A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum: Comedy Central and Rhetoric

By Tom Seiler

Pragma-Dialectics offers rules of engagement for argumentation. I want to look at the question, “How might a student of Burke’s critique an ethical argument differently?” My answer casts the two camps in different timeslots on Comedy Central’s schedule. I hope to discuss our readings meaningfully and with a view to engaging our students.

Identification is a rhetorical emphasis preferred by brain-hungry extraterrestrials. The mandibles always appear just after a speech establishing how closely the concerns of Planet Gormand parallel those of Earth. Persuasion thus follows the logic of narrative, as Keith and Lundberg illustrate through Hitler’s tale of the German people as victims (53-4). Likewise, speaking of General Petraeus as a “relief pitcher coming to the mound with bases loaded” places an argument about Afghanistan within an interpretive plot. Burke used literary analysis as a springboard, so he understood how we tell stories to bridge division and see past the limits of our respective experiences. A direct appeal to identification is analogous to a novel which expects the reader to “identify” with a main character.

Thus, a student of Burke’s might view moves which establish common ground with more suspicion than a pragmatico-dialectician. But mark that for Burke, all persuasion depends upon some form of identification (he arrives at this idea after considering the categories of nothingness and existence in the Gospel of John, which just goes to show how far argument by analogy can take you). And because the human need for identification arises from the human tendency for division (“If men were not apart from one another, there would be no need for the rhetorician to proclaim their unity” [Burke 23]), it makes sense that we become more aware of persuasion as identification through a consideration of political difference. The same mode by which same-sex couples argue for marriage rights is navigated by corporations portraying themselves as “taxpayers like you.” “They” become “us” through identification.

Such a perspective equips cynicism. The creators of “South Park,” a defecation-centered animated television program, continually satirize attempts to establish identification. Empathic types find it tough going when they visit South Park. While they argue for recognizing a shared humanity, they are constantly confronting giant spiders and aliens behind rival belief systems. Their humor may be said to defend division and forestall identification. Burke would not have shared the same political outlook as Trey Parker and Matt Stone, yet the duo’s satirical comedy appears to be informed by a similar understanding of rhetoric. This understanding can be expressed with a negative inflection, viewing humor as defense against coercion.

Advance a persuasive argument, satire will squeeze it. At first, satire seems suited to social conservatism in the way that its ridicule tends to spare the status quo by default. Yet, Jon Stewart-produced news programs model another approach. As our preeminent venues for rhetorical analysis, “The Daily Show” and “The Colbert Report,” name-check informal fallacies from tu quoque to “reductio ad hitlerum” during their round-up of current events. Just as with “South Park,” Stewart and Colbert have found that sitting beneath the foolscap puts one in a powerful position to act as rhetorical watchdog. Witness Stewart’s exchange with Tucker Carlson and Paul Begala (linked in Jones 159). There Stewart continually emphasizes his role as an entertainer, claiming that this rhetorical mode remains distinct—as delineated by Cicero (27). The implication is that entertainers are exempt from the rules of responsible argument. But, on his own show, Stewart leaves the cynic’s clay jar to advance positive claims about the way we ought to argue. His humor assumes good intentions, assumes the value of maintaining the conversation when we argue. His attitude corresponds to the view which framed the Amsterdam rules included in the chapter by Jones.

The Amsterdam rules offer guides for “proper engagement” rather than work at naming failed arguments (172). While Jones denotes this approach as “utopian,” the crucial difference to appreciate in the approach is its positive, practical, interpersonal orientation. Whereas one could identify logical fallacies alone with a text, going Dutch requires negotiation with another person. I have planned to use video clips of “The Daily Show” during the Op-Ed unit. In Stewart we have an accessible week-nightly performance to evaluate against standards for engagement. There are also, frequently, jokes.

