This week’s readings by Gloria Ladson-Billings and Paolo Freire felt like a great place to land for our final blog post in CI 5441. Both pieces were frank, measured challenges to the notion that teachers of any background (but especially those who are from white or other dominant/oppressor groups) can be inherently neutral in their approach to teaching and learning.
Freire’s famous Pedagogy of the Oppressed takes on the process of social change, advocating for education as a site of “humanization,” where the task of each person is to realize their innate humanity. To Freire, however, this process is complicated by the fact that society (and educators) exist within the oppressor/oppressed framework that informs so much of how Western, colonized society functions. Because of this, teachers must be self aware about their own background and the biases they carry with them into the educational space. He challenges the “savior” complex of many [white] teachers, saying:
This was a hugely impactful section of Freire’s thinking for me. The bluntness of it is both admirable, effective and left me with a sort of internal feeling of “daaaaang.” As a white teacher heading into the classroom, I am exactly the type of person his words are aimed to address. In particular, his words “because of their background they believe that they must be the executors of the transformation” really hit home for me. How often have I, perhaps unconsciously, assumed that my belief in the importance of equity and social justice somehow means I am immune (or have ‘addressed/overcome) the fact that I have been socialized by whiteness and am a lifetime beneficiary of its privilege? Since I am bothered by social injustice, that means I must be qualified to address it, right? … Probably not. Freire puts out a call to teachers who have been oppressors -- consciously or otherwise -- to be vigilant in self-examination and to never assume a place of power within movements for change by way of their privileged background. Instead, he advocates for all teachers to strive towards a humanizing pedagogy, where “the method ceases to be an instrument by which the teachers (in this instance, the revolutionary leadership) can manipulate the students (in this instance, the oppressed), because it expresses the consciousness of the students themselves” (1970, p. 18). What a humbling experience to reflect and realize that I still have so far to go in learning how to do this! Ladson-Billings’ update on her “culturally relevant pedagogy” theory provides some ways forward, but certainly not simple ones. She notes how her theory has been misapplied by many teachers over the years, and how often theories like hers are watered-down in practice. I wonder if part of this is because educators do not do the type of self-reflection Freire discusses in Pedagogy of the Oppressed. In her discussion of the use of hip-hop practices in the classroom and Paris & Alim’s furthering of her theory in "culturally sustaining pedagogy," she discusses this very issue. “[Paris and Alim] urge us to guard against the voyeuristic culture-vultures that consider hip-hop to be the next trendy thing that can be used to hook students, only to draw them back into the same old hegemonic, hierarchical structures” (2014, p. 83). In essence, it is not enough to label practices as “culturally relevant” or “culturally sustaining” simply because you’ve changed one element of the lesson to include a nod to students’ background cultures. If, as the educator, you don’t do the actual work to change your mindset, your curricula will only be a replication of the oppressive hierarchy you never dealt with inside of you -- no matter how ‘culturally relevant/sustaining’ you want it to be. Resource Link: Django Paris’ Twitter Account. Am I linking Twitter as an educational resource? Yes, I am! Django Paris, author of Gloria Ladson-Billings’ cited work in this week’s reading, is an amazing educational advocate and current faculty at the University of Washington. He frequently posts links to resources and keeps followers updated on his work, and related social justice work in the field of education. References: Freire, P., & Ramos, M. B. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York, NY: Seabury Press. Ladson-Billings, G. (2014). Culturally Relevant Pedagogy 2.0: a.k.a. the Remix. Harvard Educational Review, 84(1), 74–84.
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This week’s readings hit a little extra close to home for me, since the main focus of one of the research articles was “Sumner High School,” which is actually Champlin Park High School and my own high school alma mater. I graduated in 2010, so a few years before either article was written, but I just couldn’t help relating the findings from them to my own experience at the very place where Dr. Grinage was researching and delving deeper into the impact of race in the classroom.
