I would like to begin first with "Distributed Cognition At Work." What interests me, specifically, comes at the end of the chapter on page 149: "Thus, patients in hospitals as their name implies are acted on; so too are clients in social work agencies, as are applicants who wish to be hired by personnel officers in most institutions. Students at university are like patients and clients in this respect. The focus of the institution, and of those representing the institution, is to know and inspect them." This philosophy of teaching is described and named by Paulo Freire as the "banking-concept" of education. The teacher possesses knowledge and so, opens up the student's head and deposits it, much like one would deposit money at a bank.
I don't know what the school-to-work transition is like for other majors. As an English major I had very little practical knowledge when beginning my first "real" job. Most all of my other friends were computer-science majors. If they found themselves relearning in the workplace I never heard about it. What I do know, is that while my abilities to analyze a text weren't called upon, my abilities to pick up knowledge quickly, assess what was needed of me and follow directions were. The only thing I took with me from college that actually impressed people were my speed at typing (and other computer skills) and comprehension capabilities. As an English teacher I don't see my Composition 101 or 102 classes as helping students who will find jobs in the financial sector in their job specifically.
I am tired and this is not as concise as I hoped to make it. My point is simply thus: it is important to assess what students need to learn and teach it to them. It is important for education to remain valid and current. I do not think viewing my students as patients or clients will, in any way, help those two goals. I'm basically against objectification no matter the form it takes.
I want to discuss the other three articles in relation to each other. The reason for this is that Bizzell speaks back directly to Flowers and Hayes and Ong offers some very helpful insights that better allowed me to understand Bizzell.
I was disappointed by Flower and Hayes article. After all the reading that has referenced it I don’t know exactly what I expected, but it wasn’t what was actually there. I think Bizzell actually nailed it when she said that “The Flower-Hayes model consistently presents a description of how the writing process goes on as if it were capable of answering questions about why the writer makes certain choices in certain situations” (395). Flower and Hayes attempt to acknowledge this when they say on page 285, “However, a theory of composing that only recognized embedding wouldn’t describe the real complexity of writing. It wouldn’t explain why writers choose to invoke the processes they do or how they know when they’ve done enough...The third point of the theory is an attempt to answer this question.” And so they go on to discuss “goal-setting.” I still agree with Bizzell, however. In the end she said my thoughts far more eloquently than I could. “What’s missing here is the connection to social context afforded by recognition of the dialectical relationship between thought and language” (395).
Flower and Hayes use a lot of qualifying language: good writers vs. poor writers. This bothered me as I read because I’m hesitant to classify learning writers that way. At the same time there is a definite ease with which some people writer--language comes easier to some than others. This is where Ong comes in. “The term ‘illiterate’ itself suggests that persons belonging to the class it designates are deviants, defined by something they lack, namely literacy” (19). It might seem odd to place that quote alongside this discussion of writing as skilled or unskilled, but I do so because it brings us back around to the same argument/discussion the class has been circling since the beginning of the semester: writing as art vs. science, learned vs. inherent, teachable vs. unteachable.
Ong seems to me to strike on something closer to what I imagined and intuited the answer to be. “Technologies [writing] are not mere exterior aids but also interior transformations of consciousness, and never more than when they affect the word” (23). Language is inherent, but writing is a skill. This makes it an activity between an art and science; something that can be taught but also something affected by natural talent. Just like music. Just like sports. The difference between writing, though, is that everyone (supposedly) is supposed to be able to achieve it and perform at an outstanding level. You aren’t just untalented or unathletetic if you can’t write, you’re dumb. And so the stakes are raised and we find ourselves in the current predicament. As Ong states, “Human knowledge demands both proximity and distance, and these two are related to one another dialectically. Proximity perceptions feed distancing analyses, and vice versa, creating a more manageable intimacy” (31). I feel my job as a teacher, therefore, is not to treat my student like a patient or client, but to do whatever I can to give them the skills to manage the chaos that comes with proximity, and the chance to achieve the distance to make sense of it all. Hence thinking about their thinking, recursiveness, reflexivity, and all the other terms I bandy about. It’s not about making them robots. It’s about realizing they’re people.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Don't Be A Judger
I enjoy Mike Rose. I know, I know, my enjoyment doesn't matter, but I think there is a difference between scholarship that inspires while it educates and scholarship that sucks your soul. One takes root in your conscious mind, interacting with previously held assumptions and challenges you to rethink your thoughts; the other bounces off your knowledge and, even when the reader carries the best intentions, is minimally assimilated and rarely challenged or challenges. In "Narrowing the Mind and Page" Rose examines many theories that have long since taken root in the average English teacher's mind and discusses why those theories should be reexamined. He does it with clarity, style, and, I would argue, passion. All of these things are necessary for good scholarship. All of this goes to the point of one sentence I found (and Rose himself points out) to be the thrust of the article: "Human cognition--even at its most stymied, bungled moments--is rich and varied. It is against this assumption that we should test our theories and research methods and classroom assessments" (379). This is a simply concept too often forgotten by teachers of all ages and disciplines. No matter the age, education, gender, or class no one intends to be "dumb." No one engages literature or writing with the intention of showing their lack of education, intelligence, or ability. Furthermore, Rose points out how these broad theories of the mind, while useful and enlightening, must be considered critically when put alongside writing processes. I am guilty of this; I forget sometimes to relate everything I hope to create in the classroom back to writing, hoping instead that if the student has an epiphany it will automatically translate to the page. I find a reconsideration of my theories (which include the belief that one should always be reconsidering their theory) necessary as Rose says, "A good deal of careful, basic descriptive and definitional work must be done before we embrace a theory, regardless of how compelling it is" (378). What can I say except "naturally"?
Shaughnessy offers a compelling theory about the four stages of teaching. I don't think this essay is exhaustive, nor do I think Shaughnessy intends it to be, but it does do what she says she hopes teachers will eventually do--urge us to "dive in." She once again restates the problems with judging students' intelligence and illustrates the dangers with assuming they both understand and are capable of receiving the knowledge imparted to them; what Freire would call the "banking" concept of education. She also illuminated for me the way that many teachers consider their students as uncivilized or primitive; how often teachers assume the role of the colonizers and become angry when the student doesn't wish to be colonized. That vocabulary offers an interesting look at the classroom dynamic, I think, and demands that teachers cease to see their students as someone to fight against and instead as people to work with. After all, the goal is that they learn, not that they become us, right? It is worth noting, however, that even as I say that I do hope somewhere deep down that they become a little bit like me--the world needs more liberals. But I will never EVER grade them for it.
