological and cognitive writing processes are analyzed under a microscopic lens to determine strategies for effective teaching methods. Hairston states, “But for me the most interesting data emerging from these studies are those that show us profound differences between the writing behaviors of skilled and unskilled writers and the behaviors of student and professional writers…This kind of information enables us to construct a tentative profile of the wiring behaviors of effective writers [...]” Could this type of research help create a pedagogical model for composition theory?
According to Hairston and Lad Tobin, our current model and methods of writing pedagogy are counter-intuitive and outdated; it relies on the premise that writing is a linear process that creates structured content which is further inserted into a formulaic template. Hairston states that composition text books, “stresses expository writing to the virtual exclusion of all other forms […] neglects invention almost entirely, [making style] the most important element in writing.” Though such assumptions lead to product –centered work, do glitches or “anomalies” in our current system or even the prevalence of dissatisfied teachers serve as proper evidence that our current pedagogical tradition, based on a foundational, temporal classical theory, is outdated and flawed?
If we returned to Hairston’s main concern regarding the literacy gap between skilled and unskilled writers, we have to address the social/economic, ethnic/linguistic, and geographical/regional backgrounds of both a school and its students. As new waves of students enter college because of democratic “access to education” policies and initiatives, we are currently discovering the diversity of our student bodies and their texts. We are also discovering that some, perhaps many, students are entering college without the basic skills necessary to draft a competent piece of writing. These skills are not based on rhetorical style but require a basic knowledge of English grammar and mechanics. Such material should be taught at a secondary and post secondary level but many professors complain about how much they invest in teaching the basics before teaching academic level writing.
I think components of process pedagogy should definitely be implemented in classrooms. As a teacher I do not want to spend my time correcting grammar, punctuation, mechanical mistakes on a paper. What I’d like to focus on is the content, form, or creativity of the work. If I give an inexperienced writer the freedom to choose his or her own topic and do not provide guidelines for an assignment, this may lead to disorientation and confusion, which will inevitably be reflected in the student’s work. Some inexperienced writers, particularly those who do not practice the art of writing and are not acquainted with the mechanics of their language, need a point of departure and need guidelines. Once they begin adopting a strategy, they are free to work around it. I would encourage discovery and invention in writing but also maintain the notion that writing is a disciplined, creative act. Still, I wouldn’t abandon the traditional methodology altogether. Does process pedagogy necessarily contradict the current view? For me, the methodology and research on process pedagogy is additive knowledge to the current theory and not a paradigm shift in the field. Why not synthesize these theories instead of creating bickering arguments that create an illusion of incompatibility between two approaches that are not necessarily incompatible.
According to Hairston and Lad Tobin, our current model and methods of writing pedagogy are counter-intuitive and outdated; it relies on the premise that writing is a linear process that creates structured content which is further inserted into a formulaic template. Hairston states that composition text books, “stresses expository writing to the virtual exclusion of all other forms […] neglects invention almost entirely, [making style] the most important element in writing.” Though such assumptions lead to product –centered work, do glitches or “anomalies” in our current system or even the prevalence of dissatisfied teachers serve as proper evidence that our current pedagogical tradition, based on a foundational, temporal classical theory, is outdated and flawed?
If we returned to Hairston’s main concern regarding the literacy gap between skilled and unskilled writers, we have to address the social/economic, ethnic/linguistic, and geographical/regional backgrounds of both a school and its students. As new waves of students enter college because of democratic “access to education” policies and initiatives, we are currently discovering the diversity of our student bodies and their texts. We are also discovering that some, perhaps many, students are entering college without the basic skills necessary to draft a competent piece of writing. These skills are not based on rhetorical style but require a basic knowledge of English grammar and mechanics. Such material should be taught at a secondary and post secondary level but many professors complain about how much they invest in teaching the basics before teaching academic level writing.
I think components of process pedagogy should definitely be implemented in classrooms. As a teacher I do not want to spend my time correcting grammar, punctuation, mechanical mistakes on a paper. What I’d like to focus on is the content, form, or creativity of the work. If I give an inexperienced writer the freedom to choose his or her own topic and do not provide guidelines for an assignment, this may lead to disorientation and confusion, which will inevitably be reflected in the student’s work. Some inexperienced writers, particularly those who do not practice the art of writing and are not acquainted with the mechanics of their language, need a point of departure and need guidelines. Once they begin adopting a strategy, they are free to work around it. I would encourage discovery and invention in writing but also maintain the notion that writing is a disciplined, creative act. Still, I wouldn’t abandon the traditional methodology altogether. Does process pedagogy necessarily contradict the current view? For me, the methodology and research on process pedagogy is additive knowledge to the current theory and not a paradigm shift in the field. Why not synthesize these theories instead of creating bickering arguments that create an illusion of incompatibility between two approaches that are not necessarily incompatible.