In particular, he notes how many of the teachers at Champlin Park all but erased race from conversations in the classroom, and that the school had a significantly Eurocentric curriculum. As a former student, I absolutely agree with him looking back. I took multiple AP courses, and all of these were from a dominantly white, Eurocentric perspective. In the same way, most of my other classes operated from this worldview, although it was unspoken. The part that really hit me, though, was how — honestly — these glaring omissions and the singularness of worldview present in my educational experience never really stuck out to me as odd. In fact, I was hardly aware of it at all. As a white student in a school where nearly every teacher had the same dominant racial background that I did, I simply was never required to question the “who, “what” or “why” behind the curriculum. So, the eye-opener for me was reading about how differently students who were black experienced the exact same school environment than I did. In one example, Dr. Grinage outlines how a student who asked a question about race was essentially told that her question was not appropriate. He notes that “Monica’s anger, but certainly not surprise, at the teacher’s response echoed how many black students felt about how teachers viewed the importance of race at Sumner— that is, insignificant and, at times, inappropriate” (Grinage, 2019, p. 237). Woof. That’s the school that I went to! It doesn’t make me feel defensive necessarily (I didn’t return to Champlin Park a single time until our practicum this fall, though I graduated in 2010… so I wasn’t exactly a passionately pro-CPHS alumni), it mainly just makes me feel sad. Sad that a student in the same context I was in could feel so invalidated by her experience in school. And although I don’t remember anything like the exchanges noted by the black students involved in the study, it begs the question… was I, as a white student, even aware of the racism occurring around me? Likely not. In all honesty, I came out of my high school and much of my undergraduate experience pretty racially naive and illiterate. I had no idea that racial trauma was not just an isolated incident that happen occasionally to people of color, but in reality “the permanence of racial trauma requires a development of methods for bereavement dedicated to living with loss, not escaping loss” (Grinage, 2019, p. 232), which results in racial melancholia he identifies as impacting these black students at Champlin Park. And, while this doesn’t make them powerless victims and the article outlined ways in which these students access agency throughout experiences with racism, it is still something that causes harm continually. As I process through the readings, and put them in concert with The Hate U Give and its exploration of the impact of racial violence on Starr, her family, and her community, I couldn’t help asking the question… “Where on earth do I go from here?” As a white woman, who hopes to become an educator, but grew up in a school setting where race was essentially “erased,” I can see the harmful — but easier— option that many educators take, which is to avoid the uncomfortable topic altogether. Even by way of personality, I tend to be someone who would rather avoid or run from conflict or discomfort instead of facing it head on. Unfortunately, though, that’s exactly what the teachers cited in the Champlin Park study were doing. Whatever their motives, they were suppressing real, honest discussion about race — and whether it came from overt or covert racism, discomfort with the topic, or something else, it still creates harm for students of color every time. As I reflected, I realized that I too could be in danger of repeating that pattern since I tend to avoid conflict and discomfort. That still doesn’t make it okay, though! It’s my job (not my future students’!) to learn how to be comfortable with discomfort. With that, I thought the step-by-step instructions for having a conversation about the n-word were super helpful. In particular, I appreciated the notion that “the most important mental preparation for teaching about the n-word is to acknowledge that both you as a teacher and many of your students will feel varying degrees of discomfort, but this discomfort should not be an impediment to having thoughtful and rich conversations about an otherwise controversial subject” (Grinage, 2013, p. 139). That is exactly the area that I need to grow, so I appreciated the naming of it, and the way that specific instructions for successfully navigating this type of conversation could help me learn how to not only include but delve deeply into the topic of race in my classroom. I wish I could just do it perfectly right at the start, but I know that I probably won’t. That shouldn’t, however, stop me from trying, learning and continuing to read up on how to helpfully include discussions of race in my future classroom. Resource Link: MN Compass Racial Equity Resources Directory - MN Compass is a yearly assessment completed by Wilder Research, a social justice research firm in St. Paul, measuring the health of Minnesota’s population in a wide range of areas including racial equity. This directory is a great short list of organizations working toward these aims right here in Minnesota! References: Grinage, J. (2013). Combating Huck Finn's Censorship: A Step-By-Step Approach to Discussing the N-Word. In Talking About Race: Alleviating the Fear (pp. 137–147). Sterling, VA: Stylus Publishing. Grinage, J. (2019). Endless Mourning: Racial Melancholia, Black Grief, and the Transformative Possibilities for Racial Justice in Education. Harvard Educational Review, 89(2), 227–250. Thomas, A., Turpin, B., & OverDrive Inc. (2017). The hate u give (Unabridged.). New York: Balzer + Bray. This year has required a continuous self-examination and renegotiation of the role in which my position in society as a white teacher will impact my practice, and this week’s readings were helpful spaces to continue this process of reflection.
Helpful, though not always comfortable. However, if there is anything I’m realizing over the course of examining our nation’s educational history and discourse over the last centuries, it is that my comfort can no longer determine whether I engage with the systems of oppression around me. People of color (and of many other marginalized statuses) in our nation have endured far more than mere discomfort in the midst of systematic oppression, so discomfort is a rather small price to pay as a white educator. In fact, I am beginning to see that getting comfortable with discomfort is one of the most important things any of us can do as we become teachers. If I am the most “comfortable” person in my future classroom, I’m probably doing something wrong (or perpetuating the status quo). And so, the process of uncomfortable learning continues. Toni Morrison’s reading of racialized coding of language and the erasure of what she terms the “American Africanist” in literature was both profound and challenging. In her exploration of the construction of “blackness” and “whiteness” in literature, she notes how “for both black and white American writers, in a wholly racialized society, there is no escape from racially inflected language, and the work writers do to unhobble the imagination from the demands of that language is complicated, interesting and definitive” (1992, p. 12-13). As a literature student in K-12 education, I was not aware of this constant presence of racial hierarchy in language and, as such, was complicit in reinforcing it. I feel like it’s important for me to own my role the societal processes happening around me. To be unaware is to be decidedly not neutral. Ignorance does not beget innocence. And discomfort, the friction of realizing that language is not (nor has it ever been) ideologically neutral and, as Morrison describes it, that “readers and writers both struggle to interpret and perform within a common language shareable imaginative worlds” (1992, p. xii), is a challenge. That said, I really appreciate that Morrison’s perspective, and that of the researcher in “It’s Pretty Much White,” are not without hope. Indeed, Morrison notes that “[her] project rises from delight, not disappointment” (p. 5). The fact that she actually sees possibilities for anti-racist education in identifying the formerly ‘unseen’ role of the black community in traditionally ‘white’ literature gives me hope that the same might be possible in my own classroom. One of my concerns has been the fact that, often, we as teachers aren’t given control over which books we teach in the classroom. This has always seemed like a problem to me because certain books don’t strike me as anti-racist in any sense. But, again, I felt like Morrison’s perspective demonstrates that, even in the typical ‘canon’ of literature, we as teachers don’t have to analyze books in a ‘typical’ (ie. reinforcing racialized hierarchies) way. Borsheim-Black’s case study on a white teacher teaching To Kill a Mockingbird to white students in an anti-racist way was a helpful accompaniment to some of the thoughts and questions brought up by Morrison, then. In particular, I noticed the way the teacher in the study used questions about the students’ language to make “Whiteness” visible-- for instance, questioning simple choices of when white students used “they” versus “we” (2015, p. 417). I thought this simple, conversational way of making “familiar language strange” (p. 418) could be a great start in bringing issues of race to the table in the classroom, although I feel like I would need more training to really understand the process and do it well. There were a number of other helpful strategies presented in the research, including introducing racism at a variety of levels (ranging from interpersonal to epistemological) and in asking students to reflect on ways race has impacted their own lives. In some ways, however, I still don’t feel like I’ve done all the work that’s needed to be an effective anti-racist educator. I related to the teacher in the study when, “she expressed concern about whether her own ‘Whiteness’ could create ‘blindspots’ (hooks, 1994) in her pedagogy because as White people, “we don’t know what we don’t know.”’ (2015, p. 412). That said, I suppose at this point the important thing is to have begun the journey, and to be willing to learn along the way. Resource Link: Anti-Racist Pedagogy Resources - Although it’s an abbreviated list, this list of Anti-Racist Pedagogy resources from the University of Texas - Austin was really helpful! In particular, I think the news articles and excerpt from The New Jim Crow would be really helpful supplemental texts to classroom work. The academic articles are insightful as well, but would probably be less accessible for students in early high school or below due to the academic reading skills required. References: Morrison, T. (1992). Playing in the Dark. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, vi-17. Borsheim-Black, C. (2015). "It's Pretty Much White": Challenges and Opportunities of an Antiracist Approach to Literature Instruction in a Multilayered White Context. Research in the Teaching of English, 49(4), 407–429. I was struck by two things after this week’s readings: first, that reading and writing have the potential to be absolutely transformative in students’ lives, particularly when experienced in meaningful ways during their adolescent years. At the same time, however, I was also struck by how, as a teacher, I won’t be able to introduce students to the transforming power of literature without practical classroom management and lesson-planning strategies.
I appreciated, then, that Teaching Culturally Sustaining and Inclusive Young Adult Literature and the chapter from Reading, Writing and Rising Up covered both sides of our role as teachers; both the transformative power of literature itself, and the practical aspects of implementing transformative reading and writing in the classroom. In TCSYAL, the author interviews Erika Sanchez, prolific writer of fiction, poetry and journalistic works, and author of I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter. I loved reading transcripts of the interview, as I don’t often see “interview-style” writing in academic literature. Additionally, her story was an amazing window into how literature and writing changed her life as an adolescent. For Sanchez, reading and writing were ways to understand, and at times even escape, some of the difficulty of growing up as a bicultural teen in Chicago. I really resonated with some of her experience; I was also a teen who used reading and writing to understand and escape my world. Similar to Sanchez, the experience gave me an appreciation for the healing power of literature, and also for how important it is to show adolescents how to harness their voice through reading and writing. Often, however, I feel like teens are underestimated in their ability to think, process and ask complex questions about the world when in fact they have amazingly complex perspectives and important things to say. Sanchez seems to concur, saying, “Young people should be encouraged to question the world they live in. They want to make it better and shouldn’t be treated as unintelligent or not concerned. They think about so much and so deeply, and they need to space to do so and be encouraged” (Rodríguez, 2019, p. 221). I agree with her sentiment, and one of my main motivations for getting into teaching is how much I believe in the value of young peoples’ perspectives. I also appreciated how, even though Sanchez talks about the challenges of her life growing up, she also emphasizes how important hope is as well. “It’s equally important to write about hope and triumph. I wanted to leave the reader with a sense of hope. That’s important to me. The novel is for young people. I want them to see a light at the tunnel; that, despite everything, there’s a possibility for a better life” (Rodríguez, 2019, p. 221). Sometimes I’ve noticed that, in the pursuit of exposing students to transformative literature or applying critical lenses to reading, we as teachers may focus so much on what is ‘problematic’ or ‘wrong’ about the world that we forget to cast vision and give hope for what life can be! I’m not advocating for a reductionist or ‘rose-colored-glasses’ approach to the world, but I also think Sanchez’ point about hope is crucial. With all of Sanchez’ ideas, however, I’m realizing more and more that I also need practical ways for helping introduce students to transformative literature. Ideas and theory are great, but without practical implementation I think they tend to fall short of influencing our day-to-day life in the classroom. Enter Linda Christensen’s book, Reading, Writing and Rising Up. After introducing her teaching philosophy, she provides a number of helpful reading and writing strategies that not only develop skills but also connect deeply to students’ own life experiences. In particular, the “Read-Around” Strategy for building students’ confidence in reading out loud, combined with personal opportunities to connect with their own life through writing “Name Stories” or “Childhood Narratives,” (Christensen, 2000, p. 37) would be amazing ways to connect some of Sanchez’ ideas about the importance of adolescents’ thoughts and actually have them show up in the classroom. She also details some of her experience with the literal practicalities of classroom discipline and management, which I think also play an important role in creating an environment where students’ creativity can thrive. Resource Link: Teacher Tips - Teaching with Love & Logic This ‘vlog’ run by longtime teacher Aaron Rodgers (not the football quarterback) is a really helpful resource on TONS of teaching topics. He did a vlog on a classroom management tool called “Teaching with Love and Logic” that provides helpful options for teachers looking to provide discipline in helpful, positive ways. The section on "Discipline: No Quick Fix" at the end of Christensen’s article reminded me of what a helpful tool this has been for me in the past. References: Christensen, L. (2000). Reading, writing, and rising up: teaching about social justice and the power of the written word. Milwaukee, WI: Rethinking Schools. Rodríguez, R. Joseph. (2019). Teaching culturally sustaining and inclusive young adult literature: critical perspectives and conversations. New York, NY: Routledge. I found an interesting intersection in this week’s readings as I happened to be assigned Ch. 8 on deconstruction in Deborah Appleman’s book. As I read, I realized that much of what she discusses in terms of the deconstructionist approach to literature was also central to Rodriguez’ Teaching Cultural Sustaining and Inclusive Young Adult Literature and Kumashiro’s chapter from Troubling Education.
