Doing Rhetoric

“Our historical languages…represent cultural maps, social lifelines to the ancients—linguistic guides to ways of knowing and ways of being. College and university language programs (WPA, WAC, writing centers, first-year writing programs, service learning, distance learning, technical and professional writing programs, and the like) nationwide need to be advocated of the ethnolinguistic diversity within and beyond the academy” (Kells 210, emphasis mine).

Needless to say, I like how Kells thinks. I, too, “like…[the] emphasis on the idea of movement, migration, transition” (204) when we talk about language, writing, and interactions between people. Thinking of the ship metaphor again, it pushes the idea of how dynamic the location, interaction, and medium of communication can be. Even more, though, I think that Kells’ piece brings up many of the points we’ve been discussing throughout the semester and argues for action rather than affirmation. For example, when she mentions that President Obama (as a Senator) promoted bilingualism, opponents made a logical fallacy: Bilingualism does not translate to being “un-American” (205). Instead, Kells furthers this idea through the explanation that language and literacy become a vehicle through which people can obtain certain “alienable human rights” (206). Here, language and literacy are imbued with agency. However, it is people who imbue them with agency in the first place!

This got me thinking about our earlier discussions of Dunkin Donuts and Chloe’s “don’t be a jackass” rule. When Kells states “Global literacy in and of itself is not enough—we need a cultural ecology ethic that promotes social justice,” I think she is referring to many of the ideas that we came back to: the Dunkin Donuts interaction was more about people not language. It was about how people act toward one another and how language, maybe even unknowingly, factors into that. For me, and I think for Kells, “social justice” necessitates people coming together in both formal and informal ways to promote equality or understanding, at least.  She argues that change can come from “institutionalizing advocacy beyond the college composition classroom” as well as within it (210). 

I think that what struck me most about this article was when Kells makes a shift toward action. For instance, although I knew when “Students Rights to their Own Language” came out, I didn’t realize that almost 40 years have passed! I must say, it pushed me a bit further down the “depressed/sun-shiny” scale. Anyway, what she does in this moment is argue that we need to act. NOW. We need to push beyond teaching rhetoric and DO RHETORIC—in the various forms she states in the first quotation I used. When I thought about service-learning as a possibility for translingualism (thanks for the correction, Chris), I didn’t see the exigency that Kells discusses. But her final sentence is haunting: “These are our enduring challenges as educators of an endangered generation” (211). Placing our generation in this position of being “endangered” is heart-wrenching for me, and it makes me think that we need to act now. We, as students, as teachers, as people who aren’t jackasses, need to do what we can to promote social justice through linguistic diversity. I think Kells piece functions as a call to action. Now, I just have to figure out where to start…

At Sea with Multilingualism

I’d like to talk about Trimbur’s article in this post in regards to a couple things: first, my thoughts on Trimbur’s ideas for incorporating multilingualism into classrooms and, second (and probably in a separate—but parallel post due to time constraints—the connection with Prof. Dillon’s transatlantic Print Culture class.

In his final section, Trimbur explains that because English is “the unquestioned medium of instruction and the vernacular of modernity” it has lead to a “relentless monolinguilism of American linguistic culture” (37). But, what he does in this section (which I really enjoy) is argue that we need to find—and incorporate—better “linguistic resources” to encourage a multilingual literacy that will affect educational curriculum in both material and programmatic ways (38). Trimbur is looking for a space—physical and metaphorical—to bring languages into contact with each other. I’m thinking about this idea in terms of something he said earlier in the essay—that ships were “means of communication” in the Atlantic world but also the site of communication; ships transportated language and acted as a physical space that fostered this exchange as well (31).

Trimbur obviously looks to schools as the site of a new linguistic exchange, which can be used to promote multilingualism, and I want to extend this idea [wait for it…all you who know me] to a classroom which uses service-learning. I’m really interested in the idea of a service-learning classroom (*note- when I say “classroom” in this context, I believe that S-L necessitates interaction outside of the classroom as well and should be a part of this!) that functions as a “contact zone” or a place of interaction “between persons of different and multiple identities, speakers of different languages” (qtd on 5). If we look at service-learning classrooms projects (perhaps oral histories or projects that draw attention to previously marginalized issues like homelessness, abuse, illiteracy, etc), I think that many of these projects lend themselves to a multilingual approach.