Oh, "The Language of Exclusion" has my mind racing. Where to start? What to comment on? Well, there is the "myth of transience" which brings to mind No Child Left Behind. Part of me wishes to rant on that for a good thousand words or so, but I'm not sure anyone else is interested in reading it. There is also the incredible look at the way academics judge students, something that seems to me to be one of the hallmarks of the Mike Rose's work. I especially love what he says on page 559 in response to one teacher's complaint: "We in the academy like to talk this way. It is dramatic and urgent, and, given the current concerns about illiteracy in the United States, it is topical. The trouble is, it is wrong." This is followed up by what I would call the key point on page 561, "Tag some group illiterate, and you've gone beyond letters; you've judged their morals and their minds." This is heteroglossia at work my friends. Most importantly, however, may be the way Rose addresses the writing as science or art question, skill or talent. My favorite sentence of the whole article might be the one found on page 553, "The narrow focus was made even more narrow by a fetish for 'scientific' tabulation." I love his use of the word "fetish" there because in the ongoing debate of writing I think our need to quantify has become a fetish. We want numbers, we want math, we want logic. We want to be able to see how our students are unlearned and FIX it. We fetishize grammar because it's concrete, simple, and easy. If you don't have to consider your student's complexity then you don't have to consider yourself as teacher. We revel unwholesomely in our own intelligence. Rose calls all of this into question and he does it without attacking or belittling, but I don't feel his article is any less critical for that. While he makes comments like "such research and pedagogy was enacted to good purpose" (552) he is still saying that what was being done, and what is being done, is wrong. You can dress it up however you want--doesn't change what it is.
At times I marvel at my ability to anticipate the homework I will have to read in the future. Here in Bartholomae's essay "Inventing the University" we see, amongst other things, a discussion of audience. I felt incredibly vindicated to see that my squeamish response to "audience instruction" was also discussed here. For this reason I would like to focus on the audience portion of the essay in particular, even though Bartholomae himself goes on to use it as a vehicle to look at writing processes overall. I especially enjoy the quote on page 628 when he says, "One of the common assumptions of both composition research and composition teaching is that at some 'stage' in the process of composing an essay a writer's ideas or his motives must be tailored to the needs and expectations of his audience." But of course, someone might say, can it be any other way? What I like about the way Bartholomae discusses the writing process in this essay is that he examines and discusses the complexities at work. What is happening when a student writes a paper isn't a simply twelve-step process and thus to simply instruct the student to "consider audience" is akin to telling an eight year old calculus can be accomplished by simply filling in the formula. If you don't understand what you are doing, then you can't interpret what knowledge needs to be put where in the formula or how to manipulate the formula to acquire the desired result. And this, I suppose, is where my irritation with instruction regarding audience comes in--to instruct about audience is to assume that writing is a skill and, like grammar, such a mistake can be easily rectified. It limits the writing process and judges the student. In short, it accomplishes everything that Rose and Bartholomae (and everyone else) has told us NOT to do. I don't know yet what we should do in regards to audience, but I know what is being done is, more often than not, wrong.
Shaughnessy offers a compelling theory about the four stages of teaching. I don't think this essay is exhaustive, nor do I think Shaughnessy intends it to be, but it does do what she says she hopes teachers will eventually do--urge us to "dive in." She once again restates the problems with judging students' intelligence and illustrates the dangers with assuming they both understand and are capable of receiving the knowledge imparted to them; what Freire would call the "banking" concept of education. She also illuminated for me the way that many teachers consider their students as uncivilized or primitive; how often teachers assume the role of the colonizers and become angry when the student doesn't wish to be colonized. That vocabulary offers an interesting look at the classroom dynamic, I think, and demands that teachers cease to see their students as someone to fight against and instead as people to work with. After all, the goal is that they learn, not that they become us, right? It is worth noting, however, that even as I say that I do hope somewhere deep down that they become a little bit like me--the world needs more liberals. But I will never EVER grade them for it.
Oh, "The Language of Exclusion" has my mind racing. Where to start? What to comment on? Well, there is the "myth of transience" which brings to mind No Child Left Behind. Part of me wishes to rant on that for a good thousand words or so, but I'm not sure anyone else is interested in reading it. There is also the incredible look at the way academics judge students, something that seems to me to be one of the hallmarks of the Mike Rose's work. I especially love what he says on page 559 in response to one teacher's complaint: "We in the academy like to talk this way. It is dramatic and urgent, and, given the current concerns about illiteracy in the United States, it is topical. The trouble is, it is wrong." This is followed up by what I would call the key point on page 561, "Tag some group illiterate, and you've gone beyond letters; you've judged their morals and their minds." This is heteroglossia at work my friends. Most importantly, however, may be the way Rose addresses the writing as science or art question, skill or talent. My favorite sentence of the whole article might be the one found on page 553, "The narrow focus was made even more narrow by a fetish for 'scientific' tabulation." I love his use of the word "fetish" there because in the ongoing debate of writing I think our need to quantify has become a fetish. We want numbers, we want math, we want logic. We want to be able to see how our students are unlearned and FIX it. We fetishize grammar because it's concrete, simple, and easy. If you don't have to consider your student's complexity then you don't have to consider yourself as teacher. We revel unwholesomely in our own intelligence. Rose calls all of this into question and he does it without attacking or belittling, but I don't feel his article is any less critical for that. While he makes comments like "such research and pedagogy was enacted to good purpose" (552) he is still saying that what was being done, and what is being done, is wrong. You can dress it up however you want--doesn't change what it is.
At times I marvel at my ability to anticipate the homework I will have to read in the future. Here in Bartholomae's essay "Inventing the University" we see, amongst other things, a discussion of audience. I felt incredibly vindicated to see that my squeamish response to "audience instruction" was also discussed here. For this reason I would like to focus on the audience portion of the essay in particular, even though Bartholomae himself goes on to use it as a vehicle to look at writing processes overall. I especially enjoy the quote on page 628 when he says, "One of the common assumptions of both composition research and composition teaching is that at some 'stage' in the process of composing an essay a writer's ideas or his motives must be tailored to the needs and expectations of his audience." But of course, someone might say, can it be any other way? What I like about the way Bartholomae discusses the writing process in this essay is that he examines and discusses the complexities at work. What is happening when a student writes a paper isn't a simply twelve-step process and thus to simply instruct the student to "consider audience" is akin to telling an eight year old calculus can be accomplished by simply filling in the formula. If you don't understand what you are doing, then you can't interpret what knowledge needs to be put where in the formula or how to manipulate the formula to acquire the desired result. And this, I suppose, is where my irritation with instruction regarding audience comes in--to instruct about audience is to assume that writing is a skill and, like grammar, such a mistake can be easily rectified. It limits the writing process and judges the student. In short, it accomplishes everything that Rose and Bartholomae (and everyone else) has told us NOT to do. I don't know yet what we should do in regards to audience, but I know what is being done is, more often than not, wrong.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Annotated Bibliography
My paper hopes to show that reflection betters writing. More than that, however, it hopes to show that reflection is best attained through dialogism and reflexivity--theorectical concepts pulled directly from Bakhtin and Freire and discussed by the articles below both in theory and in practice. I have included my six annotated sources and other sources I hope to consult prior to writing the final paper which may or may not be used.
