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?