Appleman outlines how deconstructionism “seeks to show that a literary work is usually self-contradictory” (2015) by identifying areas where an author’s language contains contradictions, unintended meanings, or where its logic may collapse in on itself. For instance, a student in one of her classes deconstructs a poem saying, “The poem is very contradictory. [The author] attempts to dissect death and make it smaller, but the contradictions in the poem thwart the attempt and death ends up staying powerful and frightening” (2015). While Rodriguez, Kumashiro and Appleman all favor the use of deconstructionism in the classroom, Appleman also presents a look at the implications of deconstructionism on adolescents’ psychological well-being during what can be an intense period of identity formation for them. After considering the three readings, I argue that Appleman’s concern is merited, and also consider how deconstructionism might be most helpfully introduced in a classroom setting. In particular, the Kumashiro and Rodriguez readings assert that deconstructionism (also referred to as ‘poststructuralism’ in certain texts) is useful in the classroom because it empowers students to read literature critically and serves as a powerful tool that students can use to critique oppression and power. Indeed, Kumashiro goes so far as to assert that “although educators have come a long way in detailing approaches that address different forms and different aspects of oppression, they need to make more use of feminist and queer readings of poststructuralism and psychoanalysis in order to address ways that oppression plays out differently in different situations” (2002).
While Appleman also asserts that the theory can be useful, I was interested in her specific mention of how troubling -- even frightening-- the theory was for her students. She describes how students often fell into fear or sadness at learning about the theory. It seemed that deconstructionism made them question everything that they had learned, and some felt as though they weren’t sure if they liked a world where no knowledge could be considered certain. She notes that “the fragility and instability of identity construction during adolescence apparently makes the nihilistic nature of deconstruction too painful for adolescents to integrate” (2015). This was where I felt my own personal experiences and thoughts come into play. While I see value in teaching students to look for contradictory meanings and the workings of language in a text, I also definitely see the role of educators as one of instilling self-efficacy and confidence in students. And although comfort is not the goal of education, the readings made me wonder if adolescence -- particularly because teens are in such a tumultuous period of time developmentally and socially-- is the most effective time in which they should be exposed to deconstructionism. In particular, I questioned this because so much of what we have been reading has been focused on, like in Rodriguez’ work, the practice of sustaining students’ culture, literacies, and backgrounds. Especially when so many students from marginalized groups have, to a certain extent, had their worldview de-legitimized by society, I wonder if the introduction of deconstructionism may only serve to create more instability in a developmental moment where it could be helpful for them to be building a more stable (not in a rigid sense, but one in which they feel safe and that reflects their true sense of self), positive self-image? While I don’t feel these concerns mean deconstructionism should never show up in the classroom, I appreciated Appleman’s nuanced approach to its introduction. She recommends focusing less on how deconstructionism allows for meaning to collapse on itself, and more on how “...a text will have multiple meanings, depending on the ways in which an individual reader may attempt to resolve the ambiguities and inconsistencies in the text” (2015). I also thought about how having students learn ‘deconstructionism’ in concert with other literary theories can also be helpful. In seeing deconstructionism not as the ‘right’ or ‘only’ way of viewing a text, but rather an option on a menu of many literary theories to adopt, students hopefully will be able to realize that it is not the only or “right” way of viewing a text, and therefore they can also hold that their own life experiences and perspectives are ‘safe’ in the process of exploring. Resource Link: What is Deconstructionism? This article out of Bowie State University gives a high-level, relatively simple explanation of deconstructionism as a literary theory. Given its complex nature, it may be helpful to have some additional articles and textual resources for students encountering the theory for the first time, and this could be one of them! References: Appleman, D. (2015). Critical encounters in secondary english: teaching literary theory to adolescents. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Kumashiro, K. K. (2002). Troubling education: queer activism and antioppressive education. New York: RoutledgeFalmer. Rodríguez R. Joseph. (2019). Teaching culturally sustaining and inclusive young adult literature: critical perspectives and conversations. New York, NY: Routledge. In Rosenblatt’s “The Literary Transaction: Evocation and Response,” she outlines the reader-response theory with a few more nuances than we’ve covered thus far in our coursework. In previous discussions of ‘reader-response theory’ in class, it has primarily been bemoaned as the common denominator of literary theories in the last few decades of education.