07 September 2008
Peter Elbow: Activism in the Classroom
I’m not sure if it’s because I’m currently teaching Orwell’s 1984 or because at heart I feel as though I am a rebel of some sort, but I love Peter Elbow’s perspective that when teaching writing, a teacher should make the writer’s voice the central concern of her pedagogy in order to support the idea that writing is a “form of political or social activism” (Burnham 24). In addition to “being the change we wish to see,” Elbow’s take on expressive pedagogy empowers students to write about their own understanding, which will hopefully lead to action (either by the writer or the reader).
My question for Elbow and other expressivists, as usual, is can we effectively put this into practice in a classroom? Undoubtedly, expressive theory of composition is possible in application, but the classroom changes the context of writing. Most students don’t think of their writing as social and political activism, particularly when they are forced to write. Teachers can offer the students choice of what they write about, but ultimately, students still view the writing as an assignment, something they will be graded on, something that will be good enough to please the teacher.
As a teacher who values expressive pedagogy, I want to find ways to get students to think about their writing this way, so I read Elbow’s article “Being a Writer vs. Being an Academic: A Conflict in Goals” on JSTOR. Elbow writes his article in more of an exploratory style rather than an academic-persuasive style, which seems appropriate. He begins by stating his goals for his first year students: to help them feel themselves as writers and feel themselves as academics. Elbow then reflects on the contrasting nature between writers’ and academics’ attitude toward reading and writing. He worries that progress toward one goal hinders progress toward the other. Elbow then explains why he chooses the goal of helping his students to feel themselves as writers rather than as academics in the remainder of his article.
I look to Elbow’s article for answers to my questions: how can we as teachers get students to see their writing as a venue for activism rather than as mere writing assignments? Is it what we assign? Is it about giving them a choice on what to write? Or is it the context itself that will always hinder students’ from believing that their writing is anything more than part of a grade?
Elbow’s analysis offers a place to start answering these questions. He writes that when students play the role of academics, they write their analysis of a text to a teacher who has already defined his own understanding as right and the student’s understanding as wrong. The writing process then becomes the student asking, “Is this okay?” In this sense, teachers transform the process of “writing” into the process of “being tested.” In contrast, when the students understand themselves as writers, their subtext is likely to be “Listen to me, I have something to tell you,” for writers can often tell us readers about things that they know better than we do.
While I hope that my students can eventually reach the point where they see themselves as writers who have something to offer their teachers, I am uncertain as to whether or not students, who feel pressure from their parents and society at-large to attend top universities, will ever be able to fully look past the context of a grading system.
My question for Elbow and other expressivists, as usual, is can we effectively put this into practice in a classroom? Undoubtedly, expressive theory of composition is possible in application, but the classroom changes the context of writing. Most students don’t think of their writing as social and political activism, particularly when they are forced to write. Teachers can offer the students choice of what they write about, but ultimately, students still view the writing as an assignment, something they will be graded on, something that will be good enough to please the teacher.
As a teacher who values expressive pedagogy, I want to find ways to get students to think about their writing this way, so I read Elbow’s article “Being a Writer vs. Being an Academic: A Conflict in Goals” on JSTOR. Elbow writes his article in more of an exploratory style rather than an academic-persuasive style, which seems appropriate. He begins by stating his goals for his first year students: to help them feel themselves as writers and feel themselves as academics. Elbow then reflects on the contrasting nature between writers’ and academics’ attitude toward reading and writing. He worries that progress toward one goal hinders progress toward the other. Elbow then explains why he chooses the goal of helping his students to feel themselves as writers rather than as academics in the remainder of his article.
I look to Elbow’s article for answers to my questions: how can we as teachers get students to see their writing as a venue for activism rather than as mere writing assignments? Is it what we assign? Is it about giving them a choice on what to write? Or is it the context itself that will always hinder students’ from believing that their writing is anything more than part of a grade?
Elbow’s analysis offers a place to start answering these questions. He writes that when students play the role of academics, they write their analysis of a text to a teacher who has already defined his own understanding as right and the student’s understanding as wrong. The writing process then becomes the student asking, “Is this okay?” In this sense, teachers transform the process of “writing” into the process of “being tested.” In contrast, when the students understand themselves as writers, their subtext is likely to be “Listen to me, I have something to tell you,” for writers can often tell us readers about things that they know better than we do.
While I hope that my students can eventually reach the point where they see themselves as writers who have something to offer their teachers, I am uncertain as to whether or not students, who feel pressure from their parents and society at-large to attend top universities, will ever be able to fully look past the context of a grading system.
