Rhetorical Canons in a Digital Age

It's no secret that I love technical rhetoric. I can lose hours debating the ins and outs of social networking. I enjoy the finer points of web design. I dabble in coding with html or css, spend way too many hours playing video games, write as part of online communities, and always seek ways to drag these influences into the classroom.

While getting my MA, it also wasn't a secret that a large contingency of my institution's English Department were wary--if not altogether hostile--towards the ever-creeping reach of technology. For them, technology was (and is) a thing to be feared. It is complicated and superficial, difficult to master and even more difficult to teach. It changes constantly, while preserving things well beyond when they should expire.

This animosity (understandable as it is), is why I appreciate articles like James E. Porter's "Recovering Delivery for Digital Rhetoric." Because, for Porter, digital writing and rhetoric isn't just about exploring a new, exciting frontier. It's also about recovering classical elements of rhetoric that, once lost, cost women, people of color, and other marginalized identities greatly (211). As the focus of rhetoric instruction shifted from orality and narration to informational writing, certain forms of understanding and relating to the world around us (such as verbal communication, storytelling, cultural connections, and oral memory) were devalued. And (surprise, surprise), the forms of understanding that were still "respectable" were almost exclusively those accessible to white, heterosexual, wealthy men (Welch, 1994).

This, however, is not a discourse on the evils of marginalization. Rather, it's a celebration of Porter's simple but encouraging acknowledgement that--with the continuing growth of digital rhetorics--these types of "knowing" have ample opportunity to reclaim their place.

Online discourse is written discourse, true. But it also carries a lot of the hallmarks of oral language. It is responsive and fluid. It is often community driven. And it's physical presentation (whether its through bodily representations of the communicator or the style and accessibility of the text's platform) plays an incredibly important role, hearkening back to the long subjugated canon of delivery.

House of Leaves... not your typical text experience.

This isn't to say that delivery doesn't matter in print texts. It does. But the delivery styles are almost always standardized. They follow relatively similar formats. They demand a certain approach and expectations from readers. Very few challenge these norms (though texts like Mark Z. Danielewski's House of Leaves do exist). 

But the Internet doesn't fall into such standard categories. Digital writing isn't so much a genre as it is a medium, encapsulating an enormous range of audiences, forums, styles, and purposes. And while technology creates certain barriers of access that still perpetrate existing class lines, it also offers new forms of accessibility to those who had been previously barred. Because of digital writing's aural quality, its' ties to delivery are more readily apparent. And, as Porter explains, "A robust canon of delivery should help us think more productively about how we are writing, and to whom, and lead us to make smarter choices as writers/designers, whether we are producing online information or non-digital information" (211).

Processing Post-Process

It's not hard to understand why the Process Method became the dominant approach to teaching writing. A focus on "correctness" led to composition becoming a subject of remediation, rather than pride. Process changed that. It valued the stops and starts of writing in all its stages. It embraced imperfections and sloppy transference and the idea that imperfect didn't mean bad. Freshman Composition was still seen as a place of preparation, but Process instruction focused more on preparing students to think than on how to correct. As Peter Elbow says in Everyone Can Write, "I cannot teach students the particular conventions they will need for particular disciplines, but I can teach students the principle of discourse variation. ... I can't teach them the forms they'll need, but I can sensitize them to the notion of differences in form so [they]... will pick them up faster when they encounter them" (253).

The whole point of Process instruction was that focusing on the end product was detrimental to students. Even if they could write the perfect Lit Review or Research Paper, that knowledge left them utterly unprepared for the types of writing they would encounter in other disciplines (their disciplines) if they didn't understand the process that got them there. And focusing on process, rather than product, allowed teachers to reclaim a position of pride. "The teacher gets a new role by this shift of criteria from truth and good style to effect" (Elbow, A Method for Teaching Writing). They become a facilitator who teaches students how to learn, rather than an editor or drillmaster "fixing" bad writing.