My impression, at least, of some of these other perspectives on reader response has been that they suggest supplanting of this theory with a set of theories broadly termed ‘critical literacy,’ which include lenses like gender, class, race and related social topics through which to view a text. While these are amazing theories, I think I was beginning to think that reader-response theory was irrelevant at best, or perhaps oppressive at worse. I was interested, then, to read Rosenblatt’s conception of her reader-response theory, because it felt different than what my impression of reader-response theory has been up to this point. For Rosenblatt, reader-response is much more than simply polling readers for their reaction to a text. Instead, her theory seemed to me to deal more complexly with the process of transformation that a text undergoes when it is read. She states that, “reading is a transaction, a two-way process,” and that the “the most important choice of all must be made early in the reading event -- the overarching choice of what I term the reader’s stance, his “mental set,” so to speak” (268). The two stances she focuses on are the “efferent,” or information-seeking stance, and the “aesthetic” stance, which is more broadly related to being present as a reader during the reading and being open to the variety of internal connections, responses, and feelings that come up as reading occurs. In exploring these two approaches to reading and their related outcomes, I found myself rethinking a bit of my opinion on reader-response theory. While I certainly believe critical literacy lenses are essential in helping students critique the worldview present in texts, I also really appreciated how Rosenblatt’s theory emphasizes the importance of allowing students to read from an “aesthetic stance.” In particular, she notes that modern, standardized-testing saturated schools are more and more pushing students to read from an “efferent stance” -- meaning they approach the text only looking for information, often attempting to discern which pieces of information they will be required to know for answering comprehension questions on exams. This is an experience that definitely relates to my own experiences in school. Growing up, I devoured books on my own time. I was an introvert and absolutely loved to read for pleasure -- I probably would have chosen that over interacting with the real world any day! I loved the feeling of being immersed in a novel’s imagined world and getting to know each world’s unique characters. It was actually the introduction of dreaded “comprehension questions” and assignments that required me to prioritize the information in a text in a school setting that caused me to deviate from my love of the experience of reading. I was fortunate enough to have built a love of reading early enough in life that it survived the constant preference of the “efferent” approach to reading in school, but I wonder how many kids have a similar experience and simply give up on reading altogether? Indeed, Rosenblatt notes how schools have often, in their prioritization of “efferent” (information-seeking) reading, neglected teaching students how to read texts with a more “aesthetic” sense of present-ness and engagement with the emotional, personal experience of reading a text. When reading with an aesthetic stance the reader is allowed to pay attention “not simply [to] the abstract concepts that the words point to, but also what those objects or references stir up of personal feelings, ideas, and attitudes” (269). This shift to valuing the “aesthetic stance” is one I am passionate about making in a future English classroom. I love how it emphasizes the way stories can be seen, felt, experienced bodily and emotionally, and how each reader will draw unique, personal connections in the text, even while reading the same one. In our fast-paced, task-driven culture this shift into “present-ness” both emotionally and physically can have enormous benefits for students. Not only does it reinforce healthy personal practices like mindfulness and self-awareness, it inherently opposes the idea that literature is only useful for the information it presents. To me, it feels like a return to the art of literature -- that written works can be of value and important simply for the aesthetic, experiential possibilities that they open up for students. In sum, reader-response is more nuanced (and quite possibly more important!) than I realized. And, while it should not replace or supersede critical literacy theories, I can see reader-response being a helpful tool to help students connect with and experience texts personally, in addition to critiquing them through the use of critical literacy theories. Resource Link: Mindful Schools - 6 Ideas for Creating Mindfulness in the Classroom -- this organization works to help implement mindfulness for teachers, classrooms and schools. The practices are meant to help educators and students build mind-body connection awareness and learn how to regulate, make choices about what they need, and be more present in the school environment. This article gives some great tips for helping students be mindful in the classroom -- these may be helpful when teaching students to read with an “aesthetic” awareness of how they are personally experiencing a text. References: Rosenblatt, L. M. (1982). The Literary Transaction: Evocation and Response. Theory Into Practice, 21(4), 268–277. After reading bell hook’s chapter on “Narratives of Struggle,” I was initially thinking I would choose the novel The Round House by Louise Erdrich as an example of a critical fiction. The book focuses on the (unsuccessful) prosecution of a white rapist who commits his crime against a Native woman on tribal lands. It details just how difficult it is for the tribal judge -- who is also married to the woman who was attacked -- to prosecute the crime because tribal legal jurisdiction is often superseded in unfair ways by U.S. jurisdiction. In the end, the woman’s son ends up killing the rapist with the help of his friend to bring about justice.
