Making a Withdrawal - Stepping Away from the Banking Method of Education.

I think I might be in love with Paulo Freire.

He wouldn't be my first academic love (an odd and eclectic category that includes C.S. Lewis, Cicero, and--perhaps most embarrassingly--James Paul Gee). While I would never claim that Freire's style in any way resembles theirs (or that theirs resemble each other's), one thing they do all have in common is their ability to craft beautiful, and elegantly simple prose. They take things I hold dear, and they illuminate them with language that is engaging--sometimes even stunning--and yet still easy to understand. With Lewis, it's Christianity. With Cicero, it's the nature of discourse itself. And with Gee and Freire....it's students.

Freire's exploration of the banking model of education (where students are simply vessels where instructors "deposit" knowledge until they are full) strikes to the core of a lesson I've been slowly learning the more that I teach. The traditional education system is a top-down affair. The teacher is the authority. The students are subjects. As I have told students time and again, the classroom is not a democracy.

But what Freire points out--and what I'm realizing I really believe--is that, however true that is, it's not okay. Or, at the very least, it's a system that needs to be made visible.

So often, instructors of college freshmen lament their "inability" to exercise critical thought. They rail against students caught in the nets of five paragraph essays, stringent page requirements, and the ever cliched transitions of "First....secondly....and in conclusion..." Yet what they don't acknowledge is that, given our current system of education, to expect anything else is ludicrous. As Freire points out:

The more students work at storing the deposits entrusted to them, the less they develop the critical consciousness which would result from their intervention in the world as transformers of that world. The more completely they accept the passive role imposed on them, the more they tend simply to adapt to the world as it is and to the fragmented view of reality deposited in them. (73)

In other words, our students spend years learning how to memorize and regurgitate "knowledge" on command. They learn to adapt to a system. And it's especially evident in our "good" students (which, of course, we find en mass in college settings)...because these are the ones who learned how to play the game without making waves. They don't challenge the system, because they've learned that this is something that's frowned upon. They don't question the teacher, because that way leads to danger and stress and bad grades. They have learned to be vessels.

It's a system that I hate, and yet I know I have also done my time as one of of the "well-intentioned bank-clerk teachers who do not realize that they are only serving to dehumanize" (75). I generally am an open book. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, and I'm quick to share my opinions....and when I occupy a position of authority (as I do every day in the classroom), those seemingly harmless opinions become law. And this remains just as true when I walk in with naive ideas of instilling a social justice-esque curriculum, if my means of doing so follows the banking method. Well-intentioned or not, if I simply inform my students of "how the world is," I am part of the problem. "[true humanists] cannot use banking educational methods in the pursuit of liberation, for they would only negate that very pursuit. Nor may a revolutionary society inherit these methods from an oppressor society" (78).

I share my opinions with my class. I feel that, risky as it is, it's more dishonest to pretend to be utterly objective. But I try to remember that "liberating education consists in acts of cognition, not transferrals [sic] of information" (79). My job is not to inform my students how they should view the world. My job is to get them to start thinking about it...to start questioning the systems that have been invisible to them and which they've taken for granted.

I might not like the conclusions they come to. But that's the point. Their agreement with me means nothing if I never give them a chance to not.

Freire, Paulo. Pedagogy of the Oppressed.

From a Peacemaker...or why compromise isn't always the right answer.

Dear Well-Meaning, Respectful, Socially-Conscious Sir:

We're friends. Or we're friends of friends. You're the kind of guy who cares about people as people. You are considerate and intelligent. You care about social injustices, and you genuinely want to have honest and frank discussions.

I want you to know that I respect you. And I know that you respect me. I enjoy the conversations we have, and I welcome the questions you bring to me. And so I hope that you will indulge me as I give a layered response to a concern that keeps coming up in our conversations...

This is a concern over the tone of arguments for feminism and women's rights. It's the doubt that you voice about the effectiveness of confrontation. You know that violence and inequality exist and you think they're important issues, but you question whether loud exclamations of "RAPE CULTURE" and "MISOGYNY" are more detrimental than helpful. After all, when everyone starts shouting at each other, how is anyone supposed to actually hear each other?

As a rhetorician and an incorrigible peacemaker, this is a concern I understand well. I value conversation over confrontation and--like you--I'm quick to advise that people aim for a middle ground and communication rather than an ideological throw-down. When I teach my students about effective arguments, we talk about issues like addressing both sides, seeking compromise and affirming multiple points of view. So I'm not disagreeing with you, by any means. At least...........not here.

But (and here's my compromise), I want to talk about why you're maybe (completely unintentionally) missing the point when you ask "angry" or "confrontational" feminists to "tone it down" in the name of productive conversation.

When I teach argument to my students, one of the first things we consider is how our approach changes, depending on who the audience is. And we talk about how, often, the audience that is verbally addressed isn't the actual audience. (Think of any political campaign that attacks the opposing party. That's not a message meant to change minds...it's a message meant to rally existing supporters.) And while "preaching to the choir" often has a negative connotation, it can serve a very important purpose.

In the case of marginalization and oppression, these vocal, seemingly one-sided exclamations give a very clear, very necessary message: "You are not alone."