Annotated Bibilography
Bakhtin, M.M. “The Discourse of the Novel.” The Dialogic Imagination. Austin: The University of Texas Press, 1981. Alongside Freire, Bakhtin makes up the other half of my theory. His discussion of language and langauge acquisition will be necessary to the issue I wish to research, how language is acquired and, understanding that, how best to enable better writing in the classroom. Much of the outside research I will bring in will be other composition teachers discussing Bakhtin in the writing classroom and how he is useful or dangerous. The focus of my paper is not a cultural studies ideology, but rather that dialogism--as defined by Bakhtin--is necessary to better create reflection which will in turn create better writing. It will also promote thinking about thinking, a tool students must cultivate to be more versatile writers/thinkers.
Farmer, Frank. "Dialogue and Critique: Bakhtin and the Cultural Studies Writing Classroom." College Composition and Communication 49.2 May. 1998: 186-207 This article discusses the effectiveness of Bakhtin in the writing classroom that employs the cultural studies ideology. He points out how such ideologies can't help but include Freire once writing becomes involved and he looks unflinchingly at ways in which some teachers fail in their goals to make the students better people. It offers a critique of such ideology while also reexamining Bakhtin and ways that he may be appropriated, knowledgeable of his failings, to improve dialogue and, therefore, writing in the classroom. As I discuss how the theories of Bakhtin can be used by the writing teacher to create a more dialogic classroom and, in turn, better enable reflection, I will use Farmer to illustrate ways Bakhtin is helpful and should be avoided. Furthermore, Farmer offers a look at student writing and his own responses which ground his theoretical discussion in the concrete, a move I too hope to make through Yancey as I discuss how to apply the theory discussed and why it improves writing.
Freire, Paulo. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Continuum International, 2000. I plan to argue that a Bakhtinian approach best enables the learning of language and, therefore, improvement of writing. When Bakhtin is appropriated into the writing classroom the result bears significant resemblance to the theories expounded by Paulo Freire. For that reason I will use his book to especially discuss language acquisition and how such a cultural studies approach affects thought and writing skills. Furthermore Freire also argues for thought and writing as being inseparable and this also is discussed by Bakhtin. Freire, along with Bakhtin is invaluable in the underlining ideology of my argument--this idea of thought and language, how they intersect, and how we as writing teachers and best elicit better writing from our students.
Halasek, Kay. "Starting the Dialogue: What Can We Do About Bakhtin's Ambivalence Toward Rhetoric?" Rhetoric Society Quarterly 22.4 Autumn. 1992: 1-9. Halasek's discussion is important to my research specifically because she discusses dialogical rhetorical theory and how that informs the reading practices and understanding of readers. This is necessary because part of researching students' use of language and how to better their use of that language (through writing) is discovering ways to help them think about their thinking or to reflect. Halasek theorizes about one such way, Bakhtin, and discusses some of the problems posed by studying Bakhtin. I wish to consider this article because it is as important, I believe, to be critical of the theory one uses as it is to understand it. Halasek illuminates how Bakhtin offers insights into "structures of discourse" and why can't afford to ignore them.
Kumamoto, Chikako. "Bakhtin's Others and Writing as Bearing Witness to the Eloquent 'I'." College Composition and Communication 54.1 Sep. 2002: 66-87. Kumamoto makes many of the theoretical moves in this article that I hope myself to argue. By researching the project called the "eloquent 'I'", Kumamoto applies Bakhtin to the classroom in an effort to allow reflexive thought that offers the student authority as well as the ability to reaccess language from the position of user instead of other. This is interesting for my own research as what I am striving to prove, ultimately, is that it is only by giving students this ability to think about their thinking that they can begin to access language consciously and knowledgably. Furthermore, reflexivity is accomplished through reflection--hence Yancey. Kumamoto is offering another way to accomplish the same goal, then; by examining the techniques employed in this experiment I hope to garner some practical and theoretical knowledge to better educate my own teaching pedagogy.
Yancy, Kathleen Blake. Reflection in the Writing Classroom. Utah: Utah State University Press, 1998. While Bakhtin and Freire make up the ideological part of my argument, it is through Yancey that I will argue the best technique. I believe that one of the best ways to apply such and ideology as the Bakhtinian/Cultural studies model is through the use of reflection in the classroom. It is through asking, encouraging, and even forcing the students to reflect that their writing will improve, which is always the end goal. Bakhtin and Freire offer ideas and pleas for the importance of language, and Farmer discusses ways in which cultural studies approaches can become elitist or patronizing, but Yancey offers an argument and evidence for reflection as the best technique to improve writing and thought, without alienating the students. Through reflection it is they who do the work of thinking about their thinking and considering what impact their writing carries. This is key in avoiding the elitism that Farmer discusses and avoiding the trap of some teachers which is "I know what you know better than you do." It doesn't matter, after all, what the teacher knows; it only matters what the student knows s/he knows and his/her ability to express that through writing. Yancey, therefore, makes up the crutch of my research as I use her in an attempt to demonstrate how to apply the ideology/pedagogy garnered from Bakhtin and Freire to the writing classroom.
Other Sources
Bartholomae, David and Anthony Petrosky. Facts, Artifacts, and Counterfacts. Upton Montclair: Boyton/Cook Publishers, Inc., 1986.
Berthoff, Ann. The Making of Meaning. Upper Montclair: Boynton/Cook Publishers, Inc., 1981.
Ewald, Helen Rothschild. "Waiting for Answerability: Bakhtin and Composition Studies." College Composition and Communication 44.3 Oct. 1993: 331-348.
Lu, Min-Zhan. “From Silence to Words: Writing as Struggle.” College English. 49.4 (1987): 437-448.
Annotated Bibilography
Bakhtin, M.M. “The Discourse of the Novel.” The Dialogic Imagination. Austin: The University of Texas Press, 1981. Alongside Freire, Bakhtin makes up the other half of my theory. His discussion of language and langauge acquisition will be necessary to the issue I wish to research, how language is acquired and, understanding that, how best to enable better writing in the classroom. Much of the outside research I will bring in will be other composition teachers discussing Bakhtin in the writing classroom and how he is useful or dangerous. The focus of my paper is not a cultural studies ideology, but rather that dialogism--as defined by Bakhtin--is necessary to better create reflection which will in turn create better writing. It will also promote thinking about thinking, a tool students must cultivate to be more versatile writers/thinkers.
Farmer, Frank. "Dialogue and Critique: Bakhtin and the Cultural Studies Writing Classroom." College Composition and Communication 49.2 May. 1998: 186-207 This article discusses the effectiveness of Bakhtin in the writing classroom that employs the cultural studies ideology. He points out how such ideologies can't help but include Freire once writing becomes involved and he looks unflinchingly at ways in which some teachers fail in their goals to make the students better people. It offers a critique of such ideology while also reexamining Bakhtin and ways that he may be appropriated, knowledgeable of his failings, to improve dialogue and, therefore, writing in the classroom. As I discuss how the theories of Bakhtin can be used by the writing teacher to create a more dialogic classroom and, in turn, better enable reflection, I will use Farmer to illustrate ways Bakhtin is helpful and should be avoided. Furthermore, Farmer offers a look at student writing and his own responses which ground his theoretical discussion in the concrete, a move I too hope to make through Yancey as I discuss how to apply the theory discussed and why it improves writing.