However, as I thought more about it I realized that, although The Round House is an important book for the light it sheds on the tribal legal process and the injustice within that system that impacts Native communities, it may not actually be a “critical fiction” in the same terms that bell hooks’ outlines. For hooks, a critical fiction is not just a retelling of a particular community’s challenges or pain. In fact, she notes that “literature emerging from marginalized groups that is only a chronicle of pain can easily act to keep in place the existing structures of domination” (p. 59). Instead, she states that “the writer of critical fiction makes the conscious decision to locate her work in the realm of oppositional cultural production. That choice is most often informed by a desire to intervene critically in the status quo, to participate in cultural revolution” (58). In essence, critical fiction ‘reimagines’ the world in a more equitable way, and ‘reimagines’ the author’s community in powerful, positive ways that reject the dominant narrative about it. So, while The Round House has an important goal in showing the reader a challenging, ultra-realistic portrayal of injustice in Native communities, it does not take an additional step to reimagine this reality. What, then, might constitute a text that not only chronicles a community’s challenges, but also reimagines that community in a powerfully critical way? If I can stretch the meaning of “text” to include both words in book form and words in the form of a scripted movie, I’d like to propose that the movie Black Panther, directed by Ryan Coogler and written by him and Joe Robert Cole, is an excellent example of a critical fiction. (I would include a link to the film directly, but it does need to be purchased to view) Black Panther chronicles the nation of Wakanda and its transition in leadership from the deceased former king to his son, King T’Challa. Wakanda is assumed by the outside world to be a “poor African nation,” when in reality it has the richest reserves of vibranium (a fictional super-metal) in the world. In fact, Wakanda is actually home to the most advanced technology on earth, and has chosen to cloak itself from the outside world to avoid being sucked into needless conflict. In this way, the very setting of the movie pushes against common stereotypes about Africa and its supposed “need” to be developed by the West. This resistance and reimagining of reality continues throughout the film. For instance, King T’Challa’s 16-year-old sister, Shuri, is head of technological development for the nation. Her positioning as an expert in technology as a woman of color (and a teen!) resists and reimagines the audiences “usual” narrative about young black women. Not only that, but when an American intelligence agent is injured and brought to her high-tech lab for medical care, she comments, “Great! Another broken white boy for us to fix.” This line creatively jabs at the ‘white savior’ mentality by flipping it completely on its head -- now it’s the white man in need of saving! Black Panther could be an incredible asset in teaching critical fiction in the classroom. Not only do I think students appreciate multi-modality in analyzing texts (and come on, it’s fun to have ‘movie day’ every once in a while!), the movie is also rich in imaginative, subversive scripting that can be analyzed for the commentary it makes on culture. I think it would be really interesting to combine the critical analysis of the movie through a race or gender lens (having students identify how these identities are played out by the different characters), and also having students look at other texts that construct a meaning of what it means to be African or African American. For instance, you could also have students read Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness after watching the movie and have them note the differences between that and the portrayal of African identity in Black Panther. Or, you could combine the watching of Black Panther with a reading of Richard Wright’s Native Son or with texts by Malcolm X, James Baldwin or historical documents related to the actual Black Panther political party. Together, these could create a compelling, multi-layered exploration of race in film and written texts for students. References: Coogler, R., Cole, J. R., Feige, K., Boseman, C., Jordan, M. B., Nyong'o, L., Gurira, D., ... Buena Vista Home Entertainment (Film),. (2018). Black Panther. Erdrich, L. (2017). The Round House. New York: Harper Perennial. hooks, bell. (1991). Narratives of Struggle. In Critical Fictions: The Politics of Imaginative Writing (pp. 53–61). Seattle, WA: Bay Press. After finishing this week’s readings, I was struck by a few distinct moments in the texts that I’d like to explore further. The first was a story shared by Hilary Janks in her introduction to Doing Critical Literacy. In the midst of sharing the important ways critical literacy explores questions of power, diversity, access and textual design/redesign, she shared a short story about an elderly woman in one of her university classes that really struck a chord with me.