It's a well documented issue that victims of oppression don't talk about what they've gone through. There are a lot of reasons for this. One of the largest issues is that, in order to victimize someone, an assailant (physical or otherwise) has to deprive the victim of power. They make them feel weak. Alone. Once this has happened, reclaiming that power can be incredibly difficult (and can feel impossible). And it's not just about the "strength" or "will" of the victim. Society itself often continues the process that the assailant began. This is because the arguments used by assailants aren't new...they're simply extreme versions of things we hear everyday. So when a victim tries to speak up, they now have to speak up against their attacker, their trauma, and a society that's often unwilling to listen. No wonder they're so silent.

When a group takes up a cause of marginalization, they are confrontational. Often times, this confrontation falls into anger and belligerence, which is very upsetting and off-putting to the well-meaning, respectful, socially conscious people they are addressing. After all, these are rational, empathetic individuals who would never intentionally victimize someone else, nor condone that behavior from someone else. They feel attacked. They feel blamed. And this, like you've voiced, is not a good starting place for meaningful discussion.

But what I'd like you to realize, when you come to me and say "I know violence towards women is a problem, but..." or "I know racism still exists, but..." you're actually pointing out exactly why this kind of communication IS valid. Is important. Is vital.

YOU know that these inequalities exist, but the victims of these crimes often don't. They have been isolated. They have been stripped of power and agency and community and support.

You hear angry voices, but they hear a rallying cry.

You see a fruitless endeavor, but they see a community.

You're right, you know. If things are going to change, we need communication. We need compromise and understanding and intelligent discussion. But in order for that to happen, there is a whole community out there that needs to get its voice back. They need to be able to safely and securely join the conversation because, until that happens, a large part of society is going to continue reinforcing all the lies their assailants forced on them.

Yes, extreme voices are angry. Yes, they are often just noise...sound and fury and raw emotion. And to you, that's upsetting and unhelpful.

But to people who have spent years in silence, that noise is exactly what they need.

If a Writer Blogs in the Middle of the Internet, Will Anybody Read?

Why write?

It's a question I hear all the time. From students. From relatives. From myself. Why am I doing this?

The fact that I'm even putting these thoughts on "paper" (does the turn of phrase still count in the digital realm) supposes--perhaps vainly--that someone will read it. That they will care. And it's there that my students often have the most difficulty. I can't even blame them. Writing papers in sterilized settings for an audience of one...what impact can they have? I can have them construct an audience. I can have them twist their prose to match the expectations of this invisible force. But they always know. It's a facade as heavy and stifling as thick makeup, clogging the pores and smoothing the edges into something unnatural. Fake.

Of course, Walter Ong (1) might say that there's no real difference between my class's "pretend" audience and a "real" audience--at least so far as it pertains to written discourse. Writing this, I'm creating my readers in my head; I make assumptions about their interests, their purpose for coming here, and what tone will inevitably interest them or drive them away. And Ong's approach is certainly practical. Unless I'm writing for one person and one person alone, it's unlikely that my audience will fit into a nice, neat box (and even then, there are issues of identity and knowing and masks...but that is an altogether different topic). Yet, as easy as it is to say "it's all in our heads!" that doesn't feel right, either.

Lisa Ede and Andrea Lunsford (2) have an approach that is more my style. They talk about an interaction of reality and imagination--the intersection of the "real" audience and the audience I've created in my head. It's tied up in social perceptions and assumptions and communication. It's messy and complex and involves a whole lot of language, and that appeals to me. Ideas aren't neat. Life isn't black and white. Why should writing be?

So I write anyway, and I ask my students to write. I ask them to write for their "real" audience (me. Always me) while holding that imaginary audience in their heads. I ask them to think about the messy intersections of what matters and who it matters to and what it takes to communicate with those people. We talk about (or, I hope we talk about) how we are always responding to the world around us (3). We don't write in a vacuum. We don't even think in a vacuum. And, in those cases where our voice can't seem to find its place in the society we're presented with, we try to make ourselves heard. We navigate a confusing mess of societal pressures and expectations to claim something that (we hope) is utterly and uniquely "us" (4).

Why write?

Because I have to. Because I'm finding my voice, and the only way I can do that is by talking and listening to other people talk. Because I love language.Because I care. I care even when others aren't listening. I care because others aren't listening. And because I know of no better way to impact the world around me.

And maybe, just maybe, someone will hear.

1. Ong - The Writer's Audience is Always Fiction
2. Ede and Lunsford - Audience Addressed/Audience Invoked: The Role of Audience in Composition Theory and Pedagogy
3. Lefevre - Invention as a Social Act
4. Royster - When the First Voice You Hear is Not Your Own, Lanham - Where's the Action?

Sexual Choice...what freedom of choice should mean.

There is a lot that's been said about feminism and sexuality. It's a heated argument on both sides, from women's right to control their sexual health and the way they express their sexuality to the fear that this demand has led to the sexual exploitation of women.