Trimbur ends his essay advocating for “multiple languages and multiple Englishes [to be put] into circulation as means of participating in public life and as linguistic resources of reciprocal exchange” (40). And, I see this “reciprocal exchange” come to life in a service-learning environment. For instance, when doing a S-L project on homelessness, it is essential that students participate in the learning rather than being the saviors from the ivory tower who go out and help the world with its woes. Instead, students need to understand what is going on that causes this homelessness and hear from the homeless themselves.  What’s important here is that this exchange can go even further: If students want to address issues in society through a S-L course, they need to bring underrepresented voices to the forefront. But what happens when many of these voices are not in English or in the English (if there is just one…) of the student working with this project? To me, a multilingual approach to S-L would help students so they do not “speak for” those they are working with by appropriating someone’s language into their own English.

Going back to the ship idea—I see this as an interesting metaphor when applied to S-L classrooms. In a way, a S-L classroom must be “at sea”, dislocated from both the literal classroom at the university as well as where the people you interact with come from (are they homeless? Are they at an abuse shelter? Different city?). This notion of being “at sea” or in a state of instability applies to physical space as well as the various means of identity that are brought by both parties—neither to be fully “taken on” by the other. Moreover, ships are supposed to bring information from place to place. I see S-L projects as being a vehicle through which community experiences communicate with classroom experiences and create knowledge together.

So, S-L classrooms as a site of multilingual interaction?

  I’m toying of something along these lines for a symposium topic, but we’ll see… comments are appreciated, even if it’s just to say you think this works… or that I’m crazy.

What people do to learn English

 “English was no longer a perk; it had become an imperative” (11). When I read this sentence, I think of the six weeks I spent teaching this summer. I’ve never taught ESL before, but there I was in Andover, Mass, teaching 13-17 yr olds English. The first day of classes is one I won’t soon forget: as my students introduced themselves, I felt so excited for all the cultural experiences I was hearing about. And while I still look back to this experience with so much happiness, I can’t help but see the statement of English as an “imperative” in unflattering ways.

 I remember meeting Lea, a Korean student who spoke English better than most native speakers I know. At just 13 years old, Lea knows Korean, Spanish, French, and English (and I’m quite sure there is one more language that I’m forgetting). Lea came here for the summer to be immersed in English for the summer since she spends her year studying in Barcelona where her classes are mostly in Spanish (though some in English). She has left her parents and grandparents in Korea for the past year and a half to go to a “better school,” which she will attend for the next 4 years as well through high school.  

Phil, a 15 year old from Thailand, studies in New Zealand so he will learn English. He, too, expects to spend his entire high school career in another country.

And, Julian, a 15 yr old from Germany, studies English in hopes of becoming a “businessman.”

These three students were just a few of the many. But, in the case of Lea and Phil, it is extremely common for most of the students I taught to leave home at an early age to go learn another language. As each of these students expressed their reasoning for going to another country or learning another language, their rhetoric revolved around necessity, not choice: “the school is better,” “I need to learn English to succeed in the business world,” “My parents said learning English will be important.”  Granted, Lea goes to a Spanish-speaking school, but the concept was still the same; her parents sent her there for a “better education” than any she could get in South Korea.  These students make me see the reality of Prendergast’s book—how language (and most notably English) is treated as a form of “currency.” And it’s a currency that not everyone can obtain. Not everyone can send their child to an English speaking school.

When I read P’s book, I can’t help but think about what these students are getting out of leaving their homes. After interacting with these students, they did seem to think that learning English promised them something better—whatever that may be. They think that English affords opportunities—and maybe it does. On the one hand, these students are able to participate in various discourses thanks to their language skills. They have gained friends from around the world. And they possibly will have a better chance of getting a job or having a better chance at acceptance to universities than if they hadn’t learned English. But I can’t help but worry about what the future holds. Phil and Julian surely have a strong command of verbal English, but their writing isn’t very strong. And Lea certainly has a very strong command of both verbal and written English, but at what cost? For them to “buy into English (or Spanish and English in Lea’s case),” they are spending integral parts of their childhood on different continents than their family!