Jimmy's Post- A Plea for Reasonable Rhetoric and A Corrent Means of Argumentation

When Henry Reid made the argument that Obama would have never been elected if he spoke in a “Negro dialect,” he received a backlash of vehement criticism, not because his argument was illogical, but because of the rhetoric he used to frame his argument. He wasn’t taking into account the subject he was treating on (race) and the audience he was addressing (the American people), and therefore did he fail to follow the rules of Ballenger’s infamous “rhetorical triangle, which our students know the implications of all too well.

In the context of the above situation we can see how our contingency on proper rhetoric, as a paramount facet of persuasion and argumentation, plays a role in our daily lives, in and out of the classroom. The concept that we have free speech in the presence of such a diverse grouping of beliefs amongst people, be it social or political leanings or assumptions about race or gender, would seem to require the need to employ rhetoric and argumentation “correctly,” but as we know that is not the case. Turn on Fox news and catch a glimpse of the “Brady Bunch” politicized diatribe hour to obtain somewhat of a sense of how rhetoric and argumentation are employed today, and thus can we ascertain why perhaps our students believe that argumentation is “partially structured by the concept of war” (Jones 154), and not a means of “conversation, as new metaphor for public deliberation” (Jones 178).

The aforementioned situation highlights the role that language, an essential entity of rhetoric, plays in the classroom in regards to dialogue and discourse. We alienate our students by teaching only to prove a point to ourselves rather than actually listening to what they have to say. In other words, rather than a pose a problem about a subject to students in an effort to hear their input and see their means toward how they get to a rational solution, we assert that our own approach and take on the subject is the only one that matters. They listen while we talk. In remembering Joel’s “out of body” experience where he wishes he had the power to tell himself to just “shutup” while teaching, something I need to work on, comes the notion that “language is a complex and flexible means of making ourselves understood,” as well as being “fundamental to all social relations and action” (Keith, Lundberg 19). This is indicative of how we can teach effectively by employing a language that relates to the commonality of situations in the classroom, which helps build a community rather than a dictatorship. In submitting the idea to our students that we too are human and were once students who were as naïve as they were about the subject of rhetoric, we can work in a communal effort to gain an understanding where we are not “constrained by the language we speak” (Keith, Lundberg 51) and begin to build trust in the classroom.

It is unfortunate that academia reinforces the concept that “rhetoric helps us understand how certain identities are persuasive and why certain identity practices and labels seem to facilitate political power” (Keith, Lundberg 9). Too often situations in academia mirror this principle when educators allow the rhetoric of their lectures or class dialogue to mirror the convoluted nature of the subjects they treat on. The verbose, ambiguous assertions elicited by the Professor reinforce the identity of the teacher as having absolute power, with the result being nothing more than a classroom of oppressed students who harbor nothing but ambivalence and apprehension toward providing their take on a subject for fear of looking stupid or ignorant. In this regard, it is crucial to see why we must employ rhetoric that helps people “relate to language and to each other simultaneously” (Keith, Lundberg 54).

In an effort not to be overly cynical, both readings also make a case for rhetoric and argumentation as a form of praxis. There is an art in employing rhetoric and argumentation as a means to facilitate an open dialogue between people that wish to come to an understanding of something through an interconnected effort. Therefore, rhetoric and argumentation must be a social act and a reflective act, not a means towards achieving a personal objective of victory, but a means of obtaining knowledge and a “worldly” perspective in finding a solution to a problem through “a conversation that requires constant vigilance and interaction by participants” (Jones 178).

Will the Next Aristotle Please Stand?

In early Greece, a new type of government—democracy—required a “strategy for effectively talking to others in juries, in forums, and in the senate” (Keith/Lundberg, 5).  Speech was the primary method for discourse; hence, speakers needed improved skills.  Aristotle established rhetoric as an area of study.  He “demonstrated the possibilities for becoming more persuasive and figuring out what motivates people to action” (Keith/Lundberg, 7).

Since Aristotle, rhetorical theories have expanded, becoming more expansive in order to modify the practice of rhetoric to fit an increasingly complex world.  Having examined all the evolutions in theory, I find that later versions are more applicable to 2010.  However, none seems to reach far enough.  Perhaps we need a new Aristotle (or Cicero, Bitzer, McGee, or Burke) to suggest a model more appropriate for our times.

