RES 5530: Race, Class, and Gender in Literacy Research (Spring 2009)

There are times in life when the question of knowing if one can think differently than one thinks, and perceive differently than one sees, is absolutely necessary if one is to go on looking and reflecting at all. Michel Foucault

When I first read the syllabus for this course and the three quotes included in the introductory information, I knew I was going to be stretched. Although I am not going to focus on the quotation by Roland Barthes, I have pondered the concept of “text of bliss” throughout this course and can say that with each new reading I have come to understand the meaning a little more. The Foucault quote is a “text of bliss” for me. My initial thought was that there was no way one course on race, class, and gender in relation to literacy learning would change my thoughts on these subjects. After all, I completed my undergraduate work almost twenty years ago, and I have had ample time in the “real” world to develop views that are founded on facts and not my personal biases and assumptions or ideas acquired from an admired professor. I really felt that I had a good grasp on these issues. Unfortunately, I did not even realize I had never been forced to wrestle with these issues deeply—to peer into my soul to see the good, the bad, and the ugly. It is all there.

I suppose Foucault’s quote unsettles me because by this time in my life I should not have to think differently, right? Is not part of maturity the stability in knowing what one believes and why? And, the way I have thought and what I have thought have served me well for many years. Why change now? If I choose to allow myself to think differently now does that mean that my prior way of thinking was wrong? At the heart of these conversations I had with myself was the notion that I was right. If I were right, there was no need to think differently, to perceive differently.

To say that this course has been a transformational journey for me is an understatement. Not only did I not know where I was going, I did not even know I needed to go! And yet within the first two weeks of reading The Skin that We Speak the map began to unfold and I started to chart a course. I realized my need to think differently. I came to understand the intimate ties each one has with her mother language. I saw the unfairness in the fact that Dowdy and Smith’s skin spoke so loudly that neither would have been heard in their mother language. I also realized that I had not truly respected my student’s home language. I did not see it as brilliant.

Probably the hardest part of allowing myself to think differently is the struggle to respect my own identity. In one of my posts I asked the question, “How will I value Ebonics without disrespecting my own home language?” It was in writing that post that I realized I was, for the first time, struggling in the same way that many students struggle. I finally got it—the issue is not language, it is identity. How can a child assume I am not trying to change who she is when I am constantly trying to change her language?

I think the key is in giving the student a voice, in convincing her of the power of being able to communicate her own story, the things that matter most to her. That teaching is a form of social activism had not occurred to me prior to this class. While I have always believed that teaching is one of the noblest professions because of the possibility of positively impacting another’s life, I guess I had not really considered it as social activism. But now I am convinced that more important than giving a student the tools to succeed in life, literacy is the key to giving the student a voice. But this voice does not come just with the development of reading and writing skills. It comes because someone listens to the student and values what she says. I think about Tamisha and her coming to voice. It was because of the time Henry was willing to give and the respect she showed Tamisha and the other girls with whom she worked. My allowing a student to come to voice requires that I recognize the value of what she has to share now.

I also learned a great deal about myself as I read the lives of Laurie and Jake through the eyes of Deborah Hicks. The most telling moment was when I caught myself being surprised that Jake’s father was an avid reader of non-fiction, content-laden material. I stated in my post, “Just I was not expecting Hicks to state that Jake’s father read informational books regularly, I did not expect there to be strong family support for Jake’s literacy learning. It bothers me greatly that I was surprised by this. Have I been socialized in such a discourse that I assume if the values of home and school conflict it must be because home practices are not supportive of school practices?” My assumptions and pre-conceived ideas reared their ugly heads. I realized that I, as a middle-class teacher, have been socialized to a particular discourse. Therefore, I must allow myself to think and perceive differently if I am going to be an effective teacher.

In the years that I have been away from the classroom many things have changed. My decision to enroll in graduate school was because I realized I could not afford to re-enter this world unprepared. While I wanted to learn new theories and practices, I do not think I considered that what I would gain from graduate school would be a new me. And now that I have started on this journey I want to continue to be willing to change, not just my methods but my thinking. If I want to change lives I must read lives. It is impossible for me to read lives if I am not willing to think differently. I still have a long way to go, but I have at this transitional point in my life answered the critical question. Yes, I know I can think differently—I can go on looking and reflecting.

Lisa Rasey