I guess my reason for writing this post is because my initial reaction specifically to Phil and Lea and Julian was amazement. These kids, 7+ years younger than myself, seem to have accomplished more than I could imagine. I was proud of them and I was also slightly envious of their experiences. But, after reading P and Canagarajah, I start to question the envy that I had. My center education and my native knowledge of English have afforded me a position of privilege that I think I still don’t fully realize. 

Feminist Methods at work

Since we seem to be on a feminist kick this week, I want to use this post to discuss how I saw specifically feminist methodologies come to work in Royster and Queen’s essays.  Although I enjoyed the goal of the Royster piece, I had a couple problems with it and I want to identify where I questioned her argument by putting it in conversation with some key points I saw in Queen’s. Specifically, I want to discuss the ideas of transparency, intersectionality, and construction/negotiation of power.   In their own way, both projects seem to be important for their potential to spread information, promote civic engagement, and evaluate/change the representations of people involved in their projects. And reading these texts together made me even more aware of how important it is to reevaluate (based on the three concepts I mentioned) and incorporate self-reflexivity into my own projects.

 Queen refers to Nedra Reynolds’s point that teachers must “attend to the [various] negotiations of power that take place across and within a number of spaces” (474).  And while Queen expands Reynolds’  (and others’) conception of “space” and “networks” to the term “field,” I still think that this use of “fields” looks toward the various power dynamics and social, cultural, historical, ideological (and many more) forces that shape the way in which we encounter interactions (whether they are in person, or textual or digital). What this term does allow, though, is for a broader discussion of rhetorical action and power relations that results from our interactions in both concrete texts (print) as well as digital texts, which continuously evolve. In Roster’s case, the billboards for loveLife present a socially constructed text that is largely unchanging. And while the message is admirable (to inform people about HIV), the audience does not seem to be taken into account. I guess what I mean is that while Royster states that the billboard campaign “bring[s] visibility, definition, and meaning [to problems and actions related to sexual health],” (157) I see this overpowering the voice of African people affected by HIV.  Admittedly, the billboard does make sexual health problems more visible, but whose place is it to define the problems here? Shouldn’t the voices of South African people (those actually affected) be involved?  To be sure, Royster does not have a stake in what these billboards advertise, but I do think it’s important that she seems to ignore that the audience/subjects of the billboards (in my opinion) seem largely disengaged or disempowered.  I’m not sure this is a fair interpretation, but my main point is that while Royster begins her essay talking about the intersectionality (or the how social, educational, political, economic forces come together) of dealing with HIV, I imagined that she would also be concerned with how those various factors are (or are not) represented within the campaign. And it didn’t seem to me that they were discussed.

 By looking to “rhetorical genealogy,” Queen emphasizes the need to “uncover…the structuring of meaning” as well as discover which “particular representations and interpretations gain validity and power” (476).  Emphasizing the “decolonization of self” in those who are doing rhetorical genealogies, Queen alludes to the idea of a transparent and self-reflexive approach.  Additionally, Queen alludes to transparency in her final sentence she states that “We must make visible the ways in which all our knowledge is mediated…and how profoundly that knowledge shapes, but also can be changed by our encounters with others, down the block and across the globe” (486).  I see Queen using this as an approach to counter the differences between one-thirds world and two-thirds world technologies and constraints. By making “visible” and acknowledging the many ways in which “knowledge is mediated,” she asks for transparency in a project. This does not automatically make her project better but I think that it allows for change in representations of power. On the other hand, one of the things of I found disturbing in Royster’s piece was how little transparency there was in the people involved. When you go on the website, there is an entire section on the Board of Directors and the “Organizational Structure” of loveLife http://www.lovelife.org.za/about/structure.php , but what I found most interesting was the lack of emphasis on actual people affected by HIV as well as the reasoning behind this. The organization looks more like a company selling products than an organization devoted to civic engagement.  Even if the goal is to spread information, I would think it important to include the people affected. Otherwise, I can only think of the billboard as a means to “speak for” these people and this situation. I admit that this is possibly because of the medium of billboards.

