ENSJ Anti-Bias, Anti-Racist Conference 2010

On Saturday, March 6th, I attended the Annual Anti-Bias, Anti-Racist Conference hosted by the Educators’ Network for Social Justice. It really stirred up some intense feelings and provided some serious food for thought.

The keynote speaker, Sonia Nieto, is a noted author, speaker, and Professor Emerita in the field of multicultural education. She spoke about her research for a new book, in which she focuses on teachers who are thriving in an environment of diverse learners (linguistically, racially, and socioeconomically). One of my favorite concepts that she brought up was this: Successful teachers have a sense of mission, in that they feel that they are doing something vital and meaningful by being in the classroom. However, it is a mission not in the sense of “sacrificing for these ‘poor’ students” but rather a mission in the sense that teacher and students follow a communal calling to pursue and reach their classroom goals. This really resonated with me. Often when I say that I teach in an urban school, I get the, “Oh, you’re a saint” reaction. But that’s simply not the case–I don’t see my work as a “sacrifice”. I do, however, feel compelled to give of myself everyday, knowing that my students are giving of themselves, too, to keep our class going. The everyday work of counteracting prejudice, poverty, and other social hurdles is a mission we all must recognize and buy into.

Sonia Nieto was incredible, and left me hungry for more knowledge in the breakout sessions. What I wanted most was practical strategies that I could implement in my classroom the next day. Strategies that would help me to understand my own position of privilege, and that would encourage greater respect, tolerance, and interaction between my diverse students. Lately, I had been struggling to keep my seniors from taunting each other with racial slurs and making comments about a homeless student’s odor. I was dying for something beyond my everyday messages of respect, professionalism, and compassion that would help us work on this problem. Unfortunately, I didn’t find exactly what I was looking for in the first two sessions I attended. I picked what looked like the most relevant titles in the program, but I was disappointed in the “historical overview” type of presentation that I found. It was important, urgent information that was presented, but it was information that I (and I’d argue any informed teacher) already knew. I know about the issues. I want someone to tell me how to better help fix the issues! Luckily, the third session was presented by one of my former mentor professors; I guessed that she would deliver, and she did. She modeled an activity for exploring bias and assumptions about authors based on their names and countries of origin. It was what I was looking for–an activity and rationale that I could immediately put into action in my classroom. Thank you, Donna!

While I came away with many of the same questions I had going in, I feel like the conference just brought home the point that educators everywhere need to work harder at making their classes places that actively resist social injustice, and that many methods remain to be discovered! (I still maintain that the best place to find such things is Teaching Tolerance at Tolerance.org. Rethinking Schools also has excellent social justice teaching materials.)

All in all, one of the most remarkable things I took away from the conference was simply the physical experience of being at the Indian Community School in Franklin, WI. It is one of the most beautiful, serene, organic, and dynamic works of architecture I’ve ever seen. Take a look at some of the publicity photos from the architect (Antoine Predock) by clicking HERE. A private elementary school for the local American Indian population, this is a place that just captures the imagination and seems to have sprouted right out of the landscape. I felt so inspired just being in the building and thought to myself, “just think how much more comfortable and happy my students could be just by virtue of being in this building!” Every kid deserves a school like that. It reminded me, again, of the importance and impact of aesthetic environment on learning potential. While we don’t always have the financial means to build a show-stopping school, we can create a physical enviorment that stirs pride in our students. And we can–must–create an ideological environment where students act as one united human family. Let’s keep working on this, teachers!

Top Five Cinema Hero Teachers

I remember back in my teacher preparation program, we were cautioned against beliveing in the idea of the “hero teacher” that gets glorified in the occasional movie that comes along with a classroom as the setting. True, these stories are often exagerrated to make the main teacher character look like a magical being that can take a horrible situation with underachieving and troubled kids and turn it into a college prep school in a matter of months with very few struggles. Not completely realistic.

The real teacher heroes, my professors told us, are real teachers just like us–teachers that have moments of brilliance, but also a day in, day out job that will be full of challenges and problems that take real time to solve. To some degree, I agree with that. Men are not angels–we cannot transform every life we touch. But you know what? I do believe that teachers can do incredible things. I see them do inspiring things every day. And I’m fairly certain that I know a couple people who could have movies made about their teaching experiences. So don’t tell me that hero teachers don’t exist. They do.

In honor of this unrelenting belief in the teacher hero, here are my top five teacher heroes of contemporary cinema. Watch these heroes in action, and see if you can find anything familiar about them–you may recognize a former teacher, a colleague, or even yourself.

**Honorable mention: Dead Poet’s Society (Mr. Keating is on his very own level of awesome), Stand and Deliver (Jaime Escalante: so good, people were convinced that his kids cheated on their tests).