Freire, Paulo. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Continuum International, 2000. I plan to argue that a Bakhtinian approach best enables the learning of language and, therefore, improvement of writing. When Bakhtin is appropriated into the writing classroom the result bears significant resemblance to the theories expounded by Paulo Freire. For that reason I will use his book to especially discuss language acquisition and how such a cultural studies approach affects thought and writing skills. Furthermore Freire also argues for thought and writing as being inseparable and this also is discussed by Bakhtin. Freire, along with Bakhtin is invaluable in the underlining ideology of my argument--this idea of thought and language, how they intersect, and how we as writing teachers and best elicit better writing from our students.
Halasek, Kay. "Starting the Dialogue: What Can We Do About Bakhtin's Ambivalence Toward Rhetoric?" Rhetoric Society Quarterly 22.4 Autumn. 1992: 1-9. Halasek's discussion is important to my research specifically because she discusses dialogical rhetorical theory and how that informs the reading practices and understanding of readers. This is necessary because part of researching students' use of language and how to better their use of that language (through writing) is discovering ways to help them think about their thinking or to reflect. Halasek theorizes about one such way, Bakhtin, and discusses some of the problems posed by studying Bakhtin. I wish to consider this article because it is as important, I believe, to be critical of the theory one uses as it is to understand it. Halasek illuminates how Bakhtin offers insights into "structures of discourse" and why can't afford to ignore them.
Kumamoto, Chikako. "Bakhtin's Others and Writing as Bearing Witness to the Eloquent 'I'." College Composition and Communication 54.1 Sep. 2002: 66-87. Kumamoto makes many of the theoretical moves in this article that I hope myself to argue. By researching the project called the "eloquent 'I'", Kumamoto applies Bakhtin to the classroom in an effort to allow reflexive thought that offers the student authority as well as the ability to reaccess language from the position of user instead of other. This is interesting for my own research as what I am striving to prove, ultimately, is that it is only by giving students this ability to think about their thinking that they can begin to access language consciously and knowledgably. Furthermore, reflexivity is accomplished through reflection--hence Yancey. Kumamoto is offering another way to accomplish the same goal, then; by examining the techniques employed in this experiment I hope to garner some practical and theoretical knowledge to better educate my own teaching pedagogy.
Yancy, Kathleen Blake. Reflection in the Writing Classroom. Utah: Utah State University Press, 1998. While Bakhtin and Freire make up the ideological part of my argument, it is through Yancey that I will argue the best technique. I believe that one of the best ways to apply such and ideology as the Bakhtinian/Cultural studies model is through the use of reflection in the classroom. It is through asking, encouraging, and even forcing the students to reflect that their writing will improve, which is always the end goal. Bakhtin and Freire offer ideas and pleas for the importance of language, and Farmer discusses ways in which cultural studies approaches can become elitist or patronizing, but Yancey offers an argument and evidence for reflection as the best technique to improve writing and thought, without alienating the students. Through reflection it is they who do the work of thinking about their thinking and considering what impact their writing carries. This is key in avoiding the elitism that Farmer discusses and avoiding the trap of some teachers which is "I know what you know better than you do." It doesn't matter, after all, what the teacher knows; it only matters what the student knows s/he knows and his/her ability to express that through writing. Yancey, therefore, makes up the crutch of my research as I use her in an attempt to demonstrate how to apply the ideology/pedagogy garnered from Bakhtin and Freire to the writing classroom.
Other Sources
Bartholomae, David and Anthony Petrosky. Facts, Artifacts, and Counterfacts. Upton Montclair: Boyton/Cook Publishers, Inc., 1986.
Berthoff, Ann. The Making of Meaning. Upper Montclair: Boynton/Cook Publishers, Inc., 1981.
Ewald, Helen Rothschild. "Waiting for Answerability: Bakhtin and Composition Studies." College Composition and Communication 44.3 Oct. 1993: 331-348.
Lu, Min-Zhan. “From Silence to Words: Writing as Struggle.” College English. 49.4 (1987): 437-448.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
I Heart You Hartwell
One gets the impression that old Mr. Hartwell is trying to put an end to the "grammar" debate. I can respect that.
I can't help but think as I read this, though, about my own instruction in language--doing grammar drills--and how still, today, in 2008, I hear colleagues and others refer to their students as "stupid" or "less than middle-school" because of issues of grammar. It isn't the name-calling on occasion, sometimes even the best eighteen-year-old is a cretin, it is the assumption that because of the grammar the intelligence is lacking. I believe Hartwell is right when he says "It is, after all, a question of power" (228). He is referring here to the debate surrounding the teacher's power in the classroom, but I think it applies to the deeper power structure--I as educated can silence you as uneducated. If you can't speak like me, I don't have to listen. Was it Perl or Emig that remarked on something like that?
And so how do you shake the very power structures embedding the education system that perpetuate bad teaching? I am being harsh here, and my intention is not to offer disrespect, but rather to state what I see as truth. Teaching grammar by example and grading for "correctness" only--not to mention judging students' intelligence based on such usage--is bad teaching. But as graduate students and unprepared teachers are thrown into the classroom, or good teachers are beaten down by workloads and standardized tests, these structures reassert themselves. Despite everyone "knowing" that "it is the mastery of written language that increases one's awareness of language as language" (Hartwell, 224) we still argue over how best to teach the mastery of written language. In teaching to tests it becomes about the performance of skill, not true mastery; in teaching college freshman it becomes about asserting power, a particularly vicious form of the banking model, not encouraging mastery. And I'm not blaming the teacher's here, I am, after all, one of them, but I am asking how do we change anything when it is the people in charge that are perpetuating the problem?
Hartwell has set out to settle the "grammar" question and he does a fine job, but I can't help but wonder if the grammar debate is COIK--if you recognize the silliness of such an approach of course these studies make sense, but if you are still married to the idea, consciously or subconsciously, or forced into the position, of educating your students your way whether they like it or not and any failures resting solely on them then this research means little. It doesn't matter that research shows teaching grammar to be unproductive because it is the student's fault.
My question then, I suppose, is where is the research that asks the question: what fault lies with the student and what fault lies with the teacher? What concessions should each side make? When do our demands hinder their education, and when are we "preparing them for life?" These are the underlying questions of the grammar debate as I see it; we talked about them briefly last class. And until these are answered, no amount of research will convince the well-meaning teacher that s/he is doing more harm than good.