Paradox and Dichotomy: Review of Expressive Pedagogy
Paradox and Dichotomy: Review of Expressive Pedagogy
Christopher Burnham’s overview of expressive pedagogy and application drives home the challenges of defining how one writes for the world at large (that is, the world as perceived by the writer: one’s community, one’s culture, one’s country, etc.). Inevitably generated from an individual “self,” one can argue that the theoretical approach behind any composition can only be clearly defined once the product is on the paper. To remove the concept of expressivism from the spectrum of approaches to writing is to remove the writer from the composition. Given that all writing starts from the core of oneself – the soul, the ethos -- all writing then starts out as expressive, just as all actions start out as personal.
The tipping point at which a composition becomes detached from expressivism (in occasions when this would occur) is determined by when the writer begins to invoke the requirements to achieving his ultimate goal. Burnham acknowledges the inevitability of expressivism as, at the very list, the starting point in any writing when he cites Murray and Elbow’s application of Britton’s developmental taxonomy, which “acknowledges this connection between expressivism and the end product regardless of its ultimate purpose: through which personal and private insights and sensations become coherent, publicly accessible writing.” (Burnham, 27).
A theme of the paradox of writing is appreciated in the Burnham chapter: a dichotomous tension, if you will, inevitably exists in the process of writing and in defining approaches to writing. This tension, for example, responds to the problem of making something public out of something personal, and vice versa. bell hooks speaks to this in terms of praxis – that is, of the point of collaboration between theory and practice: “Fundamentally, I learned that theory could be a healing place.” Healing – even when experienced publicly, culturally, or nationally, starts at the core of the self. Theory is a manifestation of shared or observed knowledge. Thus, hooks successfully binds the soul to the community.
Further substantiating the imperatives of (1) expressivism in all writing, and (2) the benefits of tension, Burnham cites Fishman’s observations of “promoting student voice while teaching disciplinary conventions.” Indeed, the paradoxical constructivist approach referred to by Fishman and McCarthy (“Is Expressivism Dead?”) can be defined as controlled chaos -- insofar as organization of some sort is necessary in order for students to share freely as they critique one another’s drafts. (Burnham, 31)
Likewise, the act of composing is a means of organizing thought; ironically, however, this can only be achieved through the continuous, alternating processes of creation and destruction – another dichotomous, seemingly paradoxical relationship. We make order out of chaos, but only when chaos (destruction) has been achieved, acknowledged, analyzed. And by merely analyzing that which is in order, we are yet again led to destroying it. The breaking down of the written word is a means of breaking away from one idea in order to gain clarity, and ultimately – if we are lucky -- to experience an epiphany.
Britton’s definition of expressionism as a vehicle which speaks to both the primary roles of participant and spectator, and his description of its dual capacities (functional “mode” and “form”) underscore the inevitability of expressivism in the process of writing, regardless of the theoretical basis for the end product.
Christopher Burnham’s overview of expressive pedagogy and application drives home the challenges of defining how one writes for the world at large (that is, the world as perceived by the writer: one’s community, one’s culture, one’s country, etc.). Inevitably generated from an individual “self,” one can argue that the theoretical approach behind any composition can only be clearly defined once the product is on the paper. To remove the concept of expressivism from the spectrum of approaches to writing is to remove the writer from the composition. Given that all writing starts from the core of oneself – the soul, the ethos -- all writing then starts out as expressive, just as all actions start out as personal.
The tipping point at which a composition becomes detached from expressivism (in occasions when this would occur) is determined by when the writer begins to invoke the requirements to achieving his ultimate goal. Burnham acknowledges the inevitability of expressivism as, at the very list, the starting point in any writing when he cites Murray and Elbow’s application of Britton’s developmental taxonomy, which “acknowledges this connection between expressivism and the end product regardless of its ultimate purpose: through which personal and private insights and sensations become coherent, publicly accessible writing.” (Burnham, 27).
A theme of the paradox of writing is appreciated in the Burnham chapter: a dichotomous tension, if you will, inevitably exists in the process of writing and in defining approaches to writing. This tension, for example, responds to the problem of making something public out of something personal, and vice versa. bell hooks speaks to this in terms of praxis – that is, of the point of collaboration between theory and practice: “Fundamentally, I learned that theory could be a healing place.” Healing – even when experienced publicly, culturally, or nationally, starts at the core of the self. Theory is a manifestation of shared or observed knowledge. Thus, hooks successfully binds the soul to the community.
