Archive for February, 2012

don’t ask me to withhold judgment of dharun ravi: a response to danah boyd & john palfrey

danah boyd and John Palfrey would like us to stop bullying Dharun Ravi.

Dharun Ravi, you may remember, is the young man whose Rutgers University dorm-mate, Tyler Clementi, committed suicide days after Ravi apparently used his computer to record, watch, and tweet about Clementi’s sexual encounters with another man. Here are the details as boyd and Palfrey explain them:

What seems apparent is that Clementi asked Ravi to have his dormroom to himself on two occasions – September 19 and 21 – so that he could have alone time with an older gay man. On the first occasion, Ravi appears to have jiggered his computer so that he could watch the encounter from a remote computer. Ravi announced that he did so on Twitter. When Clementi asked Ravi for a second night in the room, Ravi invited others to watch via Twitter. It appears as though Clementi read this and unplugged Ravi’s computer, thereby preventing Ravi from watching. What happened after this incident on September 21 is unclear. A day later, Clementi’s body was discovered.

boyd and Palfrey make it clear that they are appalled by anti-LGBTQ bullying and by the suicides of so many queer youth. Yet they are concerned that the public response–near-universal and vehement condemnation of Ravi and his actions–itself verges on bullying.They write:

Tyler Clementi’s suicide is a tragedy.  We should all be horrified that a teenager felt the need to take his life in our society.  But in our frustration, we must not prosecute Dharun Ravi before he has had his day in court.  We must not be bullies ourselves.  Ravi’s life has already been destroyed by what he may or may not have done.  The way we, the public, have treated him, even before his trial, has only made things worse.

I can’t summon the language to describe how vehemently I disagree with boyd and Palfrey. It’s hard to believe they’re even seriously trying to convince readers that what Ravi did to Clementi is equal to how the American public is reacting to what Ravi did to Clementi.

Imagine this, somewhere, in some schoolyard:

A boy, call him Jake, gets accused of being too effeminate. Another boy, call him Sam, corners Jake behind the slides at recess and punches him in the eye. He says, “That’s for acting like a faggot.”

Another boy, call him Tom, sees the fight, walks over and punches Sam in the eye. He says, “That’s for acting like an asshole.”

boyd and Palfrey would have us believe that both punches must be seen as equal, that both should be viewed as bullying. Are these actions equivalent? Only if you have only the most surface understanding of what constitutes bullying.

When LGBTQ students are bullied, they are attacked for their non-normativity. They are attacked for being different, for being threatening to the status quo. Violence is one really good way–but certainly not the only way, about which more later–to subdue a threat. When Sam punches Jake, he is motivated by fear. Is it fear that motivates Tom to punch Sam? Probably not. It’s probably anger, frustration, and a desire to stand up against reprehensible behavior. It’s a desire to make a stand–to make a public stand–to say “this behavior will not be tolerated.”

Has the public reaction to Dharun Ravi’s actions ruined his life? Yeah, probably. And here’s where I differ from boyd and Palfrey: I believe that the public’s reaction is fully appropriate in response to anybody who acts as reprehensibly, as vilely as Ravi did toward his roommate. This is a man who invaded his roommate’s privacy, who was so goddamned proud of recording and watching Tyler Clementi’s sexual encounters that he tweeted about it. This is a man who was perfectly comfortable ridiculing, belittling, and dehumanizing another human being. The only appropriate response is to stand up against such vile behavior. The only appropriate response is to take a public stand that says “this behavior will not be tolerated.”

It gets worse, because boyd and Palfrey have the nerve to suggest that one reason we should be kinder to Ravi is that there’s a chance that his actions didn’t lead directly to Clementi’s suicide:

As information has emerged from the legal discovery process, the story became more complicated.  It appears as though Clementi turned to online forums and friends to get advice; his messages conveyed a desire for getting support, but they didn’t suggest a pending suicide attempt.  In one document submitted to the court, Clementi appears to have written to a friend that he was not particularly upset by Ravi’s invasion.  Older digital traces left by Clementi – specifically those produced after he came out to and was rejected by those close to him – exhibited terrible emotional pain.  At Rutgers, Clementi appears to have been handling his frustrations with his roommate reasonably well.  After the events of September 20 and 21, Clementi appears to have notified both his resident assistant and university officials and asked for a new room; the school appears to have responded properly and Clementi appeared pleased.