I can't help but think as I read this, though, about my own instruction in language--doing grammar drills--and how still, today, in 2008, I hear colleagues and others refer to their students as "stupid" or "less than middle-school" because of issues of grammar. It isn't the name-calling on occasion, sometimes even the best eighteen-year-old is a cretin, it is the assumption that because of the grammar the intelligence is lacking. I believe Hartwell is right when he says "It is, after all, a question of power" (228). He is referring here to the debate surrounding the teacher's power in the classroom, but I think it applies to the deeper power structure--I as educated can silence you as uneducated. If you can't speak like me, I don't have to listen. Was it Perl or Emig that remarked on something like that?
And so how do you shake the very power structures embedding the education system that perpetuate bad teaching? I am being harsh here, and my intention is not to offer disrespect, but rather to state what I see as truth. Teaching grammar by example and grading for "correctness" only--not to mention judging students' intelligence based on such usage--is bad teaching. But as graduate students and unprepared teachers are thrown into the classroom, or good teachers are beaten down by workloads and standardized tests, these structures reassert themselves. Despite everyone "knowing" that "it is the mastery of written language that increases one's awareness of language as language" (Hartwell, 224) we still argue over how best to teach the mastery of written language. In teaching to tests it becomes about the performance of skill, not true mastery; in teaching college freshman it becomes about asserting power, a particularly vicious form of the banking model, not encouraging mastery. And I'm not blaming the teacher's here, I am, after all, one of them, but I am asking how do we change anything when it is the people in charge that are perpetuating the problem?
Hartwell has set out to settle the "grammar" question and he does a fine job, but I can't help but wonder if the grammar debate is COIK--if you recognize the silliness of such an approach of course these studies make sense, but if you are still married to the idea, consciously or subconsciously, or forced into the position, of educating your students your way whether they like it or not and any failures resting solely on them then this research means little. It doesn't matter that research shows teaching grammar to be unproductive because it is the student's fault.
My question then, I suppose, is where is the research that asks the question: what fault lies with the student and what fault lies with the teacher? What concessions should each side make? When do our demands hinder their education, and when are we "preparing them for life?" These are the underlying questions of the grammar debate as I see it; we talked about them briefly last class. And until these are answered, no amount of research will convince the well-meaning teacher that s/he is doing more harm than good.
Friday, March 7, 2008
This One Time, At Bandcamp...
This is my fourth time reading Nancy Summers article "Responding to Student Writing." First as a tutor, then as an intern teacher, then as another intern teacher here in 791. Nancy and I are close. I don't think I will spend a long time remarking on it, therefore, but will simply say that this was one of those "life-changers" if you'll forgive me the Lifetime television network expression. After reading Summers article (the first time) I became aware of how readers respond to writing and specifically, how teachers can appropriate student writing. We are so enamored with what we want them to say we forget to listen to what they are saying. Each time I reread this article I am only further convinced that Summers is right. Nothing is more destructive to discourse (and therefore the teaching/learning of discourse) than the shutting down of discourse. The not allowing a student to speak and not listening or reading what they are actually saying. I see this so often in teachers that scoff at student writing and mock it instead of recognizing the very serious cognitive moves the student is trying to make. Furthermore how often do we simply say to a student something equivalent to "write better" and assume that will mean something? As a camp counselor at band camp I served as the shoulder for highschool students to cry on after the guest director reduced them to tears. Learning incredibly difficult music in a week mistakes were often made. When he couldn't take it any longer he said "Just play the right note! It's just as easy as playing the wrong one and it sounds better!" I have since tried to never tell someone to "just do anything" as if their lack of performance, in writing or music, was a simple issue of absent-mindedness.
Connors article was interesting. It makes sense to me that it was written in 1985 because it seemed a little dated. Just some of his own views on the necessity of mechanical correction and what not. I did have the epiphany, however, while reading this article why it matters that we keep reading summaries of the late 19th century, early 20th century composition world. We all assume grammar has always been the necessity. We have been completely shaped by the grammar apparatus. In reading these histories it becomes increasingly apparent that grammar, how it stands today, is not an original being created on the sixth day, but a construction that has been used, like so many things, to draw class, gender, and racial lines. I think that is important to remember when arguing about how "important" it is to teach.
That being said I do, actually, believe it is important to teach, but I look at it as a student's ability to finesse his or her writing. I've actually thought of grammar in musical terms for years (sorry for all the references, I don't know what's going on with me tonight) but grammar serves as dynamics for writing. It tells the reader how to read, where to pause, where to stop, how fast to go, what to feel. Word choice plays into this too, but these surface level thing are the difference between writing, and great writing. For that reason I think we must teach it, but like dynamics, it can't come at the beginning. It must come at the end. Until you know how to play (write) a thing you cannot shape it.
Connors article was interesting. It makes sense to me that it was written in 1985 because it seemed a little dated. Just some of his own views on the necessity of mechanical correction and what not. I did have the epiphany, however, while reading this article why it matters that we keep reading summaries of the late 19th century, early 20th century composition world. We all assume grammar has always been the necessity. We have been completely shaped by the grammar apparatus. In reading these histories it becomes increasingly apparent that grammar, how it stands today, is not an original being created on the sixth day, but a construction that has been used, like so many things, to draw class, gender, and racial lines. I think that is important to remember when arguing about how "important" it is to teach.
That being said I do, actually, believe it is important to teach, but I look at it as a student's ability to finesse his or her writing. I've actually thought of grammar in musical terms for years (sorry for all the references, I don't know what's going on with me tonight) but grammar serves as dynamics for writing. It tells the reader how to read, where to pause, where to stop, how fast to go, what to feel. Word choice plays into this too, but these surface level thing are the difference between writing, and great writing. For that reason I think we must teach it, but like dynamics, it can't come at the beginning. It must come at the end. Until you know how to play (write) a thing you cannot shape it.
Elbow and My Crisis of Teacher-Self
I agree with Elbow. After reading Writing Without Teachers I wasn't sure I would ever actually say that. Not that I agreed with all his ideas in the book, but by the time we were done discussing "cooking" and "growing" in 791 I was ready to cook that book and feed it to the pig farm. After reading this article I am once again reminded of my silliness in judging a scholar by only one piece of work. This article, written some ten (twelve?) years after Writing is significantly more thought through, more informed, and all around, seems to present a deeper understanding of the writing process.
I especially enjoy the way he looks at the different aspects of academic discourse. This is a problem I have dealt with since I began teaching. What do I teach my students? Especially when what I am supposed to be teaching them isn't one, easily definable thing, but a nebulous rhetorical idea? Elbow, it seemed, took that question on with research, theory, and thoughtfulness, and he offered some incredibly interesting and useful theoretical considerations to the reader.
I know no one cares if I found the article fun or not, but I did. It spoke to my nerdy soul.
"There are plenty of instances of people who know a lot about engines or writing but don't know the professional discourse of engineering or composition" (Elbow, 137). This is just so heartening to hear from a respected scholar and see acknowledged in a published article. Most teachers understand that use of language is not necessarily indicative of intelligence (I think, or I hope) but many of us, caught in the trap of knowing our students' intelligence will be judged by others must find away to empower them with language, while not devaluing what they have to say. Compound that with, as Elbow say, "everybody does better at metacognition and metadiscourse if he or she can use ordinary language" (149) and you are left with the paradox of needing them to speak as they know how, so that you can teach them to speak as they must. How is such a thing possible?