5. The Ron Clark Story,  Matthew Perry as Ron Clark

“The problem isn’t the kids. It’s not even what they can achieve. The problem is what you expect them to achieve. You are setting the bar here. Why? Set it up here! They can make it.”

I like this film because it felt incredibly real to me. Teaching in an urban district will give you a fierce loyalty to kids that outsiders like to put down, and Mr. Clark is right there with us. Also, just like any elementary classroom, this film offers many opportunities for the unexpected, the uplifting, and the comical. Up against a seemingly impossible task in one of the roughest neighborhoods in the country, Clark became one of the top teachers in the nation. Best thing? Based on a true story.

4. Finding Forrester, Sean Connery as Forrester

“PUNCH the keys, for God’s sake! No thinking – that comes later. You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is… to write, not to think!”

This film is an amazing portrait of the power of words as well as the bond between teacher and pupil. It’s also the perfect tribute to all of those seemingly crochety, old, rough-around-the-edges teachers out there who in fact have nothing but love and devotion for what they do. The two lead characters are perfect counterparts, and remind us that the teacher often learns just as much as the student. Finally, it’s a great model for classroom feedback, both good and bad!
3. School of Rock, Jack Black as Dewey Finn

“Are we gonna be goofing off like this everyday?”   “We’re not goofing off. We’re creating musical fusion.”

Dewey poses as a substitute teacher to scam cash off of his legit roommate, Mr. Schneebly. Despite his early efforts to be the laziest teacher of all time, he ends up leading his students through the ultimate creative project: the creation of a rock band. Don’t dismiss him as a hack, though–Finn’s uncanny knack for bringing humor and utmost reverence for rock music into his classroom ends up being one of the best educational experiences his students could ever have!

2. Remember the Titans, Denzel Washington as Coach Boone

“This is where they fought the battle of Gettysburg. Fifty thousand men died right here on this field, fighting the same fight that we are still fighting among ourselves today. This green field right here, painted red, bubblin’ with the blood of young boys. Smoke and hot lead pouring right through their bodies. Listen to their souls, men. I killed my brother with malice in my heart. Hatred destroyed my family. You listen, and you take a lesson from the dead. If we don’t come together right now on this hallowed ground, we too will be destroyed, just like they were. I don’t care if you like each other of not, but you will respect each other. And maybe… I don’t know, maybe we’ll learn to play this game like men.”

If you haven’t seen it, you need to. This story, based on real people and events, is about a man who not only instructed his boys on the ins and outs of their sport, but also how to interact with respect, brotherhood, and leadership. If only Coach Boone could do a community-building workshop with all of our students! Remember the Titans makes me cry, laugh, and cheer every time.

1. Freedom Writers, Hilary Swank as Erin Gruwell

“I don’t want excuses. I know what you’re up against. We’re all of us up against something. So you better make up your mind, because I am not letting you fail. Even if that means coming to your house every night until you finish the work. I see who you are. Do you understand me? I can see you. And you are not failing.”

One of my students once told me that I reminded her of “that one teacher from Freedom Writers.” I considered that the highest compliment of all time. Also a real person, Erin Gruwell used writing to transform a classroom of conflict, hatred, and insecurity into a safe haven where her students could acheive what they never thought possible. She gave up so much in order to be the most devoted teacher she possbily could. She gave her students the power to let their own voices be heard. She’s still out there, fighting the good fight, and that makes her number one.

So, break out the popcorn, and enjoy. Teacher heroes are everywhere! (However, only on the big screen will they look as beautiful as Hilary Swank. )

Roll of Thunder, Hear Our Cry

I’ve been teaching a unit with my seventh graders based on Mildred D. Taylor’s novel, Roll of Thunder, Hear my Cry. As I previewed the book, I found myself recoiling from the harsh depictions of racist violence, which are very true to what really went on in Mississippi in the 1930′s, ’40′s, and ’50′s. I wondered if my classroom–a racially disparate group of 12 year-olds–would be able to handle it. I’m not sure what I was so afraid of… I guess I felt like reading about those events really hurt me, and so perhaps it would hurt them, especially if they didn’t have the maturity to understand it. I was feeling similar to a group of parents who wanted to censor the book back in 2004, saying the content was too mature and disturbing for middle schoolers to be exposed to.

But then a little bell rang in my head. Why was I trying to shield these kids from the truth of what happened in history? If I did so, wasn’t I just playing accomplice to the thousands of sugared-over history textbook editions that have lain, guilty, in classrooms across the nation for decades? If I was nervous to talk so directly about racism in my classroom, with black kids and white kids, Latinos and Hmong, wasn’t that my own little contribution to racial tension in our own society? After this mental tug-of-war, I convinced myself that I would tackle it, and after an introductory explanation about the need for grown-up behavior, sensitivity, and reverence, we plunged in headfirst.