One problem is that the term “rhetoric” has too negative a connotation.   The populace uses the word rhetoric to describe the manipulation of others with communication.  Politicians, advertisements, corporate communications, any unidirectional discourse that—at any cost—achieves the desired result.  Jones writes that the “’all’s fair’ idea can lead us to arguments that result in propaganda, spin, and, dirty politics” (157).  Watch any television news show, read any newspaper, or listen to any political speech.  Anymore, there are only two sides of every argument.  Each side twists and shades the facts.  Each side shouts across the abyss.  The middle is gone.

Jones and Lundberg ask a key question: “…what does today’s much older and more complicated democracy need from rhetoric” (10)?  I argue that it needs skills considered separate and apart from rhetoric:  listening, understanding, and collaboration.  In a world with a preponderance of manipulative rhetoric and a near absence of cooperation, don’t we need a drastically new form of rhetoric that, instead of merely teaching us to speak, also teaches us to listen and understand?  Aren’t these skills now crucial to persuasion?

If each side of an argument simply digs in heels, increases the volume, and ramps up the manipulation, what has rhetoric accomplished?  Isn’t our greatest need the ability to build consensus, to increase our capacity to work together?

As the human population moves toward 9 billion in 2050 (2008 Gates Foundation study, p. 3), as we humans scrunch closer together, don’t we need a new rhetorical theory that allows us to work together?

Jones states that a good argument consists of two persons, each of whom is willing to concede when proven wrong (158).  Everyone knows this should be true, but when was the last time you saw this happen?  In today’s society, rhetorical argument does not allow for conceding anything.  The rulebook has been thrown out the window.

Jones continues by explaining what makes for good and bad arguments (160).  She is right on; however these principles are presently useless.  No one adheres to them.  Therefore, I believe we new rhetorical skills that will push us back toward productive discourse.

Persuasion should include listening and cooperation.  These days, there is too much polarity, not enough middle.

Keith and Lundberg write, “Rhetoric is about how discourses get things done in our social world” (p. 4).  I think we will all agree that there is too little getting done in our country and the world.  We have reached rhetorical gridlock.  The world is full of skillful manipulators, but it is nearly absent rhetoricians that are listeners and bridge builders.

It seems we need a new Aristotle, a rhetorician to teach the world a new pedagogy:  listening and understanding.  Is there a new Aristotle among us, please stand now.

Knowing and Naming Rhetoric

Since the first day of TA orientation in August, I have gotten used to doubting my knowledge and preparedness to teach: do I know enough to explain this, could I clearly describe that?

So far, nothing brought out those doubts in me more than rhetoric. I hereby offer this English major confession—please don’t take away my BA!—I haven’t learned about rhetoric in these terms before. The most simple lesson I ever received about rhetoric in college was this question: What do YOU want to tell THEM about IT?

Armed with this technically sophisticated nugget about rhetoric, I was nervous about discussing rhetoric during our first week of class. I fancied that my intimidation with rhetoric might allow me to empathize with how my students probably felt about the subject. Logos, pathos, ethos: I had heard these terms before, but I’d have been hard-pressed to define each clearly.

But as soon as I reached Chapter 2 in Keith and Lundberg, I realized, “OH! I know more than I thought I did. I just hadn’t been taught to name it this way.” My undergraduate exercise of answering that simple question—what do you want to tell them about it?—had taught me the basic concepts of sender, receiver, and message, not to mention that, as I applied the question to my writing, it forced me to acknowledge the nuances of contingency and strategy in rhetoric.

Wow. So I do bring some rhetorical knowledge with me to the classroom (that’s a relief). Rhetorical techniques and skills are not something everyone has learned to name, but they are something that most of us and most of our students, as native English speakers, just know. In terms of logic and argumentation, Jones calls it “the mystery factor,” as when you know an argument is off but can’t name why (161). Ballanger even hints at this realization. Describing a hypothetical situation in which your landlord has not returned your security deposit, he points out that a letter to your landlord about the topic would be different from the letter to your sister about the topic. “I’m pretty sure this is intuitively obvious to you. What may not be apparent is that you can use the same rhetorical knowledge to understand all kinds of writing situations…” (10).