I carry significant anxiety about what I have managed to teach my students and whether or not I have screwed them for the rest of their academic careers. Was what I taught them right (write)? Will they be able to write papers for other classes and pass? Can they pass the university administered tests? Will they get a job? Was I hard enough? Was I confusing? Did I contradict myself? Elbow seems plagued also by these same questions and his article has, therefore, stemmed from that (it appears). For that reason I appreciate his observations and will hopefully find away to incorporate them into my own teaching pedagogy/theory. But what if I've already screwed up too much? This is the problem with theory that raises good questions. You can't help, I don't think, but feel as if you might be one of those "teachers" alluded to who do the students more harm them good.
I knew I should have stuck with teaching music. Nobody actually cares how well you strike the triangle.
I especially enjoy the way he looks at the different aspects of academic discourse. This is a problem I have dealt with since I began teaching. What do I teach my students? Especially when what I am supposed to be teaching them isn't one, easily definable thing, but a nebulous rhetorical idea? Elbow, it seemed, took that question on with research, theory, and thoughtfulness, and he offered some incredibly interesting and useful theoretical considerations to the reader.
I know no one cares if I found the article fun or not, but I did. It spoke to my nerdy soul.
"There are plenty of instances of people who know a lot about engines or writing but don't know the professional discourse of engineering or composition" (Elbow, 137). This is just so heartening to hear from a respected scholar and see acknowledged in a published article. Most teachers understand that use of language is not necessarily indicative of intelligence (I think, or I hope) but many of us, caught in the trap of knowing our students' intelligence will be judged by others must find away to empower them with language, while not devaluing what they have to say. Compound that with, as Elbow say, "everybody does better at metacognition and metadiscourse if he or she can use ordinary language" (149) and you are left with the paradox of needing them to speak as they know how, so that you can teach them to speak as they must. How is such a thing possible?
I carry significant anxiety about what I have managed to teach my students and whether or not I have screwed them for the rest of their academic careers. Was what I taught them right (write)? Will they be able to write papers for other classes and pass? Can they pass the university administered tests? Will they get a job? Was I hard enough? Was I confusing? Did I contradict myself? Elbow seems plagued also by these same questions and his article has, therefore, stemmed from that (it appears). For that reason I appreciate his observations and will hopefully find away to incorporate them into my own teaching pedagogy/theory. But what if I've already screwed up too much? This is the problem with theory that raises good questions. You can't help, I don't think, but feel as if you might be one of those "teachers" alluded to who do the students more harm them good.
I knew I should have stuck with teaching music. Nobody actually cares how well you strike the triangle.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Dissonant Thoughts
I've written two personal theoretical papers thus far in my academic career. In the first I attempted to ascertain my personal pedagogy, and in the second I attempted to compound that personal pedagogy with what I had learned after three semesters of teaching. As I consider what I would like to research for this paper I am slightly at a loss--I have many questions I could ask: what modes are still in use today and are they useful? Is writing an art, science or both? What is rhetoric's place in composition? How do we measure in improvement? But which one of these is most deserving of research? I think beginning at my teaching experience and working outward I might best discover an answer to that question.
At UMass Boston, to some degree, teaching composition was easier. I had a fun self-developed curriculum, engaged students, and a school's pedagogy that coincided completely with mine (at least as far as my naive, little mind was aware). Because the curriculum had been created with my involvement and the oversight of people much smarter than myself, every assignment, every discussion, every aspect of the class was laid out with specific purpose and intent. The students were free to discuss anything they wished, express any thought they desired (within the bounds of good manners of course) and it worked. Their thinking was recursive, their writing improved, and I was flying on cloud nine.
After teaching at UNLV this year I've discovered the student body is, as a whole, better at writing than the students at UMass, but much less involved in their personal education. There are many factors that might contribute to this, but they are of no consequence here. My point is that in this new environment with texts already chosen for me I was forced to develop my own curriculum (if I so chose) and evaluate other teaching styles. These were all very good things, and caused me to come face-to-face with my own teaching style. How do I promote recursive thinking to students that don't care? How do I lead them through a thought-process without condescending to them, or simply telling them the answer when they won't talk? How do I structure a class with a modal text book without stifling individuality?
It is these questions I entered this class with and discovered were being asked by (seemingly) everyone. I cannot help but consider the first set of possible research questions in light of my personal teaching research questions. The idea of writing as art or science seems to figure in strongly--if it is science then the modal and rhetorical analysis method should work splendidly. But it doesn't. But if it is art than the personal free expression method ought to lead to discovery and improvement--it doesn't always. This seems to indicate to me that either a) writing is both art and science (which could be said of all "arts") or b) it is art, but the theory has not been fully explored.
Perhaps, tentatively, I would offer up as the possible question: how do we promote recursive writing through thinking? This question seems to encompass all my concerns as it would need to take into account teaching methods (rhetoric vs. modal vs. inquiry-based) and the success rates of these methods--demonstrated by Hillocks most recently and other surveys we have read previously. This question seems particularly important to me, also, because in much of what we have read this semester in particular, teacher/researchers seemed involved in attempts to ferret out new or improved ways to teach writing. Everyone appears to be in agreement that recursiveness through reflexivity and revision, is key, but no one seems to agree on how best to accomplish this. I would like, therefore, to enter into this discussion--examining previously offered theories, scholarly responses to those theories, and finally offering my own thoughts to the discussion.
This would be different than a personal pedagogy paper because the focus would not be what I believe should be done specifically, or what I have done in my classroom, but rather what techniques I have read, employed, and considered seem to best promote recursive writing through thinking. This is a preliminary attempt to refine my thinking to a researchable topic and cannot, I believe, be truly narrowed until engaged in discourse. I have already engaged several readings myself, but am unsure how best to pursue a contributory thought to the discussion. I know that I do not believe teaching pure modes/imitation is the solution, nor do I believe heavy reliance on rhetoric to be the answer. This belief comes from a lack of recursive thought inherent in these activities. Like Kinneavy, however, I believe that to cut one part of the discussion out and rely too heavily on another is a mistake. My goal, then, would be to navigate the theories of Emig, Sommers, Perl, Berlin, Berthoff, Knoblauch and Brannon, Freire, and others in a way that, when placed alongside meta-analytical research, allows for an unbiased look at how best to educate young writers in a comprehensive way, specifically, through the use of recursive writing/thinking.
At UMass Boston, to some degree, teaching composition was easier. I had a fun self-developed curriculum, engaged students, and a school's pedagogy that coincided completely with mine (at least as far as my naive, little mind was aware). Because the curriculum had been created with my involvement and the oversight of people much smarter than myself, every assignment, every discussion, every aspect of the class was laid out with specific purpose and intent. The students were free to discuss anything they wished, express any thought they desired (within the bounds of good manners of course) and it worked. Their thinking was recursive, their writing improved, and I was flying on cloud nine.