Best move ever. The responses from studying this novel have been the most heartfelt, complex, and complete responses I’ve gotten from my seventh grade. Not that it’s been without pain–for instance, when I was explaining how tar-and-feathering was a humiliating and excruciating “punishment” that whites inflicted on blacks for the most minor offenses, I was interrupted mid-sentence by a cocoa-faced, curly-haired girl with watery eyes: “But why would someone do that? Why would anybody ever think that was ok? What made them think that wasn’t wrong? It’s wrong!”  The only answer I could give her was, “I wish I knew the answer myself. To be honest, I really don’t know where racism or hate of any kind comes from. But it’s bad, bad, news and it’s really hurtful, isn’t it?”

One of the most interesting  lessons we did involved using poetry to talk about how race interactions were more complicated than simply pitting whites against blacks. For this activity, we analyzed Jeremy’s friendship with the Logan children by connecting it with Countee Cullen’s “Tableau,” which I’ll post here–

 TABLEAU

Locked arm in arm they cross the way/The black boy and the white

The golden splendor of the day/The sable pride of night

From lowered blinds the dark folk stare/And here the fair folk talk

Indignant that the two should dare/In unison to walk

Oblivious to look and word/They pass, and see no wonder

That lightning brilliant as a sword/Should blaze the path of thunder.

Here are a few of my favorite student responses to the poem:

I say what happened in the poem was two kids (black and white) fighting against racism. They were signaling out that skin color does not effect a person’s feelings. And when the lightning struck and cut through the segregation, it burned all thoughts of hatred and led people to think. If God made different races for a reason of hope, why was it used as a reason for bad individuality, segregation, and downputting of someone of another skin type or race? All races form the reason of life. People, living, and being are the cause of the new age. In Roll of Thunder, segregation was at full cruelty. But every action has its own special consequence.

I love this poem because I think it is so true about white kids and black kids becoming friends, without anybody having the right to say anything. Countee Cullen is impressing with this poem. He’s awesome!!

I see hope in the poem where they don’t care what people are thinking about them. I think that it would be unfair if we couldn’t hang out with someone because of their race or their religion. It’s unfair to judge people because of the color of their skin and it’s rude and cruel.

I think the poem is trying to say “don’t care about what people think.” If you think or know what you are doing, have trust in yourself and go for it. They are trying to tell us even when it is hard, don’t give up because we’ve come a long, long way just to give up. In the book, the blacks are going through hard times. A couple nice white people are trying to help them go through that and say something like, “What is the difference between us?” but without words.

I’ll end this post with the wisdom of Mildred D. Taylor herself, in her response to the attempted censorship of her novel. Here’s a quote from her, courtesy of the National Coalition Against Censorship website:

“As a parent, I understand not wanting a child to hear painful words,” Taylor wrote. “But also as a parent I do not understand trying to prevent a child from learning about a history that is part of America… I must be true to the stories told.”

Thank you, Ms. Taylor, for reminding us that we have to look the world straight in the eye in order to form our own opinions of it. Even if we’re twelve years old.

P.s. Every day, I am greeted at the door by a different child that whispers to me, “Ms. H, can I read first today?” 

Just a Phase

Behold, a nifty little graph given to me by my district mentor:

I thought this was rather entertaining, especially considering the current time of year. Apparently, I’m m0ving swiftly from survival mode into “disillusionment”, which looks like an all-time low as far as morale is concerned.

I’m pleased to say that I don’t feel anywhere near the bottom of that valley. Every day is a new chance to learn, to test my strength, and to hang out with my students. While I do submit to the idea of seasonal changes (especially losing light here in the Midwest) having a real effect on the attitudes and inspiration of people in general, I’d like to redraw this graph to a steady uphill climb. We might slip along the way, but we’re building on the progress we’ve made, and every step brings us closer to the top.

As I say so often, struggles do exist. BUT, we first year teachers that plan on staying… we have to be stronger than the statistics.

Real Talk about Urban Teaching

I have the great honor of being part of a wonderful community of new teachers, the same ones that I “grew up with” during my last three years of college, most of whom are now out in the work force. I respect them all tremendously and I’m especially psyched about the large amount of us that have made the choice to teach in the city of Milwaukee. We are urban teachers. The new urban teachers.