This woman, unlike her younger peers who were more socialized to the conventions of a college classroom, chose not to share her opinion without being invited to do so. In an interesting analysis of the other students’ mindsets, Janks says, “the students saw her as a victim of a sexist practice and wanted her to adopt the interaction patterns used at the university and to contribute whenever she had something to say” (2014). As I read this passage, it caused me to reflect on my own experiences in classrooms, both secondary and university. In general, it seems that the American classroom prioritizes students who are eager to jump in and share; the ones who state their positions and thoughts confidently in the midst of discussions. Disagreement, I’ve found, is usually encouraged as we assume it means students are thinking critically and examining what those around them have to say. While none of this is inherently bad, I really wonder if we’re truly getting at the heart of a truth-telling and honest discussions when the loudest or most confident students in the room are sharing. How often have I, without realizing it, spent discussions thinking more about how I was going to respond to what was being said, instead of how I could understand it? So here’s what, in Janks’ story, really blew my mind. Once the students adapted and began to invite the elderly student to share, she says, “what they discovered when they did this is that if you ask someone to speak, you have to listen to what they say” (Janks, 2014). How powerful! What they saw as “victimhood” in this woman, was simply a different way for her to achieve power in the classroom. Her life experiences and the way she chose to approach the world was not, in fact, a shortcoming, but an asset. What incredible power this woman had in, instead of choosing to compromise her set of unique cultural conventions and values, she honored her perspective and chose to be herself. Her example really demonstrated to me the power of creating environments where students can stay authentic to their backgrounds during discussions and listening is prioritized as much as sharing. I feel like this is especially relevant, given Janks’ and the other authors’ focuses on the theoretical foundation of critical literacy this week. So much of what we read really honed in on critical literacy as a means to identify the workings of power in texts, and then (as Janks puts it) “redesign” or reimagine texts in a more transformative, equitable way. This process will almost guarantee a wide variety of potentially disparate or even conflicting opinions as students tease apart texts to find meaning and discuss topics on unequal power distributions. With that, however, I believe the lesson the elderly woman taught the other students is especially pertinent. We, as educators, must make sure that we create an environment where students are invited to share their perspectives and explore new ones, and at the same time allowed to authentically show up as the complex, multi-layered person that they already are. In some cases, I believe this process may involve structuring a discussion so each student gets an uninterrupted chance to share (ie. restorative practice circles). That said, it also makes me think about how I need to balance the way structured discussion can ‘make room’ for quieter students with the reality that some stories -- even hard ones, or loud ones, or emotional ones -- really need to be told. Dr. Grinage’s work hugely impacted me in showing how the introduction of “traumatic” texts like the poem “Strange Fruit” into the classroom actually invites a cathartic process of grieving that has been prevented for years due to our culture’s collective unwillingness to admit to a past of racial trauma in the U.S. He states that “the transmission of past racial violence and the emergence of this violence in the present is illustrative of a racially melancholic nation struggling to exist with generations of ghosts” (2018) -- “ghosts” that have allowed to exist by silencing language around racial violence in schools and society at large. This, I feel, is the other ditch that we as educators need to avoid. Do we need to create spaces with helpful structure so that students can approach challenging topics in an environment of safety? Absolutely. But once the idea of “creating safety” actually becomes a way of silencing perspectives or insulating students from the harsh reality of our nation’s past, it is no longer creating safety, it is perpetuating harm. Resource Link: Teaching for Black Lives - This is the website for Teaching for Black Lives, a book published in 2015, and includes practical resources available for download and practical support for educators looking to implement anti-racist classroom practices and teach in a way that honors and uplifts students of color, and particularly black students, in their classrooms. References: Grinage, J. (2018). Socializing with the Ghosts of Our Racial Past: Embracing Traumatic Teaching and Learning in Literacy Education. Journal of Language & Literacy Education. Janks, H., Dixon, K., Ferreira, A., Granville, S., & Newfield, D. (2014). Doing critical literacy: texts and activities for students and teachers. New York: Routledge I’ll be honest… I probably wouldn’t have said I was very interested in literary theory prior to starting the English licensure program this past summer. Yes, I was an undergraduate English major, but it was only because there wasn’t an option to major in creative writing. The reason I wanted to be an English teacher was to help give students tools to express themselves and own the power of their own voice through written expression, not teach literary theory.
That said, a few of these readings are really starting to make me think about the importance of literature in a classroom setting. I loved how Appleman described our role as educators: “As literature teachers, we are charged with helping young people make their way meaningfully in the world. Therefore, we must help them make sense of a myriad of texts, to read and if necessary, resist the ideologies embedded in those texts” (xiv). I suppose it’s a bit irresponsible of me to assume that students will be able to write effectively if they do not have the tools to understand written works and the world around them at the same time! In particular, the passages we read from Critical Encounters in Secondary English got me thinking about the relationship between reading, writing, and the very act of thinking itself. Appleman pays special attention to the role that ideologies, or sets of usually unconscious beliefs about the world, play in both individual student’s lives, and in the world around us. She makes the case that all literature contains ideologies that are not readily apparent, but can (and should!) be revealed through putting on literary theories like ‘glasses’ through which different features of its meaning are highlighted. This was a totally new mindset for me. Like many students now in our mid-20’s, we grew steeped in ‘close reading’ and ‘reader-response’ approaches to literature. In essence, these two theories only allow for the textual features themselves or the reader’s life experiences to come into play in understanding the meaning of text. During my schooling, I wouldn’t have called those two approaches ‘theories’ -- to my knowledge, I didn’t even understand what a theory was! That was simply how studying literature was done; they were the only options presented and as a student I assumed they encompassed the totality of how literature could be studied. Little did I know there were other theories, other “lenses,” that existed and could have helped me draw additional meaning from the text! Looking back, I wonder if having access to additional theories, like postcolonial, gender, new historicism or deconstructionist, would have made me more interested in literary theory? After