What may not have been apparent to me when I started to teach is that I can use the same rhetorical knowledge to understand—and even teach—all kinds of writing situations. Phew! It can be done. I was intimidated by rhetoric because I hadn’t named many of the terms, but, many of them, I did know—I did understand.

The lesson for me in this process, then, is that I should return to one of my original ideas, that my intimidation might help me relate to how my students feel about rhetoric. I still like that idea, but I’ll adjust it a little now—it’s actually my knowledge that should help me relate to my students. Now that I have learned—no, am learning—more about how to name the functions of rhetoric, how to label the mystery factors that I had previously simply “felt” or intuited, I need to remember that even though my students can’t name most of it, they do know a fair bit of it already.

That said, how do we empower our students, as we introduce the names and vocabulary of rhetoric, to recognize that they already bring a highly sophisticated knowledge of rhetoric to the writing class? That, outside of the classroom, they communicate in more media than perhaps any generation prior to them, and can already navigate myriad rhetorical situations with ease and confidence? How do we help them recognize how much they already know about rhetoric, as a means to empower them as they start to name it?

(Nancy's Post): Helping Our Students Put the Personal in Dialogue with the Academic

Helping Our Students Put the Personal in Dialogue with the Academic

When my students and I went over the description of their Personal Academic Argument assignment, I had them underline the phrase, “you’ll be asked to put the personal in dialogue with the academic.” My students stared at me blankly as they tried to wrap their heads around what this means. As Carol Matalene points out in her essay, “for students “the easiest, safest, and least risky method is to keep private and public separate” (188-189). And I’m requesting them to mix the two? In writing? It can’t be.

Matalene proposes that as composition teachers we should encourage students to use the private voice in their work to make it more authentic. She provides excellent (and in some cases humorous) examples of student writing that demonstrate just how much students struggle with this concept. Her examples reflect “the strange disjunction, dislocation, or dissonance of public and private voices at odds” (182). This awkward discord takes place because most of our students haven’t developed or don’t recognize their personal voice. By asking them to artfully meld this nascent personal voice with hard facts compiled from research (while trying not to misuse big words and complicated sentence structures that they think make them sound smarter), we are presenting our students with a bonafide challenge.

In order to help our students meet this challenge, we must first help them discover and gain confidence in their personal voices. To achieve this, I suggest we visit the section in the Purdy article about the second stage in the writing process: conversing. We’ve talked to our students about using conversation with others as an invention method (thank you, Ballenger), but have we adequately prompted them to converse with their sources? Here Purdy suggests that students engage in meaningful conversation with their research and that this dialogue serve as a foundation for students’ writing. He writes to the student, “You should respond to the sources you use rather than just report on or parrot them” (217). If students take Purdy’s advice and personally interact with their sources, their writing should begin to reflect a natural blend between the personal and the academic.

While our WRIT 101 classes are designed to promote our students’ incorporation of their personal experiences in their writing as promoted by Matalene, I think it’s important that the class also address situations in which this may not be the case. We should help students build the capacity to differentiate between the “centripetal voice” (Matalene 186) and their personal voices and know when and how much of each is genre and discipline-appropriate. Without this awareness and ability to balance the public and private voices, Billy Bob will turn in a paper focused on his family’s dysfunctions for his Psychology class and Sally will submit a “parrot-paper” for her creative non-fiction class.

As teachers of burgeoning writers, perhaps the greatest thing we can do for our students is help them gain confidence in their personal voices. One way to achieve this is by encouraging our students to choose their own topics and converse with their sources. Once-dissonant papers that combine excessive personal information with exaggeratedly academic language should slowly transform into a natural dialogue between the two as students gain self-awareness and self-assurance about their ideas and their voices when writing.