After teaching at UNLV this year I've discovered the student body is, as a whole, better at writing than the students at UMass, but much less involved in their personal education. There are many factors that might contribute to this, but they are of no consequence here. My point is that in this new environment with texts already chosen for me I was forced to develop my own curriculum (if I so chose) and evaluate other teaching styles. These were all very good things, and caused me to come face-to-face with my own teaching style. How do I promote recursive thinking to students that don't care? How do I lead them through a thought-process without condescending to them, or simply telling them the answer when they won't talk? How do I structure a class with a modal text book without stifling individuality?
It is these questions I entered this class with and discovered were being asked by (seemingly) everyone. I cannot help but consider the first set of possible research questions in light of my personal teaching research questions. The idea of writing as art or science seems to figure in strongly--if it is science then the modal and rhetorical analysis method should work splendidly. But it doesn't. But if it is art than the personal free expression method ought to lead to discovery and improvement--it doesn't always. This seems to indicate to me that either a) writing is both art and science (which could be said of all "arts") or b) it is art, but the theory has not been fully explored.
Perhaps, tentatively, I would offer up as the possible question: how do we promote recursive writing through thinking? This question seems to encompass all my concerns as it would need to take into account teaching methods (rhetoric vs. modal vs. inquiry-based) and the success rates of these methods--demonstrated by Hillocks most recently and other surveys we have read previously. This question seems particularly important to me, also, because in much of what we have read this semester in particular, teacher/researchers seemed involved in attempts to ferret out new or improved ways to teach writing. Everyone appears to be in agreement that recursiveness through reflexivity and revision, is key, but no one seems to agree on how best to accomplish this. I would like, therefore, to enter into this discussion--examining previously offered theories, scholarly responses to those theories, and finally offering my own thoughts to the discussion.
This would be different than a personal pedagogy paper because the focus would not be what I believe should be done specifically, or what I have done in my classroom, but rather what techniques I have read, employed, and considered seem to best promote recursive writing through thinking. This is a preliminary attempt to refine my thinking to a researchable topic and cannot, I believe, be truly narrowed until engaged in discourse. I have already engaged several readings myself, but am unsure how best to pursue a contributory thought to the discussion. I know that I do not believe teaching pure modes/imitation is the solution, nor do I believe heavy reliance on rhetoric to be the answer. This belief comes from a lack of recursive thought inherent in these activities. Like Kinneavy, however, I believe that to cut one part of the discussion out and rely too heavily on another is a mistake. My goal, then, would be to navigate the theories of Emig, Sommers, Perl, Berlin, Berthoff, Knoblauch and Brannon, Freire, and others in a way that, when placed alongside meta-analytical research, allows for an unbiased look at how best to educate young writers in a comprehensive way, specifically, through the use of recursive writing/thinking.
Theory and the Fear of Personal Learning
The articles by Murray, Emig, Perl, and Sommers spoke to my soul. These are my people. The meta-analysis by Hillocks sucked my soul; though, I will discuss its obvious importance and what I feel it adds to the field of composition.
Emig says that "successful learning is...engaged, committed, personal learning. Indeed, impersonal learning may be an anomalous concept, like the very notion of objectivism itself" (12). She also points out that "writing...connects the three major tenses of our experience to make meaning" (13). To that end I have decided for this response to make meaning from our readings, to attempt to learn as much as I can, and to that end I intend to be "engaged, committed" and to demonstrate "personal learning." I feel the best way to promote this personal learning is to discuss the first four essays together instead of in pieces--this demonstrates (I believe) the recursive, learning process I follow while reading them. I will then go on to discuss Hillocks article and how I feel it speaks back to the first four pieces both successfully and not successfully.
I have laid out my intentions as clearly as possible because it has been my experience that when one launches into a dialogue with the text, if the dialogue is obviously personal it is assumed that reflexive thought is not taking place. This was as true for me as a freshman as it is as a graduate student. Murray states that "the student finds his own subject. It is not the job of the teacher to legislate the student's truth" (5) This means that often teachers see students' thoughts--thoughts different from their own--and fail to recognize the "process of discovery through language" (Murray, 4). Instead of respecting the student "for the search for truth in which he is engaged" the teacher attempts to enforce his own truth upon the student (Murray, 5). This happens chiefly, I believe, because "composing does not occur in a straightforward, linear fashion" (Perl, 34). But we as teachers, students, people, have been taught the "appropriate" forms of knowledge and presentation of that knowledge. Such presentation is linear, scientific (unemotional) and stated without question for what has been thought even as it states questions for further thought.
It is frustrating to accept knowledge in an unregulated form because the teacher loses absolute power in such a situation. I believe it is specifically this dialogic, meaning-making environment involving structure and free thought (a variation of what Hillocks calls the environmental mode) that truly offers the students authority. Blogs, free-writing, and peer-review all approximate this authority, but the transfer is not total. The teacher, by judging and evaluating students' thought--not matter how ridiculous--instead of challenging and discussing, still maintains the authority of the position and thus does not create an environment where revision, as Summers would call it, composing as Perl would call it, writing to learn, as Emig would call it, process as Murray would call it, and inquiry, as Hillocks would call it, may actually happen. And because I believe, as Emig does, that writing is learning and learning can happen through writing, I feel this approach is important at all levels of instruction, not simply that of Freshman Composition.
I thought of our class discussion on tone as I began Hillocks article, specifically, the first page when he uses words like "attack" and "vituperative attack" (133) to describe the objections of Emig and Graves. He returns to their "attacks" at the end of the article when he states "the results of this study have important implications for research. First, they belie assertions by Emig (1982) and Graves (1980) that experimental research has no value for classroom teachers and that it has no utility for composition researches" (162). Hillocks here attacks Emig and Graves himself simply with less incendiary language. By saying his work "belies assertions" he is saying that Emig and Graves are wrong. I do not see a problem with his assertion any more than I see a problem with Emig and Graves assertion (I will clarify momentarily) but I do see a problem with the need to hide what we mean behind language (doublespeak) in order to maintain an "even" tone. Attacking, disproving, contradicting--all of these things can be used incorrectly, but I feel that to discount them purely on principle is a mistake. It is through argument--attacking-- that scholars can discuss new knowledge and hash out theories. An attempt to pretend this happens with no emotion is to attempt to remove the "personal from the political" (Rich) and to pretend "personal learning" (Emig) doesn't occur. This is a false attempt that actually fools no one, but does serve to render the discourse lifeless and inert. And it is in this way that studies become, as Graves states being quoted by Hillocks, not "readable [and] of limited value" and can't "help teachers in the classroom" (133).