I think boyd and Palfrey hope that this information will help readers view Ravi in a kinder light–which is utterly ridiculous. Are we supposed to assume that Clementi didn’t feel bullied by Ravi’s behavior simply because school officials agreed to place Clementi in a new room? Are we to hold off judgment of Ravi’s behavior simply because there’s no evidence that Ravi’s behavior led directly to Clementi’s suicide?

It is hard to believe that two people as well read and intelligent as danah boyd and John Palfrey can seriously take such a simplistic view of bullying, of violence, of harassment and depression and suicide. It’s hard to believe that they seriously want us to be kinder to Dharun Ravi based on the possibility that his reprehensible behavior didn’t directly cause his roommate to kill himself. Assuming the reports of Ravi’s actions are accurate, he was only the last person to have the opportunity to bully Tyler Clementi. That may make him not guilty according to legal standards, but it certainly certainly certainly doesn’t make him innocent.

And let’s remember that Dharun Ravi is not on trial for the death of Tyler Clementi. He’s on trial for invasion of privacy, witness and evidence tampering, and bias intimidation–a hate crime that requires that prosecutors prove Ravi was motivated by an anti-gay bias. Let’s further remember that our legal system serves a different purpose than does the court of public opinion. Our legal system is for figuring out whether someone has broken the law. Public opinion is where a culture makes clear how it feels about that person’s behavior. When the LAPD officers accused of beating Rodney King were acquitted, the nation was in outrage: The racism was too blatant, and too appalling, to ignore.

Just as Dharun Ravi’s behavior is, thank christ, too blatant and too appalling to ignore. It’s about goddamned time people got mad about homophobia and anti-gay hate. It’s about goddamned time people stood up en masse for the dignity of their LGBTQ brothers and sisters.

And another thing: Let’s not forget that young men and women like Tyler Clementi are convicted to death by the court of public opinion. Why do LGBTQ youth commit suicide at such higher rates compared to their straight peers? Because of social pressures to conform. Because of religious and conservative groups that tell queer kids that they’re abominations who are destined for hell. Because of families and friends who turn their backs. Because of bullies and assholes like Dhuran Ravi.

boyd and Palfrey end with this exhortation:

To combat bullying, we need to stop the cycle of violence.  We need to take the high road; we must refrain from acting like a mob, in Clementi’s name or otherwise.  Every day, there are young people who are being tormented by their peers and by adults in their lives.  If we want to make this stop, we need to get to the root of the problem.  We should start by looking to ourselves.

Here is where boyd and Palfrey and I, at last, agree: We should start by looking to ourselves. We should, all of us, consider what cultural biases, what personal beliefs and prejudices, guide us in extending our sympathies and emotional and intellectual energies. “Ravi’s life,” write boyd and Palfrey, “has already been destroyed by what he may or may not have done. (my emphasis.) The way we, the public, have treated him, even before his trial, has only made things worse.”

There is, in fact, no doubt that Ravi did record and view Tyler Clementi’s sexual encounters; there is no doubt that he showed at least a snippet of his recording to his friends. There is no doubt that he boasted about these escapades via Twitter. What’s left for doubt is to wonder what leads us to want to wait to decide how we feel about what he did until the court tells us how guilty he is of violating the letter, not the spirit, of our nation’s laws.

now begins the experiment

I started teaching college students nine years ago, when I was a graduate student in Colorado State University’s Creative Writing program. After I finished up there, I spent a few years as an adjunct instructor teaching almost any class that any university could offer me. Back then, I had little formal training in the theory and practice of teaching. I mostly went by feel, by what felt successful to my students and to me. By “successful,” I mean to point to activities and classroom language that led to higher engagement, more discussion, more efforts to challenge what the textbooks, what the instructor said was “true.”