The Art of a good Rhetorician

Sorry Classmates, this is a little late, I wrote a magnanimous comment last night and received an error code when I tried to publish it and it was lost. Although this will be a little more disjointed because I am writing from memory and I don't think I can re-create the magic of my late friday night commentary on this week's reading, I will do my best to paraphrase myself.

The "Wikipedia" article gives reason to why it is important to have a sound pedagogy of teaching rhetoric reading at the WRIT 101 level. Research is taking place increasingly outside of academically mediated environments. Students need these skills early on to perform sound scholarship. I look back at my education and see that I was doing academic research before I even knew what a Rhetorical analysis really was. I agree with Jenny when she says we should acknowledge the process that wikipedia plays a part in and work with it, not against it.

I like the definition of a Rhetorician, that Brent puts forth, as one who "discovers" the kind of speech that matches the situation. This implies that one who practices rhetoric let's the situation dictate the rhetorical analysis and the language that is used with it. This is important because a skilled Rhetorician can use rhetorical analysis as a powerful tool to shred apart arguments. We've all seen this on Mass Media panel discussions where the analysis often goes beyond the argument and into the realm of a personal attack.

English Departments are full of people with acute rhetorical skills (Grad Students, TAs, Professors and Department Chairs included). But in Brent's definition, does this mean they are all good Rhetoricians? We've all seen scholars armed with a sound theory and some sharp individual rhetoric pick apart a text. Maybe we have all learned from these powerful displays of individual rhetoric, but when Brent says that "Reading Rhetorically is an act of invention through dialogue", I think he means invention and rhetoric born out of a public discourse. not an individual speaking to audience who may or may not understand.

Its unfortunate that up the higher academic ladder you go, the more disconnected rhetoric there seems to be.

English departments are so fragmented now with individual specialists within already specialized departments. All of whom have a highly advanced form of individual rhetoric. I've been in upper division English classes where unless you have taken the same classes, read the same books, or even been a part of the same conversations, you are left out of the conversation. I absolutely agree with Brent when he says that if "discourse has not the power to connect, persuasion can have no meaning."

As a teacher of the WRIT101 class, I am happy that I have the opportunity to introduce the art of Rhetoric to burgeoning collegiate writers. I think this portfolio writing we are teaching with an emphasis on reflection is a model where "Reading Rhetorically" becomes an act of "Invention". I think reflection is a dialogue where rhetorical choices can be explored and shared with the audience. This is what I think Brent means when he says "Invention is a social act." Not only should we teach students individual rhetorical skills that will help them sort our the research they found out there on the web. We should also teach them to develop a rhetoric that seeks to make connections and engage in public dialogue, not in a individualized discourse.

Rhetoric is a powerful tool for developing a "world view" but It does no good if we can't communicate it effectively. I just think that by a student learning rhetorical skills early in their collegiate career, it can only enhance the learning process. What this article is telling me is that a more well rounded definition need to be taught. Quite frankly, I've seen students drop classes and even switch majors because of bad Rhetoricians that overlook using rhetoric for social invention in lieu of a more individualistic misuse.

Joel

Yes, Wikipedia Is Good for You

It’s Friday afternoon, right after lunch in our 101 classroom. It’s hot and stuffy in our tiny room and there’s an awkward silence between these freshman students as I fumble through my books and papers, preparing the day’s lesson. Roll call ends, signaling the official beginning of class. I begin with a question. “What’s the difference between academic research and popular web-based research?” Blank stares. More awkward silence.

So begins the interesting query Purdy, Brent and Matalene address; the layered and often convoluted relationship between our students, their stories and their research. Of course, this relationship is played out in their writing through varied assignments that ultimately end up on our grading desk. While it may be fair to certainly admit these students are now refined, confident and capable students of university studies, they are still very much novice and worried freshman teenagers when it comes to the research process.