In many ways, I side with feminism and its painfully simple (and yet often denied) truth that a woman's worth is not defined by her sexuality or what she does with it. This is not meant as an attack towards anyone who values conservative values, but rather it's an attack on the idea that sexual exploration (even--or especially--when it's a bad idea) "corrupts" or "pollutes" a woman. This mindset is often the product of slut-shaming, a double standard that links the value of a woman to her "purity"...which often means that those who express themselves outside of this value are seen as lesser. Other.

There are plenty of articles out there talking about why this is a bad ideology, and how slut-shaming leads to the perpetuation of our current rape culture. I think those are important articles. They're necessary. They're timely (the Miley Cyrus uproar, anyone?).

They are not this blog.

I don't disagree that public opinion is still often skewed towards objectification and dehumanization of women (yes, ladies and gents...when you place a woman's value entirely in her sexuality--rather than her characteristics as a person--you are practicing dehumanization). But this is actually a response to a scathing review of 50 Shades of Grey.

Normally, I am all for scathing reviews when it comes to Twilight or its fanfiction offspring (again, that's another post), but what struck me this time was the author's snidely dismissive comment: "Are we honestly supposed to believe that a 20 year old woman hasn't had sex?"

....Ouch.

There is so much loaded in that question. There's the idea that, if you are 20 or older and are still a virgin, you are "Other." And, like every time we "other" people...there's the implication that if you fit into this "other" category, something must be wrong.

Let's put aside the ideas of repression, religious duty, or political appropriation of sexuality. Let's step back from the (very pressing and real) concerns posed by lack of proper sex education and the prevalence of STDs.

Instead, let's talk about the meaning of the word "choice."

Last time I checked, feminism was all about a woman's right to choose how to express her sexuality. Which means, if she so chooses, she can choose not to have sex.

That's right. A woman has the right to say no to sex. Not on a case by case basis. Not for safety, or for virtue, or because it's the "right" thing to do. Simply because they do.

If we try to define the justifiable reasons a woman has for saying "No," we're limiting her as much as if we define the justifiable reasons she has for saying "Yes."

I do not believe that women need to "save themselves" to be "good," "pure," "holy," "safe," "virtuous," "nice," or "smart." But I also refuse to believe that saying "That's not something I want to do," whether it means right now, in the near future, or ever, is always a sign of being "repressed," "close-minded," "naive," or "controlled."

A woman's sexuality is just that. Hers. Her comfort level is also hers. And she is the only one who has the right to define what she chooses to do with them. Regardless of what that choice is.

Once Upon a Life

It's funny, really. I seem to remember a time when college meant rushing to get to the cafeteria before it closed, meeting with groups in the library and getting yelled at for being just a little too loud, trying not to think too hard about what sharing a bathroom really means, and trying to navigate from one end of campus to the next in the ten minutes between classes. And I remember just how much of that time I spent surrounded by people. They were everywhere.

They were in the dorm lobbies and dining halls and classrooms and parking lots and all those places they really weren't supposed to be...but were anyway. I was never a partier (truly. Look up straight-laced in the dictionary and my picture will be right there), but for four years there was never a part of the school-year where I was ever alone.

Okay. Maybe not that straight-laced.

Grad school is...well...different.

I have plenty of friends here. When you're in small classes like these, desperately fighting deadlines alongside the same faces every day, you connect. It's a survival technique (I'd say it's also a last-ditch attempt to keep your sanity, but we passed that point long, long ago). So the potential for a life is there. The time, however, isn't.

I'd love to go with friends to see a movie or a concert or even just get a drink. (Hell, sometimes I'd even be excited for a shopping trip, and those are usually the bane of my existence). But even though my full-time schedule claims it consists of 9 credit hours instead of the oh-so-overwhelming 18 I took during my undergraduate years, the numbers lie, my friends. Free time has become a thing of the past.

Never mind that I finally have a beautiful, full-sized kitchen (complete with actual dishes!). Dominos, Thai Pavilion, and China Hut have become my new best friends during dinner time. Especially if they deliver. Movies I can see on Netflix, played as a soundtrack while I grade papers or, horror-of-all-horrors, write my own. And drinks...well...I'm assuming that I'll be able to afford those again, some day.

If only he could learn to cook and clean.

To be fair, it's not mindless business. If anything, I'm happier than ever with the direction I'm heading as I get to see myself doing real research...the kind that I hope will make a difference when I get out of taking classes and can devote all my time to teaching them. But there are times when I long for the days when my cat wasn't my only company. Because, as much as I love him, he's got a long way to go in terms of conversation.

All around me, projects are stacking up. My kitchen table spends more time as a bookshelf than an eating place, and my coffee table should probably be considered a natural disaster area. However much I'd like to clean, priority has been given to the two research papers I have due in the next three weeks, as well as a portfolio, a website, a syllabus, and an insane amount of grading. Frankly, having time to sleep is miracle enough.

But maybe, sometime soon, I'm going to have to say screw it and rescue a few of my fellow cohort members for a night of pizza and movies and conversation that doesn't revolve around literature and cats (okay...so not only around literature and cats). Because I love what I'm doing now...but sometimes I miss having college be equal parts learning and socializing.

The communal bathrooms can stay in the past, though. They were overrated from the start.