Back then, I believe, I was heading toward a classroom pedagogy that treated teaching as a practice of freedom. In Teaching to transgress, bell hooks writes:

Education as the practice of freedom is not just about liberatory knowledge, it’s about a liberatory practice in the classroom. So may of us have critiqued the individual white male scholars who push critical pedagogy yet who do not alter their classroom practices, who assert race, class, and gender privilege without interrogating their conduct.

I don’t know if it’s possible to become a liberatory teacher without sustained research and interrogation of dominant pedagogical practices; that is to say that I don’t know if an adjunct instructor, working effectively in isolation from her teaching community, can engage in a sustained critique and reframing of what it means to learn and teach toward freedom instead of toward submission and repression.

Now I’m teaching again, this time at a Research I institution, in a department that wants its academics to value research over teaching. (While Colorado State University is also a Research I institution, I was not there to get a Research I education; I was learning how to write poetry in an MFA program.) This time around, I have career goals and a plan for myself; my plan includes sustaining enough Awesomeness to snag a job at a Research I institution once I finish up at Indiana University.

This institution does not emphasize teaching as the practice of freedom; in fact, it doesn’t particularly emphasize teaching as something that requires a whole lot of sustained interrogation or time or energy. Which is not to say that individual faculty members at my institution do not value teaching, do not strive to be excellent teachers; only to say that their efforts are the result of a personal desire to teach well, and are not supported by the institution.

You get tenure at a Research I institution by doing good research, not by doing good teaching.

So I’ve taken several steps backward in the movement toward teaching as the practice of freedom. I rely an awful lot on Powerpoint and the lecture; I ask students to rearrange the desks into a discussion circle sometimes, but I don’t insist that we use this structure for a whole lot of discussion. More than once this semester, I’ve asked my students why they do what I say: “Why do you agree to work in small groups when I tell you to?” and “What do you think would happen if you just refused to listen to my lecture today?” But I haven’t required them to speculate with me.

And to tell the truth, I haven’t really wanted my students to speculate with me on these things. I’ve wanted these challenges to be seen as thought experiments, not as real challenges to rethink how they approach learning.

My students are, for the most part, studying to be teachers. Some day, assuming we continue to value teaching and assuming the economy continues its turnaround, my students will be teachers themselves. If I believe in the importance of liberatory pedagogy, if I believe that teachers can and should do better, can and should foment revolution, then the only ethical way to proceed is to attempt to practice this pedagogy in my own classrooms.

Now begins the experiment. I’ll keep you posted.

mike rose, the mind at work and how academics get working-class credibility

This post is about two recent works by Mike Rose, an educational researcher at UCLA who focuses, as he describes it, low-status places–working-class schools, blue-collar job sites, remedial classrooms–places not privileged by society or, frequently, by the institutions in which they are located” (Rose 2012, p. 2). The two works are:

Rose, M. (2004). The Mind at Work: Valuing the intelligence of the American worker. New York: Penguin.

Rose, M. (2012). Rethinking Remedial Education and the Academic-Vocational Divide. Mind, Culture, and Activity 19(1): 1-16.

the mind at workI’ve been using The Mind at Work as an anchor text for an undergraduate educational psychology course, and I was just prepping to discuss chapter 4, “the vocabulary of carpentry” as I got distracted scrolling through the xmca listserv in which several members of the listserv were discussing Mike Rose’s article “Rethinking remedial education.

The article starts out with a bang:

What you see depends on where you sit, and for how long. You enter the classroom from the rear, wanting to be discrete on your first visit, and slip into the desk closest to the door. A few students 20 notice you, but most are walking around or leaning over to the person next to them talking. Except for one woman, the class is all men, 20s and 30s, a few White guys, the rest Black and Latino. Hoodies, baggy pants, loud profanity. The teacher is in front at a cloudy overhead projector. Three men are around him—each seems bigger than the next—and they are arguing.