The hope of the Process method was that the responsibility for learning and "good" writing would be on students' shoulders. They would become self-motivated. After all, they were focusing on their thoughts. Their ideas. Their processes. Their audiences. Surely they'd care about the outcome, right?

The problem is that the answer is a resounding......sometimes. Maybe.

Freshman composition is still a required course, rather than an elective. The teacher is still in a position of authority, and our students still look to us for the "right" answer. Process means understanding that there are many roads that lead to the same destination...but for students who are unfamiliar with a task, it's easy to believe that the process they learn in the classroom (often the teacher's preferred writing process) is the only process out there.

Enter post-process....which, at first, can feel as obscure and inaccessible as so many of the posts (post-modernism, post-materialism, post-structuralism, etc...). Advocates seem to disagree wildly on just how and why the process method is flawed: from Thomas Kent who would like to pitch it all out--bathwater and the baby, too-- to Bruce McComiskey who sees post-process as a continuation of what process started.

My largest problem with Post-Process theorists (at least as far as I understand them) isn't that they see a problem. They're concerned about students writing the perpetual "My Summer Vacation" essay, or the focus on a single process cutting out different learning styles, or the fact that self-centered writing ignores the fact that culture, society, and context drastically change what and how we write. And, I agree, these are all issues. But, to me, the problem isn't that process ignores these things. Not necessarily.

The problem is that process, taught badly, ignores these things.

Starting with personal knowledge means nothing until you can explain why anyone else should listen. You can't understand your own rhetorical exigence until you understand how that exigence is formed by the culture around you...such as why so many of our students want to write about the general, hot-button topics that they've heard their parents argue. It's not that they can't think for themselves. And it's not that they, themselves, are always affected by the issue. But they are affected by their parents caring. They are affected by their social circles talking about these things. And they react to those discussions, wanting to join in with something familiar and, obviously, important to the people around them.

My issue with Post-Process isn't that it's wrong. It's that I feel like it's the same thing...just done better. Which is to say, I don't have an issue with it at all. I just don't see why we're fighting to begin with.

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.

Before We Reach for the Mute Button...

The recent shock and awe over Miley Cyrus's VMA performance has invoked a lot of strong opinions and vocal protests from a diverse audience. From the news to Twitter to Facebook and back, the reactions have been fast and furious: everything from "Miley can do whatever she wants. STOP TALKING ABOUT IT" to "Is this really what we should be focusing on right now?" to the idea that her scanty outfit and (arguably) outrageous twerking is one of the harbingers of the downfall of civilization.

What happened to our wholesome,
American family values?

Perhaps ironically, a large chunk of the commentary about the event is focusing on the reasons why we shouldn't talk about it. Jezebel had numerous articles speaking out against the slut-shaming* that was happening, defending Cyrus's right as a legal, consenting adult to express her sexuality however she damn well pleases. Meanwhile, enterprising bloggers created a tumblr account devoted to things we should have been paying attention to in Cyrus's stead. And with over 24 hours of non-stop media chatter over the event, more than a few individuals have just about had it. As Toula Foscolos wrote for Huffpost Canada, "Miley's not racist, not a whore, and not your punching bag." Isn't it embarrassing how easily we are caught up in the media hype of pop-culture and titillating, "shock-value" media ploys?

Actually, I'd like to argue that it isn't. At least, not all of it.

Yes, I would prefer it if we (in this case, being the assumed, generalized population of America) were more concerned with world news and the possible threat of a new war. But the fact that we, as an audience, are so obsessed with one twenty-something's performance has a lot to say. About our country. About what we value. And about how that conversation is developing in some fascinating and, I believe, vitally important ways.

For anyone who has been following the "War on Women" over the past few years (okay, centuries, but I'm talking recent legislation), the conversation about women's sexuality, agency, and a push against slut- and victim-shaming is crucial to how we respond to the world around us. As one of my fellow grad students pointed out, it's unlikely that the fallout would have been anything near as absolute if the offender had been, say, Drake or Kanye. Little has been said about Robin Thicke's participation in the duet, except in relation to Cyrus's agency. After all, boys will be boys.