My point with this post is simply to say this:

Urban teaching is not a picnic of idealized, homogenized, hands-neatly-folded-on-the-desk, wide-eyed congeniality. However, neither is it what so many people seem to write it off as: a headache, a lost cause, a poor choice, or (God forbid) a waste of a college education. Urban teaching is waking up every day knowing that you are serving others, that you are choosing to prop the door open for young people that want to be let in, that you are building a community of many colors and classes, that you have the power to–for a set amount of time each day–melt away the overpowering real life that comes knocking much too soon for many of your students. It’s hard, hard work. But it gives a meaning to your work that is ten billion times greater than the highest stack of Wall Street paychecks. Plainly stated, it ROCKS.

Too much, we new teachers end up apologizing for our idealism. One friend of mine in particular brought this up recently, after joyously admitting how much she loves and admires her students at one of the most notorious, “dangerous” schools in the city. She’s refusing to look at her kids with a closed mind. She feels like she’s changing the world. Is she wrong to feel this way? Am I? Some seasoned (read: jaded) veterans might say so, mocking our naivete.

But you know what I say to that? Screw it. This world needs idealists. So we’re here. And we’re here to stay.

Idealism = Reality from an enlightened and courageous point of view. Go with it.

Public Education, Poverty, Race, and Segregation: An Evening with Jonathan Kozol

Me with Jonathan Kozol after his lecture

This semester, I had the opportunity to plan a major campus event and see it come to life: Jonathan Kozol visited our campus as part of the Distinguished Lecture Series. I had written to Jonathan after reading two of his books, almost on a whim, fairly certain that such a renowned author would never respond. But when he did–personally–I set out on a quest to bring this $10,000 guest to UWM, despite the shoestring budget of my student organization. With the amazing support of professors and colleagues (most notably Jamie and Megan, who were at my side through what seemed like endless meetings and phone calls), I was able to write and defend a successful grant, and earn co-sponsorships from several university departments and community organizations. I got to partner with incredible people from Union Programming, who allowed me to lead planning of everything from publicity to contract details to the schedule of the evening’s events.

Best of all, I got to personally correspond with Jonathan (who insisted that I call him just that) as we narrowed down the message and content for the lecture.

The night his plane arrived, I was there with my father–the driver that I trust most–to pick Jonathan up from the airport. A simultaneously whimsical and serious man, Jonathan spoke in a continual string of questions about the local public eduction system and my own fieldwork in MPS. After we got him checked into his hotel, Jonathan invited us to chat with him for a while in the lobby. I couldn’t believe that I was sitting in a hotel lobby with my dad and Jonathan Kozol, drinking cranberry juice and eating Gardettos, talking about life and education.

The lecture was a standout success, with over 800 people in attendance: a full house. I had the honor of escorting Jonathan from the green room to the stage, as well as giving the introductory address. As I took the stage to give my speech, I was overcome with the thrill of seeing the idea that began as a simple e-mail come so vividly to life. I was proud to introduce this hero of mine–someone who used decades of his life to fight for equality, accountability, and joy in the education of all children. From memory, from my true heart, I gave the best speech I had to give. It was perfect.

The lecture that followed was simultaneously moving, humorous, electrifying, and vital. He discussed the segregation of American schools, the myriad ways that the current education system fails the children of the poor, and the standardized testing craze that has robbed teachers of their ability to truly teach. But he also shared poignant words about the joy and importance of teaching and gave an impassioned burst of inspiration to educators to fight for quality teaching for all children. I cannot do it justice by writing more here. The closest you might come to understanding it is reading one of Kozol’s books, where he details many of the stories that he shared during the evening. By the time he spoke the last word, Jonathan was met with standing applause. Afterward, I escorted him to the booksigning table, awed by the power and conviction of this slight, genial man. I was grateful for the part I was able to play in an event that brought so many educators, students, and community members together.

It was one of the proudest nights of my life.

Knowing When to Speak

In one of our discussion forums this past spring, one of my colleagues wrote about how reading through a feminist lens might be too intimidating, repelling, or complicated to approach with high schoolers. I vehemently disagreed with him, as I believe that high schoolers *can* handle literary theory lenses and *should* be exposed to feminism–as long as gender inequalities continue to exist and effect our students, it is still an important viewpoint to take. After this interchange, I wrote a reflection which spun off into ruminations about how to relate to colleagues when we disagree. Below are my thoughts, followed by my mentor-professor’s response.

AMY: This little interaction got me thinking about myself, as a strong-minded individual. There will certainly be times where I don’t agree with my colleagues, just as I did not agree with Chris here. Of course, I always aspire to make my arguments clear and respectful, no matter strongly I feel that I am right. That all goes over pretty well among peers with roughly the same amount of experience. In this group, we are all fairly tolerant and even embracing of each other’s (sometimes opposing) views.