It seems our job, particularly in this first assignment, is to move beyond quick results and effortless answers from places like Wikipedia, to the daunting world of research within the academy. To begin and encourage such a transition we must begin with saluting and acknowledging the cultural and academic capital Wikipedia contains – and if used correctly, it can be a worthy and positive learning tool. In Wikipedia Is Good for You!?, Purdy acknowledges the lessons Wikipedia can offer, specifically in that it emulates much of the writing process in the roles of conversation between sources, contribution and revision. Purdy claims using Wikipedia as model to inform students on the basic steps of research can also be a means for them to approach research. “My intention here is not to prepare you to contribute a Wikipedia article itself, but rather to use Wikipedia to prepare you to do the reviewing that is part of successful research-based writing” (215). If we include and utilize Wikipedia as a beginning block of research from which to build, then our students will perhaps be more inclined to understand research as what it ultimately emulates, a process. Purdy concludes, “In other words, looking at Wikipedia as a starting place (for ideas, sources, search terms, etc.) shows the importance of engaging with rather than ventriloquizing sources – of viewing sources as means to spur and develop your thinking rather than as means to get someone else to do your thinking for you” (222). If we can use Wikipedia in our favor by showcasing it as a model of the research process, rather than demonizing any and all things web outside of the library, then perhaps our students will be more inclined to participate in that process. And as we all well know, the more you’re willing to participate in anything process-related while on campus, the more successful you’ll be as a student.

Something else, I think, that may yield to more success as a student is the acceptance and validity of our own personal narratives and experiences. This first assignment is call for those individual stories and it may very well be the first time our students are asked for such through their writing. Matalene enters this conversation in The Writing Teacher’s Sourcebook, as she maintains the use of personal narrative within academic composition is positive and healthy, rather than taboo and wrong, as seen in many courses that “seem to ask the teacher as well as the students to think more about appearing academic than sounding real” (87). Matalene further argues that exercise and inclusion of personal experience in student composition may be an aspect of their academic lives that will later transpire to discussions of social justice and the division of private and public voices. “Bifureation, separation of the private and public, that it seems to me is what the argument is all about, at least, that is, when students are told what issues to argue and which authorities to depend on” (189). Matalene seems to propose that we, as teachers, in order to move toward open discussions of truth and honesty in the public sphere, must incorporate the rhetorical practice and inclusion of a personal narrative and connection, both in the classroom and in our students’ writing.

To my fellow classmates: How are you using, experimenting and observing ideas and conventions from Purdy, Matalene and Brent in your own classrooms?

Question Authority! (Says who?): Cultivating Critical Thought Through Ecocomposition

Where does the “eco” in “ecocomposition” come from? Asking this question seems like a good place to start navigating the theories set forth by Cooper, Owens, Dobrin, and Weisser. As Dobrin and Weisser note, “Etymologically ecocomposition reflects ecology, a science that evolved specifically to study the relationships between organisms and their surrounding environments” (8). For me, the prefix “eco” instantly brings to mind the marketing phrase “eco-friendly” (a marketing phrase, of all things) and secondarily conjures a generalized, amorphous idea of wilderness. Point being that “eco” has come to suggest a host of meanings rather than one, and that defining the term “ecocomposition” may require diverging from the habitual significance of “eco” toward an understanding of composition as it relates to ecological systems.

Ecocomposition as a concept certainly is more complex than the idea that writing, like household cleaners or recycled toilet paper, can be "eco-friendly." To explain the relationship between ecology and ecocomposition, Cooper compares the dynamic processes within ecological systems to the act of writing. She affirms that “an important characteristic of ecological systems is that they are inherently dynamic... in place of the static and limited categories of contextual models, the ecological model postulates dynamic interlocking systems which structure the social activity of writing” (368). Cooper's idea suggests that dynamic systems within the “ecological model” are comparable to the fluidity of systems at play within a discourse community.