The conversation has also raised up the voices of women of color, as in one black woman's response about how, in their rush to defend her right to her sexuality, white feminists completely ignored the blatant misappropriation of black culture, and the objectification of black, female bodies.

Cyrus's performance has also opened up conversations about any number of non-feminist topics, such as The Onion's bitingly comical summary of the interplay of publicity and "news," the objectification of child and teen stars, and a great deal of commentary and criticism about (what else) Americans' obsession with celebrity gossip.

I'll admit, I'm looking forward to waking up and seeing a stream of posts in my newsfeed that have nothing to do with VMAs, twerking, or the Cyrus family. But however much we want the conversation to change, I think it's important to note that it's these exact, uncomfortable, and seemingly-repetitive conversations that are the foundations of social change.

I doubt that Miley Cyrus's performance is going to bring about sweeping reforms in how we view celebrity, women, or race. But I do believe that, whether anyone intended it or not, she has become part of that discourse...and we do ourselves a disservice if we shut that down.

Searching for Clarity (or When Did Academic Writing Come to Mean "Confusing as Hell?")

There are times when I don't think I deserve to be an English major.

I enjoy literature. I get insanely thrilled over nerdy things like composition pedagogy and rhetoric. And I love to write. I'm even crazy enough that I'm starting my doctorate (which is a completely different, terrifying topic). But, however much I love my subject, I can't stand "academic" writing.

I say "academic," because I'm not actually convinced that the writing I hate should even qualify...or that, if anything, it should be classified as "bad" academic writing. Yet it's the kind of writing that we all know to expect. Hell, it's even the kind of writing our students "aspire" to, because those are the signposts they've come to recognize in "intelligent" writing. It's that article that is jargon-heavy and vague. The one that's so complex and hard to understand that you can't quite tell whether you're too stupid to understand it or if the author never actually said anything at all.

This isn't the first time terrible writing has wound me up into a fury, but normally it's because--as a student--I'm being forced to read it. This time, though, it's the teacher in me that wants to scream.

I've been reading Robert Connor's Composition-Rhetoric: Backgrounds, Theory, and Pedagogy for an Independent Study class. I know. It sounds like a snoozer, but Connors actually does a masterful job of keeping a potentially dry subject interesting. He's funny, he's conversational, and he's clear...all while staying true to the rigor you'd want in a research textbook. As far as texts go, it's pretty great.

What isn't great are the writers he's talking about. Going through the history of writing instruction, it becomes increasingly obvious that Composition-Rhetoric methods have been forced into formulaic, prescriptive, boring frames because that's what was "easy" to teach. Because that's what's easy to write. And that's what's easy to understand.

Prescriptive, formulaic scholars like Alexander Bain weren't the only ones out there, though. There were innovative scholars. Conscientious scholars. Scholars who realized that the process and student interaction and non-linear lessons would get better writing than five paragraph essays. Except, time and again, Connors points out that their textbooks and articles just wouldn't catch on. And why not?

Because they were too difficult to understand.

Never mind torturing those poor graduate students who are forced to study onerous textbooks for hours on end. These are decades and decades of prospective writers and learning minds who wasted years of writing instruction on formulas because academics couldn't learn to be clear.

I get it. Theory is complex. And, sometimes, the only way to discuss theory is in abstractions. Not everything can be put into practical, layman's terms. But if you truly believe that you've found a valuable, useful way of teaching... why wouldn't you make it accessible?

Obviously, the history of composition-rhetoric is more complex and relies on more than the writing quality of a few theorists...but it's not a problem that is stuck in the past. THIS is what we call academic writing. And these, truly, are the consequences we face.

As a teacher, I'm not sure I can think of anything more depressing than the idea that the tools are out there...they're just not being shared.