But that’s not the real world. I know there will come a time when I have a strong conflict of teaching philosophy with a colleague who is not on the same level of authority as I am. It might be a principal, head of department, or veteran teacher. Take any of those examples and hold it up to my young, just-starting-out standing, and I get trampled. I would be very tenative to stand up to authority, especially if the whole system was more or less against me. Perhaps it would be in my best interest to ignore my true feelings. But, then again, shouldn’t my best interest be the benefit of my students?

The questions I am left with are: (1) When is it worth it to stand up for your beliefs, even if a fuss will be made amid dissenting colleagues? (2) Is it ever ok to compromise your values to keep everyone happy? (3) How can I defend my honor as an educated individual, despite my youth and lack of experience? (4) Will I just have to shut up until I am tenured?!

I love to speak my mind, and I often feel that I have a strong rationale behind my opinions… Maybe that’s the secret–supporting an argument with unquestionable facts. However, I do know from experience that even facts can sometimes be… overruled.

PROFESSOR:The fact that you are asking the four questions that you do suggests to me that you will stand up for your beliefs (providing strong rationales/justifications for them) when you feel you need to–to maintain your integrity, and to offer your students what you know they need. We do have to pick our battles, however, and so we need to be sure that the underlying principles for which we are fighting are truly significant. It’s impossible to “keep everyone happy,” but we shouldn’t be naive about whose ire we’re likely to trigger by our stance. And, finally, the way in which we conduct our “battles” has a lot to do with how contentious they get. Driving one’s opponents into a corner, becoming hot-headed and vituperative, expressing condescension and disgust, failing to see others’ points of view–in essence, being close minded and intolerant–does disservice to the very causes we are upholding. Creating acrimony rarely succeeds in winning people over.

That is not to say that there will not be times when we have to “stick to our guns” and refuse to be silenced–even if it costs us. But I suggest that these times are fewer than we sometimes think. My suggestion is that you save your ethical mettle for the times when you’re going to need it. My hope is that you’ll have the wisdom to discern when these times come.

And one other thing: “Rome wasn’t built in a day.” Frequently, change needs time; finding the patience to wait–although difficult–can be fruitful.

Hey, little white girl.

Here is what I hear, often: “Wow, I can’t imagine a little white girl like you teaching high school in the ‘hood.”

Okay. Thanks. I hear this from friends, acquaintances, relatives, and random people that question me about myself while patronizing my suburban workplace (a flower shop). I normally respond with something like: “Yep… I’m ready for it, though.”

But what do I really mean when I say that? There are so many conflicting emotions that surface when an observation of this kind is made. Among them:

1. Why does it matter that I’m white? I’m already aware of (and feel guilty for) the white privilege I’ve inherited. [Please see Peggy McIntosh's "Unpacking the Invisible Backpack"] I already realize that I will be in the racial minority among my students. I have made my best effort to research and understand how to value and pay respect to the cultures of my students, even as they differ from mine. I have excelled in an education program with an urban focus. But still my worth as a white teacher among non-white students is questioned. Does my whiteness erase my desire to help kids learn, no matter what their hue? Does it void my love and respect for all members of my human family? Because I’m white, does that mean I don’t count in the eyes of my non-white students and their families? I think not.

2. Yes, I’m a female. And a young woman at that. And a petite one at that. But what can I do about my body and the social stigmas that accompany it? I am certainly not going to present myself as a vulnerable “girl,” who is powerless, meek, and sensitive. I am just as capable as a man to fulfill the duties of my profession. I am smart enough to teach. Should I also be concerned about being physically strong enough to… to… what? Subdue wild students who may attack me? Come on.

3. What exactly is “the ‘hood”? Is that anywhere that’s not in the ‘burbs? Anywhere that white people are not in the majority? Anywhere run-down? Most people who use this term in a pejorative sense are making generalizations about what kinds of people do and don’t belong there. I really like to think that we can think beyond such rigid stereotypes. I guess am a silly idealist. I have a feeling those aren’t supposed to go to “the ‘hood” either.

Such things are upsetting to think about… They make me call my own convictions into question. I used to believe that, despite my L-W-G status, I can be successful and influential, as well as compassionate, respectful, and genuine to my inner city students. I used to believe that I could do this without physical damage to myself and without outright rejection. I used to think that being a teacher was a more or less simple goal.

And I still believe those convictions. Except for that last one. I see now that I have to be ready to face a two-fold challenge. Part I: Completing the actual process of student teaching. Part II: Combating the damaging attitudes that come from the outside about my students, their neighborhoods, their families, and their futures.

What Not to Wear, Teacher Edition

I distinctly remember my instructor for my first teaching clinical experience saying, “Don’t you dare wear jeans to your field assignment. We teachers are working so hard to change our image to that of a professional, and it is your job to look the part.”