Further substantiating the imperatives of (1) expressivism in all writing, and (2) the benefits of tension, Burnham cites Fishman’s observations of “promoting student voice while teaching disciplinary conventions.” Indeed, the paradoxical constructivist approach referred to by Fishman and McCarthy (“Is Expressivism Dead?”) can be defined as controlled chaos -- insofar as organization of some sort is necessary in order for students to share freely as they critique one another’s drafts. (Burnham, 31)
Likewise, the act of composing is a means of organizing thought; ironically, however, this can only be achieved through the continuous, alternating processes of creation and destruction – another dichotomous, seemingly paradoxical relationship. We make order out of chaos, but only when chaos (destruction) has been achieved, acknowledged, analyzed. And by merely analyzing that which is in order, we are yet again led to destroying it. The breaking down of the written word is a means of breaking away from one idea in order to gain clarity, and ultimately – if we are lucky -- to experience an epiphany.
Britton’s definition of expressionism as a vehicle which speaks to both the primary roles of participant and spectator, and his description of its dual capacities (functional “mode” and “form”) underscore the inevitability of expressivism in the process of writing, regardless of the theoretical basis for the end product.
04 September 2008
Response to Lad Tobin’s “Process Pedagogy”
Sorry about the lateness of this--I just signed in to Blogger for the first time.
The aspects of Tobin’s article which made me sit up and pay attention were the dates involved in the development of the process pedagogy movement. As Tobin relates it, the movement was first described in the late 1960’s, discussed widely in the 1970’s, related to the college training of teachers in the late 1970’s and 80’s, theorized in scholarly journals through the late 1980’s and 1990’s, and finally put away as naïve or passé in the late 1990’s. Apparently, the process pedagogy had whizzed by my elementary school classmates and I without leaving a trace. I imagine that as my classmates and I turned in our finely tuned five-paragraph essays long on excellent grammar and short on ideas, there were messy, loud, (fun!), classrooms out there in which the students were wildly exploring themselves through language.
My elementary and secondary school writing teachers, to a person, had not been in a college classroom since the 1970’s and my small-town district did not send many teachers to conferences to update theories and practices. So, it is not strange that the process pedagogy as an academic theory was not effective in my early classrooms. However, the basic principles behind the theory—to teach the writing, not the writer; teach how to write instead of how not to write—are so common-sense and practical that to be avoided so wholeheartedly seems almost conspiratorial. In a way, it is—perhaps not conspiratorial, but institutional.
It occurred to me in reading Tobin’s article that those wild, messy elementary classrooms may not have existed in many places outside a college workshop for teachers. To find out if the movement has been implemented by new elementary or secondary teachers I spoke to my sister-in-law who teaches second grade and a couple of friends who are involved in secondary education. All of them agreed that the ideas behind process pedagogy were sound: to provide the skills to write well in any real-world situation, instead of an inflexible formula which only works perfectly when a writer is called upon to write a five-paragraph essay, which is to say almost never. When I put to them another of Tobin’s binary pedagogical question: “should a writing course be organized around production or consumption (15);” each answered that the consuming and internalizing of expressive skills—the writing, in other words—was more enjoyable and ultimately more effective for both student and teacher.
The challenge to teaching process instead of product is that the educational system is built in such a way as to reward perfect product, no matter what process is involved. Teachers don’t have a lot of time to spend working out the skills needed for each student to enjoy and be effective in expressing themselves. Instead, teachers are asked to keep pushing their students towards a year-end goal: testing or final papers. My sister-in-law teaches second grade in which most students are able to begin simple sentences. There is one student, however, who has moved into the area from another district and cannot write his own name. My sister-in-law spends a lot of time working with him to learn those basic skills—a process which she does not object to but which leaves the rest of her class bored and waiting.
My other friends expressed their frustration in having to get their students prepared to be turned over to the next level of education: not through a method that provides students with useful writing skills, but through grade- and goal-oriented exercises. Donald Murray’s description of process pedagogy as a celebration of “surprise, discovery, even failure” describes a process that could be disastrous in an unimaginative, uncommitted classroom.
Were a school district to be committed to pure process pedagogy they would have to implement it at every grade level so that students would not be pushed into shock in the change from five-paragraph essays to free-form thought development. Teachers would need to be retrained and hired from colleges that encourage the process method. The shift would be difficult, even impossible given state regulations. So, the solution at an elementary or secondary level may ultimately be one teacher committed to teaching in such a way that his or her students develop the skills to write effectively in any situation, especially in a prescribed, directed environment—the kind most of us non-novelists experience in an average workday. Tobin argues that what makes an effective writing classroom is a teacher who is seasoned enough to understand when to step back and when to step in. Just as the purpose of the process pedagogy is to provide enough writing experience that a student will be able to grow out of a process, the purpose of training teachers to teach writing should be to enable them to teach from their own experience as writers and not from a formula.
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