Dean Pearson claims to be in the "radical middle," and I certainly get this impression from his essay, "Life in the Radical Middle." He writes that reading should be the whole point of reading instruction and that curricula should not postpone the experience of authentic reading. When any curriculum does this, it gives kids the impression that reading is just an afterthought, not the purpose of reading instruction. He also states that skills instruction is essential to the development of reading, but makes clear that phonics and other skills should be a means to an end. They should not be the ends in themselves. The end is reading and comprehension.
But from his presentation in class today, Dean Pearson seemed to privilege the whole language approach. For example, the videos of the two girls that he showed us. Of the first girl he said that she was too preoccupied with decoding. Of the second girl he said that she was interested in finding meaning and that she had acquired metacognition. One description just seems much more positive than the other. And this might just be me, but when he was comparing the two approaches side by side, he seemed to spend more time describing and explaining whole language. Now, I'm not advocating that he should have emphasized phonics more. Personally, I buy the argument that he makes in his essay: the best approach is a balanced approach to reading.
I think the skit we performed today successfully demonstrated that implementing just one approach is problematic, even if it's something as seemingly wonderful as whole language. With Dolores, we witnessed the problems she was having reading using the sounding out approach. She had been taught to read using phonics exclusively, and when she got stuck she tried to solve the problem by decoding every sound. That wasn't helping her and it was taking her forever. By the time she finished one sentence, she probably forgot what the sentence was about. Here, she is missing meaning. Andy, on the other hand, had been taught using exclusively the whole language approach. However, as we saw, it turned out that Andy was never really reading. He was just looking at the illustrations and coming up with his own story using his wonderful imagination. While this is probably great and plays some important part in he development of literacy, if a child doesn't learn to actually decode the symbols on the page, he'll be stuck at this stage forever. What happens when he is supposed to move on from picture books? I'm not quite sure what was going on in the case of Yong Joon. It seems that his was an extreme case of a child learning to read via the phonics-only approach. He was "successful" in the sense that he was able to decode every word and speed through the story. However, he had no idea what he was reading because he hadn't learned to extract meaning from the words that he was reading. Clearly, some aspects of whole language were needed here. But, we also see that he was unable to comprehend punctuation marks. What do you all think? Does the teaching of punctuation marks belong in the skills or in the whole language category? Punctuation marks are something that kids must be able to decode in order to read the sentence properly. But kids should also recognize that they give meaning to the sentence and changing a punctuation can change the entire meaning of the sentence.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Opening thoughts on my Literacy Autobiograpy
The first time I ever realized I didn't speak English "right" was when I was in 8th grade. I was in my social studies class and a conversation about Cuba came up. As I put in my two cents, I pronounced the word "Koo-bah." I then heard the snickers behind me. I turned around and the two white boys sitting there told me, "It's not 'Koo-bah', it's 'Cuebah.'" That had an almost immediate effect on me. Instead of correcting their error, telling them that I had pronounced it correctly because Cuba is, after all, a Spanish-speaking nation, I was made to feel guilty and ashamed of my English. I had suffered what Gloria Anzaldua called "linguistic terrorism." My language and my way of speaking had been designated as illegitimate, and along with that, my identity was designated as illegitimate. From that point, speaking English "correctly" became an obsession for me. I became that friend that annoyingly corrected everybody on their speaking and writing mistakes. I had no tolerance for people who didn't know the difference between their, there, and they're.
All throughout my high school years, I privileged the use of English over Spanish. I used Spanish only when absolutely necessary, such as when speaking to my parents. I even stopped watching Spanish language television, which I used to enjoy, and watched only American English language television. I did take two years of Spanish Literature in high school, and I actually enjoyed them. But my reasoning for taking those courses was that they fullfilled the foreign language requirement, not any desire to become immersed in my native language. It wasn't until I came to UC Berkeley and started taking various courses on identity, Latin American History, etc. that my attitudes began to change. I came to see Spanish as an integral part of my identity. Being away from my family, I tried to speak Spanish in as many situations as possible. I no longer saw English as the only legitimate public language. But I don't blame those two boys in my social studies class. After all, "[u]ntil I can accept as legitimate... all the other languages I speak, I cannot accept the legitimace of myself" (Anzaldua).
That 8th grade class is when I made that conscious decision for the first time. But if I am honest with myself, I admit that the separation between my literacy in English and my native culture began years before, in elementary school. I can earnestly describe myself as one of Richard Rodriguez's "scholarship boys." From the early years of my elementary school career, maybe since 1st grade, reading became an addiction for me. Whereas Rodriguez says that he started his reading adventure because he thought "[b]ooks were going to make [him] 'educated,'" I actually fell in love with reading. I did "realize that reading would open up whole new worlds," as Rodriguez's teacher once told him. I didn't look for grand ideas or themes. I looked simply for entertainment, for adventure. But that difference didn't save me from experiencing the same effects. I read everything and devoured the written word. In the 4th grade, I could read a chapter book in two hours that today would probably take me two days. I came to realize that my home environment was not conducive to my reading habits...