And Hillocks doesn't offer any theory to speak of to teachers. His research is incredibly important in that it shows what techniques work and which ones do not. How can we, as teachers, learn if not by research such as this? But it offers little to nothing about why they work. And it is this why that fuels and motivates all good theory (I believe). A teacher must know why she teaches what she teaches, why she assigns what she assigns, what her goal is, why a particular inquiry is used, and how to best facilitate meaning-making (Knoblauch and Brannon, Freire, Berthoff). Hillocks draws a fine line between natural and environmental modes of teaching, but does not explore all the ways those two modes intersect. His research shows students need structure and freedom. But it isn't until you look at Emig, Murray, Perl, Sommers, Berlin, Berthoff, and others that you begin to investigate how that dichotomy of structure/freedom can be navigated and reformed into a whole.
In this way Hillocks article is necessary to the continued growth of the field, but is not helpful to young teachers. Like all articles his should be taken in conjunction with more theoretical examinations of composition, but it doesn't offer a route to better teaching on its own. That is, what I believe, Emig and Graves were stating when criticizing such research and what Hillocks fails to realize when he criticizes them in return. And this conversation of criticism, one obvious the other veiled, is indicative of the necessity of us employing the same techniques of listening and respect with each other that we do with our students. I owe those around me the respect inferred when I attempt to understand what they are trying to say as much as I recognize what I believe they are saying. And when I respond to that it does no one any good if I hide my disagreements, nor does it do any good if I do not show an understanding of what I am disagreeing with.
I absolutely agree that I am an "expressionist" as Berlin will define me on page 717, but I absolutely also agree with Hillock that the environmental mode, as he defines it on pages 144-146, is the best approach to teaching. There is more to the environmental mode than described, however, and so in this way I both agree and disagree with Hillocks. It is through this unfettered, personal response that I learn and my own theory of composition is complicated, expanded, and refined.
Emig says that "successful learning is...engaged, committed, personal learning. Indeed, impersonal learning may be an anomalous concept, like the very notion of objectivism itself" (12). She also points out that "writing...connects the three major tenses of our experience to make meaning" (13). To that end I have decided for this response to make meaning from our readings, to attempt to learn as much as I can, and to that end I intend to be "engaged, committed" and to demonstrate "personal learning." I feel the best way to promote this personal learning is to discuss the first four essays together instead of in pieces--this demonstrates (I believe) the recursive, learning process I follow while reading them. I will then go on to discuss Hillocks article and how I feel it speaks back to the first four pieces both successfully and not successfully.
I have laid out my intentions as clearly as possible because it has been my experience that when one launches into a dialogue with the text, if the dialogue is obviously personal it is assumed that reflexive thought is not taking place. This was as true for me as a freshman as it is as a graduate student. Murray states that "the student finds his own subject. It is not the job of the teacher to legislate the student's truth" (5) This means that often teachers see students' thoughts--thoughts different from their own--and fail to recognize the "process of discovery through language" (Murray, 4). Instead of respecting the student "for the search for truth in which he is engaged" the teacher attempts to enforce his own truth upon the student (Murray, 5). This happens chiefly, I believe, because "composing does not occur in a straightforward, linear fashion" (Perl, 34). But we as teachers, students, people, have been taught the "appropriate" forms of knowledge and presentation of that knowledge. Such presentation is linear, scientific (unemotional) and stated without question for what has been thought even as it states questions for further thought.
It is frustrating to accept knowledge in an unregulated form because the teacher loses absolute power in such a situation. I believe it is specifically this dialogic, meaning-making environment involving structure and free thought (a variation of what Hillocks calls the environmental mode) that truly offers the students authority. Blogs, free-writing, and peer-review all approximate this authority, but the transfer is not total. The teacher, by judging and evaluating students' thought--not matter how ridiculous--instead of challenging and discussing, still maintains the authority of the position and thus does not create an environment where revision, as Summers would call it, composing as Perl would call it, writing to learn, as Emig would call it, process as Murray would call it, and inquiry, as Hillocks would call it, may actually happen. And because I believe, as Emig does, that writing is learning and learning can happen through writing, I feel this approach is important at all levels of instruction, not simply that of Freshman Composition.
I thought of our class discussion on tone as I began Hillocks article, specifically, the first page when he uses words like "attack" and "vituperative attack" (133) to describe the objections of Emig and Graves. He returns to their "attacks" at the end of the article when he states "the results of this study have important implications for research. First, they belie assertions by Emig (1982) and Graves (1980) that experimental research has no value for classroom teachers and that it has no utility for composition researches" (162). Hillocks here attacks Emig and Graves himself simply with less incendiary language. By saying his work "belies assertions" he is saying that Emig and Graves are wrong. I do not see a problem with his assertion any more than I see a problem with Emig and Graves assertion (I will clarify momentarily) but I do see a problem with the need to hide what we mean behind language (doublespeak) in order to maintain an "even" tone. Attacking, disproving, contradicting--all of these things can be used incorrectly, but I feel that to discount them purely on principle is a mistake. It is through argument--attacking-- that scholars can discuss new knowledge and hash out theories. An attempt to pretend this happens with no emotion is to attempt to remove the "personal from the political" (Rich) and to pretend "personal learning" (Emig) doesn't occur. This is a false attempt that actually fools no one, but does serve to render the discourse lifeless and inert. And it is in this way that studies become, as Graves states being quoted by Hillocks, not "readable [and] of limited value" and can't "help teachers in the classroom" (133).
And Hillocks doesn't offer any theory to speak of to teachers. His research is incredibly important in that it shows what techniques work and which ones do not. How can we, as teachers, learn if not by research such as this? But it offers little to nothing about why they work. And it is this why that fuels and motivates all good theory (I believe). A teacher must know why she teaches what she teaches, why she assigns what she assigns, what her goal is, why a particular inquiry is used, and how to best facilitate meaning-making (Knoblauch and Brannon, Freire, Berthoff). Hillocks draws a fine line between natural and environmental modes of teaching, but does not explore all the ways those two modes intersect. His research shows students need structure and freedom. But it isn't until you look at Emig, Murray, Perl, Sommers, Berlin, Berthoff, and others that you begin to investigate how that dichotomy of structure/freedom can be navigated and reformed into a whole.
In this way Hillocks article is necessary to the continued growth of the field, but is not helpful to young teachers. Like all articles his should be taken in conjunction with more theoretical examinations of composition, but it doesn't offer a route to better teaching on its own. That is, what I believe, Emig and Graves were stating when criticizing such research and what Hillocks fails to realize when he criticizes them in return. And this conversation of criticism, one obvious the other veiled, is indicative of the necessity of us employing the same techniques of listening and respect with each other that we do with our students. I owe those around me the respect inferred when I attempt to understand what they are trying to say as much as I recognize what I believe they are saying. And when I respond to that it does no one any good if I hide my disagreements, nor does it do any good if I do not show an understanding of what I am disagreeing with.
I absolutely agree that I am an "expressionist" as Berlin will define me on page 717, but I absolutely also agree with Hillock that the environmental mode, as he defines it on pages 144-146, is the best approach to teaching. There is more to the environmental mode than described, however, and so in this way I both agree and disagree with Hillocks. It is through this unfettered, personal response that I learn and my own theory of composition is complicated, expanded, and refined.
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