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.
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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. |
AboutM.Ed English Ed. candidate at the University of Minnesota. ArchivesCategories |