All throughout my high school years, I privileged the use of English over Spanish. I used Spanish only when absolutely necessary, such as when speaking to my parents. I even stopped watching Spanish language television, which I used to enjoy, and watched only American English language television. I did take two years of Spanish Literature in high school, and I actually enjoyed them. But my reasoning for taking those courses was that they fullfilled the foreign language requirement, not any desire to become immersed in my native language. It wasn't until I came to UC Berkeley and started taking various courses on identity, Latin American History, etc. that my attitudes began to change. I came to see Spanish as an integral part of my identity. Being away from my family, I tried to speak Spanish in as many situations as possible. I no longer saw English as the only legitimate public language. But I don't blame those two boys in my social studies class. After all, "[u]ntil I can accept as legitimate... all the other languages I speak, I cannot accept the legitimace of myself" (Anzaldua).
That 8th grade class is when I made that conscious decision for the first time. But if I am honest with myself, I admit that the separation between my literacy in English and my native culture began years before, in elementary school. I can earnestly describe myself as one of Richard Rodriguez's "scholarship boys." From the early years of my elementary school career, maybe since 1st grade, reading became an addiction for me. Whereas Rodriguez says that he started his reading adventure because he thought "[b]ooks were going to make [him] 'educated,'" I actually fell in love with reading. I did "realize that reading would open up whole new worlds," as Rodriguez's teacher once told him. I didn't look for grand ideas or themes. I looked simply for entertainment, for adventure. But that difference didn't save me from experiencing the same effects. I read everything and devoured the written word. In the 4th grade, I could read a chapter book in two hours that today would probably take me two days. I came to realize that my home environment was not conducive to my reading habits...
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Anzaldua Teaches Me a Thing or Two
I wanted to elaborate about what I sort of said in class about the way Gloria Anzaldua's "How to Tame a Wild Tongue" affected me. I've always recognized that I spoke a Spanish other than Standard Spanish. It is the Spanish that I speak with my family. Nobody in my family speaks Standard Spanish, whether Castilian or Mexican. But it is normal, widespread conversational Mexican Spanish. It is not standard because it is not the Spanish spoken in the media or official communication. But most people in Mexico don't speak that way, unless they are educated/upper class. Unfortunately, I always labeled it as "improper" because I didn't know how else to label it. As Anzaldua says, "Chicanas who grew up speaking Chicano Spanish have internalized the belief that we speak poor Spanish. It is illegitimate, a bastard language" (58). I don't think my Spanish is "Chicano Spanish," but that's a whole other story.
And I also knew that I spoke something called "Spanglish." But I only speak Spanglish with a few people, because there are only certain people that I know will respond to it. I have to know that they'll respond to it and use it in the same way that I use it. However, the people with whom I use Spanglish and I always use the term jokingly. We didn't recognize the language as legitimate. But after reading Anzaldua, I realize that the many forms and variations of Spanish AND English that I speak are legitimate. Each language is linked to a certain piece of identity, and that makes it the primary language of that group. For that reason, they are legitimate. I realize that "[e]thnic identity is twin skin to linguistic identity- I am my language Until I can take pride in my language, I cannot take pride in myself" (59). I agree with this statement, I am my languages because my languages are one of the main ways with which I communicate and present myself to the world. And I should take pride in my languages. I wouldn't want to speak only Standard Spanish and forget the Spanish that I acuired growing up because that would make communication with my loved ones difficult, maybe even causing alienation (like what happened to Richard Rodriguez).
Thinking about this, I realized that there is a problem about the ways I reached my conclusion. Why is it that my use of language was only legitimized in my eyes after I saw it legitimized in a written document (an academic writing, to be specific)? Why didn't I ever think that my experiences legitimized it? Why so much deferrence to written language?
And I also knew that I spoke something called "Spanglish." But I only speak Spanglish with a few people, because there are only certain people that I know will respond to it. I have to know that they'll respond to it and use it in the same way that I use it. However, the people with whom I use Spanglish and I always use the term jokingly. We didn't recognize the language as legitimate. But after reading Anzaldua, I realize that the many forms and variations of Spanish AND English that I speak are legitimate. Each language is linked to a certain piece of identity, and that makes it the primary language of that group. For that reason, they are legitimate. I realize that "[e]thnic identity is twin skin to linguistic identity- I am my language Until I can take pride in my language, I cannot take pride in myself" (59). I agree with this statement, I am my languages because my languages are one of the main ways with which I communicate and present myself to the world. And I should take pride in my languages. I wouldn't want to speak only Standard Spanish and forget the Spanish that I acuired growing up because that would make communication with my loved ones difficult, maybe even causing alienation (like what happened to Richard Rodriguez).
Thinking about this, I realized that there is a problem about the ways I reached my conclusion. Why is it that my use of language was only legitimized in my eyes after I saw it legitimized in a written document (an academic writing, to be specific)? Why didn't I ever think that my experiences legitimized it? Why so much deferrence to written language?