Fast-forward two weeks, at my first day in the inner city, 5th grade, public school classroom where I was assigned. I look all snapped up and polished. My normally frizzy hair is neatly slicked back. My brown dress pants are pressed, just brushing the tops of my brown suede boots. A crisp, white pinstripe shirt is tucked in and buttoned up to the collar. Pearl earrings sit on my earlobes, and my facial features are meticulously lined in muted shades. I feel professional. Meanwhile, the school’s teachers are shuffling around in blue jeans, t-shirts, haggard ponytails, and even sweatsuits. Whoa! What happened to the “dress for success” philosophy?

I will concede that many members of the staff at my field placement were people that were working very hard every single day. They had the look of disenfranchised, overtaxed burnouts. However, whether it was a symptom of exhaustion or apathy, their general uniform looked incredibly unprofessional. As a parent, student, or community member, I would have a difficult time respecting a teacher in dirty sweatpants.

Needless to say, I felt very out of place in my “professional wear.” I was a glaring contrast, but yet I remained faithful to the business attire goal. By the final days of my fieldwork, though, I began to realize how strange I felt in those clothes. I didn’t feel like myself in clean, harsh lines of black and white. I certainly didn’t want to look like my colleagues, but I started to not want to look like a businesswoman, either. I was a teacher, not a stock broker! I needed clothes that I could move in, that weren’t sloppy, that weren’t revealing, but that did include a color that I could find in the rainbow. On my final day, I broke rank. I wore navy blue dress sneakers, khakis, a Kelly green sweater, and a chunky blue ceramic necklace. I let my curly hair hang down around my face. I felt much better. I still felt like a professional, but a human one.

The point of this story? Let me manifest it here, in my OFFICIAL RULES FOR PROFESSIONAL, REASONABLE TEACHER ATTIRE.

1. A teacher should present the image of a responsible professional through his or her appearance. All observations of the following rules must first adhere to this overarching mandate.

10. Tattoos, non-traditional hair colors, and piercings: Until the professional world accepts them, these deviations should remain discreet.

I kind of wish that everyone could run around in crazy combinations of clothing or costume, with myriad variances of color, texture, and style. But, unless the professional world goes avant-garde, I’ll leave that to my students.

Literacy = Power

The following is my case for literacy in academic essay form. For those who are interested, see the lengthy post below. For those who just need an abstract, here are my basic points.

1. It is beneficial to all students to master standard English, since (fair or unfair) it is the dominant discourse in the United States.
2. Adopting a dominant discourse as a second language or code can be detrimental to one’s sense of identity, and as a result must be taught with care and sensitivity. However, if taught effectively, literacy opens many of society’s doors.
3. The dominant discourse is the language of those in power, and in order to either gain or challenge the powerful, this same discourse must be used. Hence, students gain influence in our society when they gain literacy skills.

Working the System: Literacy as the Path to Power

If you listen hard enough on a grey Tuesday morning, you can almost hear the question echoing through the hallways of America’s schools: “Why do we have to learn this?!” Resentful (or just honestly curious) English students everywhere want to know the reason behind the ever-growing pile of books, writing exercises, and class discussions that they face week after week. They want to know how literacy relates to their lives. Too often, teachers respond with the explanation, “You need to pass this class to graduate,” or, worse, “Because I said so.”

There is a better, deeper answer to give language arts students about why they should care about their education. Simply put, those who can read, write, and speak within an academic discourse are those who have access to power. This is a truth that is an integral part of our society, whether we approve of it or not. Using works from theorists Richard Rodriguez, James Paul Gee, Lisa Delpit, and David Bartholomae as a guideline, I intend to discuss the strong connection between education, literacy, and power. This connection will be used as an argument for the study of English, in hopes that even the most hesitant English students may find some practical inspiration for their day-to-day coursework.

In his article “The Achievement of Desire,” Richard Rodriguez gives a personal account of his educational experiences. He begins as a very young child barely able to speak English, and ends up as a respected scholar. Though his journey is not without its own hardships, Rodriguez serves as the perfect case study for the path to power by means of literacy. The power related to the fluent use of language comes in many forms. For Rodriguez, it ultimately manifests itself as the ability to express the wisdom he gained from his experiences.