I hope this post isn’t taken as a negative against loveLife since I really don’t know enough about it. However, the important feminist aspects in Queen’s piece were not as apparent to me in Royster's—and, whether she wants it to be “feminist” or not, I think transparency, intersectionality and construction/negotiation of power  are crucial to her article. 

Canagra........

 A preview:

9:58 PM 

James: may i start my blog post quoting a conversation with Chloe in which she is quoting you?

9:59 PM 

Jess: haha...what is it?

10:00 PM 

James: “Chloe: i love jess: Jess: okay- time for Canagaidontgiveadamn...ormaybeidobutwishitwereshorter”

hahaha!

Jess[responding to James’ request to quote the conversation]: dear god, James. i'm gonna sound like an idiot

 James: No you won't. everyone will know it's out of context.

10:03 PM 

…

If you read this exchange, it may seem some of my thoughts

on Canagarajah’s book are straightforward (though frivolous): “Canagaraidontgiveadamn…ormaybeidobutwishitwereshorter.” Admittedly,this quote may be channeling the tired and whiny side of me, but I do want to touch on this because I’ve been trying to think about what makes something a “good” article or “good” scholarship and the conventions one must use in order to succeed in academia. Honestly, I find C’s book fascinating: I have, somewhat embarrassingly, never thought of how other countries publish; I have

never thought past the material resources that I know the United States has; I have never really thought about how difficult (and almost impossible) it is for some people to be a part of ongoing conversations in Composition and Rhetoric when they live in a country in the “periphery.” For what C does with these points, I admire the book.

But, on the other hand, I did feel an overwhelming amount of repetition in the book, to the point that it distracted or took away from some of my desire to continue reading. And, while I flippantly stated this in my conversation to Chloe and James, I do think that there is much at stake in C’s book. His point IS worth giving a damn.  But his lengthy chapters and constant reinforcement were pulling me away. I couldn’t help but think of this when C states that “it is also the case that many local scholars stereotype the supposed restraint and tautness of center-based rhetoric.  In some texts, then, the restraint and brevity are consciously employed by the local writers, under the

impression that this is what is appreciated in the center” (120). Here, C identifies how some periphery scholars over-exaggerate the conventions of academic writing in the center. But, while he calls this a “stereotype,” I wonder what that says about my reaction to C’s writing. Do I want shorter chapters and less repetition of the material constraints periphery scholars face because of the writing conventions that my center-education has imposed on me? Or is it as simple as me just wanting a shorter book? I’m not sure, to tell the truth, but I constantly think back to a professor expressing that it

would behoove me to “aim for a more taut writing style.” I think this is a point worth thinking about because how I teach (or tutor) writing is largely based on what my teachers have suggested to me (imagine that!). In essence, I think this could come back to the ideological positions that we (whether consciously or not) impose on others.

Take, for instance, an example from my teaching this summer. I was working on a paper with a student of mine from Poland. While his paper was well written and generally informative, clear, and interesting, I specifically worked with him on organization. I pushed for a thesis-type statement at the beginning (though I didn’t call it this since it was not a research paper), which would point me in the direction of his topic and stance. He responded with confusion : “but we don’t do that in Poland. We do that at the end of the paper.” Though I did not want him to “unfairly stack[] the deck in favor of [his] own position,” as C states (about  local scholars’ ideas of putting a thesis at the beginning), I did, indeed, want his voice to be at the forefront (147). But why? Because that’s what I was taught! So, in effect, I was teaching my students to conform to my own center-based conventions, even while their writing was already “good” in my opinion. In teaching them “proper academic writing,” I think I could have unintentionally undermined conventions of their own country. I’m not evaluating whether this was right or wrong or if I’m a wonderful teacher or if I irreparably damaged this student’s thoughts on writing. I do care about thinking about this in the future though—in my own writing, tutoring, and teaching. And Canagaihavealovehaterelationshipwithhiswriting taught me that. So, thanks, C!

