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.