From the very early stages of his education, Rodriguez begins to change: “with ever-increasing intensity, I devoted myself to my studies. I became bookish, puzzling to all my family. Ambition set me apart” (Rodriguez 431). The change that overcomes Rodriguez already as a boy introduces a very important component of literacy: its power to shape the individual. In his essay “Literacy, Discourse, and Linguistics,” James Paul Gee talks about discourse as not only a way of speaking, but also of being (526). The way that language is used can shape identity. For Rodriguez, this meant that his identity was changing away from one accepted by his family and toward one accepted by the academic community. The way that this change influenced Rodriguez’s life down to the most intimate level proves Gee’s point that “What is important is not language, and surely not grammar, but saying (writing)-doing-being-valuing-believing combinations. […] Discourses are ways of being in the world; they are forms of life which integrate words, acts, values, beliefs, attitudes, and social identities…” (526). Changing a discourse modified not only the way that Rodriguez spoke, but also these other factors that Gee lists as part of a discourse. Through discourse, Rodriguez was changing the shape of who he was altogether.

The change of identity that happens through the adoption of a discourse happens in a certain sequence. Every person begins with an initial, home-based identity. Gee calls this the “primary discourse” (527). He goes on to propose that any newly acquired discourses are therefore secondary discourses; of which there are two types, dominant and nondominant. The dominant discourses are those that academics try to master. Incidentally, they are the discourses that, when mastered, can be used to gain “acquisition of social ‘goods’ (money, prestige, status, etc.)” (Gee 528). The support for this definition is largely apparent in our society, as the most lucrative careers—medicine, law, business, and technology—all operate within a dominant discourse: standard English. The change that Rodriguez goes through is in this distinct direction—from primary discourse to dominant secondary discourse. He is moving in the direction of power in the form of social goods. Gee defines “literacy” as “the mastery of or fluent control over a secondary discourse” (529). If we, too, accept this definition, we can see literacy and power as one and the same.

Naturally, the idea of freer access to money, prestige, and other social goods is an appealing one to most of us. Once one ponders the simple connection “mastery of dominant discourse equals power through social goods,” he or she can begin to wonder why there might be a struggle at all to persuade students that literacy is an admirable goal. Truly, if obtaining skills in academic discourse led straight to the bank with no outside complications, there would be no resistance whatsoever to literacy training. But, complications do exist, and they make the process of literary education anything but simple in certain scenarios. This is why literacy training is, at times, a difficult and controversial business.

There can be conflicts, especially in non-mainstream students, between their primary discourses and the dominant ones that they are asked to acquire in an academic setting (Gee 543). Since discourses surround identities, this conflict can swell into a full-blown crisis. For example, if a poor black student is raised to believe that wealthy white people are his oppressors, he may find it very disturbing to use an academic discourse which is characteristic of a wealthy, white culture. Such an extreme difference in discourses can cause education to be a choosing of sides; where a student must choose to sacrifice his home values and culture for an education, or vice versa.

Returning to our case study, we can see a clear conflict, just as described above, in Rodriguez’s situation. Throughout the process of acquiring his dominant discourse, Rodriguez remained unhappy, plagued by the discourse he had left behind: “I intended to hurt my mother and father. I was still angry at them for having encouraged me toward classroom English. But gradually this anger was exhausted, replaced by guilt as school grew more and more attractive to me” (435). Though he truly desired to master the academic discourse, Rodriguez was a longtime “Scholarship Boy: good student, troubled son” (432). This loss of one identity to gain another is a tragedy of literacy, and—according to some theorists—it cannot be avoided, except by outright refusing to obtain a dominant discourse.

There are those who proudly reject this view, however, and Lisa Delpit is one of them. In her essay “The Politics of Teaching Literate Discourse,” Delpit maintains that it is indeed possible for non-mainstream students to gain mastery in a discourse without rejecting their sense of self (552). She uses several illustrative examples of successful people who began within a nondominant discourse but successfully transitioned into a dominant one without damage to their primary identities. The examples are inspiring, but they are exceptional. Delpit explains that special conditions are required for such success: “Teachers must acknowledge and validate students’ home language without using it to limit students’ potential” (553). In other words, to transition successfully, a student must understand the value of the primary discourse as well as the dominant one. The role of educators is instrumental in this process.

In Delpit’s examples, the teachers “put in overtime to ensure that the students were able to live up to their expectations” (549). Rodriguez’s experiences may support the theory that involved teachers can ease a harsh transition. Though he admired his teachers, his efforts were more centered on becoming like them instead of becoming a new version of himself (Rodriguez 445). Perhaps if Rodriguez had an instructor who taught him to value his cultural roots in concert with academia, he would not have suffered the emotional pain and alienation that he mentions throughout his memoir. This is a strong testament to the value of teachers, as well as to the good education which students should expect from them.