The exchange of ideas is essential to the concept of dynamic systems, specifically that “ideas are also always continuations, as they arise within and modify particular fields of discourse” (Dobrin and Weisser 369). Writing thus becomes recognizable as a dynamic, social activity as opposed to a solitary, self-referential one. "Fields of discourse" or "discourse communities" always already exist and all writing that writers produce is contextualized within and by these communities. There is no writing that exists all alone, solely a product of the author's mind, absent of any outside influence. This realization is particularly essential in the pedagogical realm, where educators can utilize the ideas behind ecocomposition to encourage their students to see how everything they write has a greater context than merely the classroom.

It is essential that in this age of increasing environmental and social degradation that all students be given the tools to not only navigate the discourses within their community, but also to participate in a meaningful way. Dobrin and Weisser argue that ecocomposition pedagogy has the power to develop critically engaged and aware people, and that such people are then empowered to “resist hegemonic discourses that create anti-environmental legislation” (578). Drew goes even further than Dobrin and Weisser do, arguing that “every student who graduates from an institution and remains committed to living an indefensible consumer lifestyle… constitutes a failure for that institution” (31). If the intent of an institution is to impart some measurable degree of critical reading and writing skills to those students who pass through its doors, then it seems entirely reasonable to say that students who leave college with their long-held ideologies intact do indeed represent a failure of that institution.

On that note, I also agree with Drew’s assertion that a “sustainable pedagogy” must be “inherently interventionist” (29). I am not yet completely confident that I can inspire my students to question their long-held assumptions, but I do think that it is the educator's role to do just that. As a brief example, a student of mine is interested in writing about “why global warming isn’t man-made.” The assumptions that she is bringing to her writing are starkly evident, and it seems that the best advice I can relate is that effective writers must consider evidence and viewpoints contrary to their own. My aim is, of course, to cause her to thoughtfully question her position and hope that she stumbles across something that causes her to critically think about her argument. Dobrin and Weisser argue that the most effective means of creating change within a community is to "encourage students to be critical of the very environments in which they produce discourse" (578). The role of an educator is therefore to first help their students develop an awareness of the discourse systems with which they interact, then to give students the theoretical tools to question and deconstruct their own assumptions.

Ecocomposition: A Means to Student Development

It is of critical importance that all composition teachers embrace a student-focused pedagogy. In terms of an overall student-focus, ecocomposition offers the most comprehensive approach. Not only does it focus on emphasizing and supporting students within an academic setting, but also in their lives, as an individuals, as community members, and as citizens of this earth. Herman Daly says, “When something develops it gets different” (Owens, 30). Although Daly is discussing a model for sustainable development, the quote also works for the development of students. Students bring their own backgrounds, their own experiences, and their own interests to the classroom. They bring their own knowledge and are indeed the “travelers” that Drew depicts in her essay. The aim of ecomposition is that students become aware of their own voice, the many factors that have shaped that voice, and how that voice can be used to change the world around them. In effect, persons begin to live lives of inquiry and lives of action based on their concerns.
The first step, as an instructor, is to make the concepts of sustainability real by drawing on those experiences that students already bring to the classroom. Not only is place an important area of study, as suggested in most of the essays, but the decisions made within those spaces can become the object of inquiry as well. For example, the grocery store or food court seems entirely appropriate in terms of a place in which everyone has had to make decisions. The entire notion that everyone has had to make choices allows for there to be questions asked with regard to why a certain product was purchased and/or why a certain thing was eaten. By exploring further those issues relating to food, students may come to see their own choices as having more power than they had ever imagined. In the end, it seems that students, themselves, are organisms that thrive by becoming self-aware and aware of the interconnectedness of everything around them. The classroom is an organism as well, dependent on student interaction and differences. Drew would suggest that we begin “moving beyond thinking of pedagogical space as fixed, and thus students as fixed” (Drew, 67). In this light, it seems too that ecocomposition itself is an organism. The pedagogy for any specific class, of necessity, must be particular to what the students bring to that classroom and the culture that gave rise to those conceptions. I am suggesting that although there ought to be a similarity between all ecocomposition courses, the direction any one course takes ought to be dependent on the students. By being so student-focused, students are able to draw on their passions in order to become writers, community members, and fully-rounded persons.