Starting with The Problem

Although there were many points that I took out of Canagarajah’s book so far, I’ve realized that I really don’t know what to think of it. Right from the start, he explains his thesis is “very simple to formulate but difficult to substantiate” (6). Indeed, I saw this at work throughout. Here’s how I understand it: Academic writing is a vehicle through which knowledge is not only transmitted but also produced and legitimated. However, there are many people who are excluded (whether consciously or not—I think Canagarajah makes an argument for both) because of their “outsider” status as members of the periphery (aka Non-western). I want to think about the idea of the periphery in the center later on. Anyway, so these people are marginalized because of their geographic location, economic standing, language production, material resources, exclusion from academic discourse, etc. And, in effect, because of these factors, Third World scholars or those on the periphery are largely taken out of this production of knowledge, oppressed by dominant Western voices, motives, actions, academic productions, etc…Wow. That’s a lot to take in, and I think I’ve just cracked the surface of his argument.  I get the point he’s trying to make, and I respect, even admire it. But, I can’t help feeling that even with the best of intentions, my own place as a part of the center could perpetuate each one of the problems Canagarajah cites.  I support his endeavor. But, at times, I wondered what the heck I can do about it. How can scholars in the center balance supporting a scholarly enterprise such as Canagarajah’s without overtaking it? How can I, a scholar from the center, talk about Third World countries or cultures in the periphery without “speaking for” them, if even Suresh Canagarajah cannot without critique? Also, is “speaking for” someone necessarily bad if the intention is to draw attention so these marginalized voices can ultimately speak for themselves? Canagarajah admits the “ironies of [his] positionality as a periphery scholar now working in (and writing from) the center” but I don’t really see a way around it (7). I was actually quite surprised at the critiques of his colleagues because of how self-reflexive he was throughout.  Maybe that came as a result of their critiques, but it seemed to me as if he was tackling a problem using the resources he had, all the while knowing that he was participating in the very structure that undermined or overlooked his place in the periphery before.

It seems that I’ve barely gotten past “The Problem” but I guess that makes sense since it is the foundation of the entire book. However, I want to switch modes for a bit. In my response to Erin, I wondered (based on her question) how we could translate these lessons in attitude [toward translingualism] to a larger scale. I was thinking about ways in which knowledge of “misconceptions and injustices,” as Erin says, could be expanded so more people see these problems and approach them differently. But, Brandon’s question immediately made me think about that differently—he questioned “could "translating these lessons to a larger scale" be itself somehow imperialistic?” In a way, this conversation got me thinking about how to go about changing or improving structures rather than making them exclusive. For instance, the first thing I thought of with Matsuda’s talk was that there needs to be a change in the university’s curriculum or set up so that it is encouraged to participate in a translingual education. But, if I think of it more closely, I don’t think this would be beneficial if there is not support from those teaching and tutoring on a smaller scale. All this is to say that I am completely rethinking (not dismissing, but thinking more about!) my original idea that something needs to happen immediately on a “global” (university) level rather than the more intimate settings of one-on-one WC sessions or individual classes. Maybe change does need to start small. 

Matsuda talk

I want to start by saying that after two days filled with hearing from Paul Kei Matsuda, I was impressed with the ease and comfort with which he spoke. Between attending an informal lunch and his various talks, I felt as if his personality came out in each of these spaces. He spoke with ease and unpretentiously, even though he flies around the world to present his claims. (In fact, he's going to Iran in a couple of weeks!) Even more, his story about Taka (him) really enabled me to see how personally invested he is in the potential educational and political claims of his research (That teachers should not evaluate grammar, if they don't teach it). In many ways, his discussions were exactly want I wanted and expected. 