The room is old and dingy, no windows, bare except for the irregular rows of desks, the table 25 with the projector, a cart holding pipes and metal bars, and in the corner a worn flag from the American Welding Society. You’re trying to take it all in when a sullen guy in an oversized T-shirt, a bandanna around his head, walks over to you and asks, “What are you doin’ here?”

Rose explains that “[t]his is an article about perception and ability, about the way beliefs about cognition blend with social characteristics—class, race, gender—to create both instructional responses and institutional structures that limit human development for people already behind the economic eight ball.” We read his opening paragraphs, we get a sense of what this classroom is like, what its students are all about. But, Rose explains, our first impressions are wrong: The surroundings, the foul language, the clothing choices–they belie an effort to develop serious vocational skills. They belie these students’ focus, sense of purpose, and intelligence.

And that guy who wanted to know what you’re doing here? Well, it’s a legitimate question, isn’t it? And everything depends on how you answer it. When it was posed to me, I said I was here to study programs like this one because we need to know more about them to convince our politicians that we need more of them. The man’s features softened, and we moved out into the hallway. “We need programs like this,” he said. “People like us.” “It’s the teacher that really makes a difference,” he continued. “He treats us like we’re people.”

In the chapter from The mind at work that I’m prepping for today’s class, Rose writes: “What testing vocabulary do we have, for example, to discern the making of judgments from the feel of things, or the strategic use of tool and body, or the rhythmic spacing of tasks, or the coordination of effort and material toward the construction of a complex object?”

Certainly the purpose of this book, and of a lot of Mike Rose’s work, is not to show how skills developed through welding, for example, or waitressing or carpentry or what-have-you can help you advance beyond a given vocation. In fact, in the introduction to his excellent book, he gently criticizes a discourse that treats working-class activity as romantic because of its physicality. He writes:

How interesting it is…that our testaments to physical work are so often focused on the values such work exhibits rather than on the thought it requires. It is a subtle but pervasive omission. Yet there is a mind at work in dignity, and values are intimately related to thought and action.

I’ve also been interested to watch how Mike Rose and other scholars focusing on blue-collar work establish their orientation toward blue-collarness–primarily by establishing credibility by pointing to personal experience with blue-collar work. I do this all the time: I say that I grew up in a working-class household. I say that I am public school-educated all the way from kindergarten to graduate degree(s). I say that before I came to academia I was a groundskeeper, a cashier, a phone operator, blah blah blah. This is designed to, perhaps, “prove” I have access to the exotic world of the blue-collar worker, to “prove” I have cachet.

Yet if I were to tell Ray, the pseudonym for the aspiring welder in Mike Rose’s “rethinking remedial education” who asks Rose why he’s in the classroom, about my “working-class credibility,” what do you think he would do? Me, standing there, a white, well educated academic who can choose when to enter his classroom and when to leave, whose livelihood both does not depend on whether I can learn today’s math lesson and rests on the backs of those learners who are trying to do precisely that?

I think it’s far less common for researchers to use their personal backgrounds to “prove” they “understand” research participants who come from more privileged backgrounds–say, students in a gifted and talented program or students completing advanced graduate work. Perhaps researcher credibility does not need to be established in these cases; perhaps its existence is simply understood.

“I used to ______, but now I _________.” When we demonstrate our class-ness, when we offer our personal histories, we assume we’re confessing our relationship to the phenomena of interest. And certainly that’s part of it.

But when we say “I used to _______” or “before I came to academia I _______” are we attempting the opposite of “going native”? Are we actually simultaneously feigning distancing ourselves from academia while in fact embracing it fully? We have the best of intentions, but to what extent do our best intentions serve only to further stigmatize and Other our research participants without actually leaving us with any taint of Other?