Ecocomposition in the Classroom

To theorize, to frame our experiences or conceptualize our teacher-learner world, as a means of fostering dialogue between dense readings such as those put forth by Dobrin and Weisser, Owens, Drew, and Cooper, and our ongoing teaching experiences is at once a seemingly tall order and a crucial means of creating a more effective and aware environment for our students to compose and become active—and interactive—citizens and writers. And now my sentences and thoughts have become equally complex and jam-packed. I apologize.

Ecocomposition, a field new enough to not be in spellcheck yet, is, as Dobrin and Weisser suggest in Breaking Ground, not ecocriticism (a field of literary criticism with an ecological lens), but instead, “is concerned with textual production and the environments that affect and are affected by the production of discourse” (577). To consider one of our goals as writing composition instructors operating within a theme of sustainability as ecocompositionists seems a logical step to take. And an important one. We must be aware of the environment in which we and our students operate, whether it is natural or manmade, because writing is an act of reflection and relationship. It is directly tied to who our students are, where they come from, and the social and cultural structures in which they travel, in addition to the spaces – be they rolling hills or urban jungles—from which they come and in which they write. In The Politics of Place, Drew recommends an examined consciousness of the various civic arenas in which we all write; to not conceal or forget that students, “do inhabit external, politicized spaces….already engaged in various forms of critical thinking” (61-62). Her term “students-as-travelers” sheds light on the idea of empowering students, not as novices, but as people with backgrounds and dialogic power to exert on and communicate with the world, both in and outside of academia. To assist students in understand “those forces that are working for and against their authorship,” (67) in addition to control over grammar, punctuation, organization and so on may seem marginal, but is integral in making them aware of their place in the rhetorical triangle and as a writer, activist, and human being.

Drew’s attention to the politics of place in regard to pedagogy collides with that of Dobrin and Weisser in Breaking Ground, who after highlighting the importance of incorporating ecology and current environmental crises into the curriculum dig deeper into using inquiry to investigate the relationship between nature and culture, people and places, but also using writing as an action of citizenry. Dobrin and Weisser suggest the role of environmental issues change in the classroom from “subjects that students read and write about, think about, rather than participate in” (579). I think it is crucial that our students are participants in the subjects and spheres they are communicating. If there is anything to write about or in a few centuries down the road, it has to come from a culture that is aware of its role in the destruction of the environment, from students-as-travelers-as-action-oriented-citizen capable of communicating with an audience beyond the classroom. Cooper mirrors this in The Ecology of Writing with her proposal to create a new “ecological model of writing, whose fundamental tenet is that writing is an activity through which a person is continually engaged with a variety of socially constituted systems” (367).

Owens, too, touches on this in Composition and Sustainability. He seems to recommend entirely new curricula built on a firmer understanding of basic natural cycles and ecological relationships so that students are prepared to communicate in a world where environmental crises are actually understood and dealt with. So that down the road, there is still a world in which people, academia, and therefore curricula exist. It makes perfectly good sense. What seemed particularly poignant in his essay, though, was his concern for the real-life, sustainable applicability of what goes on in the composition classroom. We have to understand that are students are graduating in a few years and don’t only need jobs that pay the bills, but jobs that ensure a flourishing relationship between people and the environment. It is the teachers responsibility toward the students to provide them with strategies and guide them toward jobs that “increase the general well-being of humankind through service, a creative invention and ethical philosophy” (32), a quote he actually borrows from Paul Hawken’s The Ecology of Commerce: A Declaration of Sustainability.

Overall, these essays suggested a sense of urgency to inform students about the natural world while allowing for a broad definition of their relationships with place and to provide them with strategies to be in active dialogue with environmental issues and culture. Additionally, defining what sustainability and ecocomposition are and how they relate to pedagogy and the field of composition in academia seemed a key component to each essay. This, I suspect, is also a hurdle we will have in figuring out how to teach-learn our WRIT 101 classes: understanding and communicated complicated themes and fields while keeping in mind the practical application of important skills within appropriate contexts.