all, I was the kid who grew up reading the newspaper my dad left out on the kitchen table -- I was absolutely fascinated with systems, governments, and the way society worked. But literature never seemed connected to those things! I have specific memories of rolling my eyes at having to read yet another Shakespeare play in high school English, wondering how I could survive the boredom (I know, I know, how does a future English teacher not like Shakespeare?). Had I understood that reading Shakespeare actually had the potential to help me interpret the big, fascinating world around me, I feel like it would have made an enormous difference in motivating me as a reader. Although I can’t change my own experience, it does give me tons of hope for how teaching literature in a classroom setting can be more powerful than I ever realized! In particular, I loved the concrete teaching examples Appleman provides in chapter 2 for introducing literary theory to middle and high school students. I mean, what student wouldn’t love to watch Star Wars in class? Jumping off the ideas in the text, I thought of an activity of my own that could be helpful to implement in a future class: for example, I would love to have students do an “Ideology Inventory” activity that involves their community. After a lesson that introduces the concept of ideologies/worldviews and how they can function both individually and in society, I would have students go home and interview 2-3 important people in their lives (who they feel have shaped how they see the world). Students would have a set of questions to ask like “What do you think are the most important character traits a person can have?” “What are acceptable/unacceptable ways for people to behave in public?” or “What is the role of children in their families?” to help them identify what their interviewees’ worldviews are. Then they would take these findings back to class, and write their own response about whether they agree or disagree, and how these perspectives have influenced them. I think this activity would be a great intro to literary theories, so students can begin to understand how their perspective can be similar to and different from others, and eventually to understand how each literary theory also “sees” the world in a unique way. Overall, this multiple theories approach is very different from what I initially thought the study of literature could be, and I LOVE the possibilities! Resource Link: Reading and Writing Haven blog // “A Simple Way to Introduce Students to Critical Reading Lenses” -- This blog written by a former ELA teacher and current curriculum designer and instructional coach has super helpful activity ideas and articles on how to introduce ELA topics like critical reading lenses to students. The ideas are creative and access to the blog is free! I loved that this week’s readings approached curriculum creation and design from both practical and theoretical angles. On one hand, we got a lot of practical, implementable tools and instructional design templates in Wiggins’ & McTighe’s Understanding by Design, while on the other, the readings also delved deeper into the “why” behind creating quality curriculum in Gloria Ladson-Billings' The case for Culturally Relevant Pedagogy and Smith & Willhelm’s Teaching so it matters (which did have a few helpful practical examples too!).
Together, I got the sense that all of these authors, though they touch on curriculum design in different ways, have a high value for creating lessons and content that connect deeply with students and invite them into a learning journey over which they actually have ownership. As I was reading, I found their ideas sparking a sense of excitement and anticipation inside of me. This is what I was hungry for when I decided to leave my job in the nonprofit world and finish my teaching license! I have always found the learning process fascinating, but found it difficult to figure out why I’ve had such a passion for learning when it comes to personal endeavors, but don’t remember that same passion inside of me as a learner in school. ( For instance, I am an absolute Podcast geek, and I love learning anything I can about current events, time management, personal finance/investing, music, playing the piano, etc…. I literally have my own “learning notebook” where I create projects for myself based on my interests and track my progress on what I’m learning!) I had lots of amazing teachers in my time in school, but honestly? There are very few times I can recall in my educational career where teachers -- even the “good ones,” the ones I liked and felt connected to -- sparked a genuine sense of curiosity that caused me to take that same kind of ownership as a learner that I do in my “outside of school” life. For instance, I remember Mr. Hoelz, the popular chemistry teacher. He was the “fun” teacher, and always made us laugh. He even occasionally found ways to explain how science connected to our life as teens. But even in Mr. Hoelz’ class, the curriculum was made up of mostly “coverage-based” and “activity-based” content (Wiggins & McTighe, p. 20). Our year in science class was simply covering required concepts, and our science labs were “cookbook labs” where students got into groups and followed exact instructions out of the workbook to get the same result. To an outside observer, our labs probably looked like engaged, cooperative learning, but all I remember is being absolutely checked-out as a student. I can recall specific moments of inner thought that went something like, “Why are we even doing this? If I wait 20 minutes until we’re all done, I’ll know the answer we were all ‘supposed’ to get anyway. What’s the point?” I usually participated as little as possible in these labs because I found them so boring. I was amazed when Wiggins & McTighe almost perfectly described this type of activity: it was “hands-on without being minds-on, because students do not need to (and are not really challenged to) extract sophisticated ideas or connections. They don’t have to work at understanding; they need only to engage in activity” (20). This is probably why I found the ideas in each of the articles so fascinating -- they all address that “checked-out” student in different ways. Gloria Ladson-Billings offers an idea when she talks about how culturally relevant teachers “encourage students to act as teachers, and they, themselves, often functioned as learners in the classroom” (163). I also LOVED the idea of working backwards from a “provocative” (When does that word come up in education??) essential question that students can actually argue about and must use inquiry skills to answer, as presented in Teaching so it matters. I felt like this strategy went hand-in-hand with the Understanding by Design process of working backwards from an educational goal before creating activities and content for students to work towards that goal. All three of the theorists offered strategies and deeper reasoning behind creating instructional content that actually engages students and invites them into a learning journey. When I think back on the sometimes (often?) bored student I was in high school, their ideas resonate even more -- I bet I would have liked science a lot more if it had had a clear goal and connected with the world around me! It definitely makes me excited to learn how to apply these skills in my own classroom someday. Resource Link: Teaching with Inquiry Learning Podcast: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/teaching-with-inquiry/id1309256060 There are over 100 episodes on this Podcast by a Canadian educator! She teaches upper elementary through 6th grade, so perhaps the ideas would be most useful for middle school teachers, but she has LOTS of ideas and podcasts available the address teaching topics and inquiry learning. |
AboutM.Ed English Ed. candidate at the University of Minnesota. ArchivesCategories |