The conflicts that are associated with acquiring new discourses, whether subtle or disruptive, do not have to be categorized as a negative aspect of education. In fact, the journey through such conflicts can be one of the most positive things about literacy. Even Gee, from his realist stance, argues that “conflicts, while they do very often detract from standard sorts of full mastery, can give rise to new sorts of mastery” (544). A new mastery can definitely be seen in the purposeful, sensitive language of Rodriguez’s writing. Although he initially had problems with identity and guilt, he came out of his education with an ability to voice the things he had learned in the process. As he puts it, “If, because of my schooling, I had grown culturally separated from my parents, my education finally had given me ways of speaking and caring about that fact” (Rodriguez 449). Despite his struggles, Rodriguez emerges an academic who can record his experiences in a way that others within the academy can understand and therefore, relate to—something that would not have been possible had it been delivered in a primary discourse.

The positive results that Rodriguez found from his education are an example of why Delpit advocates for non-mainstream students to acquire an academic discourse. Some critics of Delpit would argue that students cannot be empowered by adopting the language of those who oppress them. Delpit, however, stresses that being within the discourse of an oppressor is what truly gives power: students can then criticize a culture from its own system of philosophy and communication (552). Gee also implies that criticism of a dominant discourse is only effective when the criticism comes from within that same discourse: “Any discourse concerns itself with certain objects and puts forward certain concepts, viewpoints, and values at the expense of others” (538). The very nature of a discourse, as described here by Gee, is defined by its high level of exclusivity. Criticism, like all other forms of expression, must conform to the exclusive mannerisms, values, and viewpoints belonging to the discourse that one wishes to denounce.

Both Gee and Delpit speak of dominant discourse as a possible criticism tool, and they have an incredibly convincing point. All discourses are specialized, and only recognize arguments from within themselves. Considering that, as well as the fact that those in power use dominant discourse, it is nearly impossible to effect change if one is outside the dominant discourse. In “Inventing the University,” David Bartholomae also concedes this point, calling those who are able to use academic discourse as “writers who can both imagine and write from a position of privilege” and change political and social relationships (515). He goes on to explain that—while a person may have excellent ideas—the ideas of a writer will not be widely recognized unless they are delivered in the appropriate code, the code of those in power (521). Just as Rodriguez became able to share the complex cultural and psychological implications of his education, anyone who acquires a dominant discourse will be granted the chance to express his or her views in a way that cannot be dismissed by those in power. For, if they did dismiss it, they would be dismissing their own beliefs, values, and logic.

Power comes in many forms. It can mean money, expensive suits, and expensive wine, the power to get what one wants and needs. It can mean success, prestige, dignified nods on the street, or admiration from peers. It can mean giving voice to one’s dreams, ideas, and most sacred values in a way that the world can relate to. It can mean being able to demand attention from those in authority. It can mean paths to understanding and critiquing the inner workings of establishments, cultures, and people. It can mean self-realization. All these are things that we have seen in the case-study of Rodriguez. Any or all of them can be accessed with true literacy. Literacy is power.

Returning to the question that began this discussion—“Why should students care about a literacy education?”—I can now offer a response. That response, fortified by the ideas of Rodriguez, Gee, Delpit, and Bartholomae; is this: Literacy allows a student to work the system. By “system,” I mean the rules of mainstream society. By “work,” I mean to use to one’s own advantage. If one wishes to change or participate in society, she must invoke the discourse of that society, or she will fail to be recognized. As Gee puts it, “you can’t be let into the game after missing the apprenticeship and be expected to have a fair shot at playing it” (529). Fair or unfair as it may be, this condition is built into our society and cannot be changed. The system cannot be destroyed, for it is far too long-standing and far too large. Therefore, the only way to have any power at all is to make the system work for you. And the only way to do that is to become literate. With literacy comes the power to do as we wish within society; whether that wish is to bring volatile change, to gain status and wealth, or merely to participate quietly and thoughtfully in mainstream life. Acquiring dominant discourses, acquiring literacy, is access to such power. And that, I think any student would agree, is a very desirable prospect.

Works Cited
Bartholomae, David. “Inventing the University.” Literacy: a Critical Sourcebook. Ed. Ellen Cushman, Eugene R. Kintgen, Barry M. Kroll, and Mike Rose. Boston: Bedford/St.Martin’s, 2001.
Delpit, Lisa. “The Politics of Teaching Literate Discourse.” Literacy: a Critical Sourcebook. Ed. Ellen Cushman, Eugene R. Kintgen, Barry M. Kroll, and Mike Rose. Boston: Bedford/St.Martin’s, 2001.
Gee, James Paul. “Literacy, Discourse, and Linguistics: Introduction and What is Literacy?” Literacy: a Critical Sourcebook. Ed. Ellen Cushman, Eugene R. Kintgen, Barry M. Kroll, and Mike Rose. Boston: Bedford/St.Martin’s, 2001.
Rodriguez, Richard. “The Achievement of Desire.” Hunger of Memory: the education of Richard Rodriguez. Boston: D.R. Godine, 1981.