Now, with all this said, I have to admit that I wanted something more from Matsuda. After reading Horner et al's piece, I sense an ongoing battle to incorporate a multi/translingual approach to writing. They are, after all, calling for a "new paradigm" (303). To be sure, I do not mean to conflate Matsuda's views with those of Horner et al's but (as Chris' question pointed out), he did sign on to this project. After our readings last week, I think there is an interesting tension between knowing a translingual approach cannot happen overnight and an exigent need to transform our approaches to writing with the onslaught of "global" objectives in many universities. Matsuda gave many strategies for tutoring non-native speakers, but it seemed that the implications for universities were ambiguous: how do we promote translingualism by more than just being more patient and open-minded in writing instruction? I understand his desire to start at a micro level (one on one tutoring), showing through Taka how much WC instruction can make a difference. But what about the university? What happens with the mission of the WC (say it is to promote translingualism) largely conflicts with the ideals of a university? Northeastern may be a global university, but are teachers going to push grammar to the side? Are they going to allow students to write in different languages? (still can't wrap my head around out this would work logistically). As I said in my last post, I think there is more at stake in a translingual approach to writing: it argues for a change in perspective, a change in social interaction, a change society both within and outside of the university.  I’m not well-informed on administrative or curricular proceedings, but I’d like to know what anyone thinks about the bigger picture: what needs to be done for a translingual approach to writing to take hold? Does it need to be implemented through a program, or can it function on the level of a writing center and a couple writing courses? 

I think I was hoping Matsuda would talk more about what it would mean to be a global university—not in statistics, but in tactics. In teaching. What does it really mean for northeastern to promote themselves as “global?” 

What does translingualism really involve?

Attention: Site under construction! I decided to give blogging a go, and put a little more pizzazz into my writing space. Bear with me as I work through this.

My reflection on this week's readings came at an unexpected time and place for me: standing in line at Dunkin Donuts. While waiting for my coffee and bagel, an older woman walked up to the window and ordered a coffee with cream and sugar. When the worker started pouring the coffee, the woman demanded, "Did you already put the milk in?" The worker confirmed that she had already put the milk in, much to the distaste of the customer: "You don't put the milk in first. It's not supposed to go that way. Milk goes in last.  What a day!" After nearly shouting these words, the woman sighed heavily and said "well, how much sugar did you put in?" I didn't hear the worker's response, but the woman rebuked the worker, yelling, "Two? Two? I said SMALL sugar!" The worker, looking slightly unsettled by the woman's reaction, barely had a moment to say anything when the woman continued "Poquito! I said Poquito! Small! Learn to speak English." I didn't know how to react to this display. I wanted to tell the woman that this was not a comprehension issue (my food and coffee came out precisely as ordered!), and a difference in cultures or language had nothing to do with it. She, the customer, said nothing more than "cream and sugar" when ordering, and the worker gave her just that. But there was a problem. And this problem was in the woman’s thinking, not the worker’s doing.

Each of the readings necessitates the need for language to be looked at as a cultural product that can be shaped and reshaped through various learning environments. Subsequently, the authors largely argue that a prescriptive approach to language not only diminishes a culture’s history (Powell) but also tends to marginalize or Other a group of people and their rhetorical skills. Now, I am all for Horner et al’s proposition that we must “build on students’ existing language abilities…[to] increase the number of languages and language varieties that students know,” but what happens when people (whether in or outside of the academy) trample on this idea(308)?  What happens when people do NOT “reject discrimination on the basis of language identity and use” as Horner et al do (308)? What happens when language prejudice is so deeply rooted in cultural stereotypes, biases, and assumptions that someone blames her incorrect coffee order on “non-native” language issues when, in fact, it was her own fault? What I learned from this experience is that the issues with a translingual approach to writing are more involved that I originally thought. I read the articles and thought, surely, our days of current-traditional textbooks are dead and gone, with grammar drills thrown out the window. Who really knows—and uses-- “correct” English anyway?... not so fast, though. Not everyone has caught up with globalization, translingualism, world Englishes (I’m not even sure I have yet), but, even more, I question how many people want to.  To be sure, Horner et al’s piece is a stepping stone in the path to change: a start to the push for understanding various cultures, questioning cultural assumptions that seem inherent, and teaching a more accepting and culturally inclusive approach to writing that may just help bring people together. I respect this piece immensely, and I want to think about ways to support a translingual approach to writing in classrooms, in the writing center, etc. But, until then, I wonder if acceptance of this kind begins in the classroom, or if it begins in the community—maybe even while we are getting a cup of coffee?