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Contact Zones and the "Culture of Power"
Prompt: How can the metaphor of the “contact zone” as Mary Louise Pratt uses it apply to an educational setting(s) you’re familiar with? What are the power differentials at play, and how do these get reflected and contested in the literacy practices of those outside the ‘dominant discourse’?
Pratt defines the contact zone as "social spaces where cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other, often in contexts of highly asymmetrical relations of power" (114). Contact zones are certainly at work in the classroom. I recently read Laurie Delpit's "The Silenced Dialogue: Power and Pedagogy in Educating Other People's Children." Delpit argues that a "culture of power" exists in the classroom: "2. There are codes or rules for participating in power; that is, there is a 'culture of power.' The codes or rules I'm speaking of relate to linguistic forms, communicative strategies, and presentation of self; that is, ways of talking, ways of writing, ways of dressing, and ways of interacting. 3. The rules of the culture of power are a reflection of the rules of the culture of those who have power. This means that success in institutions- schools, work-places, and so on- is predicate upon acquisition of the culture of those who are in power. Children from middle-class homes tend to do better in school than those from non-middle class homes because the culture of the school is based on the culture of the upper and middle classes- of those in power. The upper and middle classes send their children to school with all the accoutrements of the culture of power; children from other kinds of families operate within perfectly wonderful and viable cultures but not cultures that carry the codes or rules of power" (Delpit 25).
Delpit then gives an example that I think reflects the power dynamics of the contact zone in the acquisition of literacy. She compares two literacy programs that were used for first grade students. One of the programs focused on "higher-level critical thinking skills." In one early lesson the children went through information that in the other program, Distar, they learned in about forty lessons. Of the first program, she says: "As an experienced first-grade teacher, I am convinced that a child needs to be familiar with a significant number of these concepts to be able to assimilate so much knowledge in one sitting" (Delpit 30). She then argues that because of this, the program gave an unfair advantage to children from (mostly white) middle-class homes who had been exposed to such concepts in their home life. Children who were receiving all of this information for the first time were left behind and immediately labeled as "remedial." On the other hand, "Distar was 'successful' because it actually taught new information to children who had not already acquired it at home" (Delpit 30). The reason I think Delpit, and this example, are so significant to the discussion of the contact zone is because of the differences this program created between children of different cultures. In the contact zone of the classroom, middle-class children carried more knowledge than children of working-class backgrounds. This immediately resulted in creating academic differences between the children. Those that had prior acquired knowledge were helped to become even more powerful. Those that had no such prior knowledge became even more powerless and were even labeled as academically remedial. Not only that, but teachers also belong to the "culture of power." Thus, through their labeling and their choice of programs, they are excercising power over all children. The difference is that middle-class children benefit from such power because they belong to the same culture (middle-class culture, not necessarily ethnic culture) while working-class children of color are placed in subordinate positions.
Pratt defines the contact zone as "social spaces where cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other, often in contexts of highly asymmetrical relations of power" (114). Contact zones are certainly at work in the classroom. I recently read Laurie Delpit's "The Silenced Dialogue: Power and Pedagogy in Educating Other People's Children." Delpit argues that a "culture of power" exists in the classroom: "2. There are codes or rules for participating in power; that is, there is a 'culture of power.' The codes or rules I'm speaking of relate to linguistic forms, communicative strategies, and presentation of self; that is, ways of talking, ways of writing, ways of dressing, and ways of interacting. 3. The rules of the culture of power are a reflection of the rules of the culture of those who have power. This means that success in institutions- schools, work-places, and so on- is predicate upon acquisition of the culture of those who are in power. Children from middle-class homes tend to do better in school than those from non-middle class homes because the culture of the school is based on the culture of the upper and middle classes- of those in power. The upper and middle classes send their children to school with all the accoutrements of the culture of power; children from other kinds of families operate within perfectly wonderful and viable cultures but not cultures that carry the codes or rules of power" (Delpit 25).
Delpit then gives an example that I think reflects the power dynamics of the contact zone in the acquisition of literacy. She compares two literacy programs that were used for first grade students. One of the programs focused on "higher-level critical thinking skills." In one early lesson the children went through information that in the other program, Distar, they learned in about forty lessons. Of the first program, she says: "As an experienced first-grade teacher, I am convinced that a child needs to be familiar with a significant number of these concepts to be able to assimilate so much knowledge in one sitting" (Delpit 30). She then argues that because of this, the program gave an unfair advantage to children from (mostly white) middle-class homes who had been exposed to such concepts in their home life. Children who were receiving all of this information for the first time were left behind and immediately labeled as "remedial." On the other hand, "Distar was 'successful' because it actually taught new information to children who had not already acquired it at home" (Delpit 30). The reason I think Delpit, and this example, are so significant to the discussion of the contact zone is because of the differences this program created between children of different cultures. In the contact zone of the classroom, middle-class children carried more knowledge than children of working-class backgrounds. This immediately resulted in creating academic differences between the children. Those that had prior acquired knowledge were helped to become even more powerful. Those that had no such prior knowledge became even more powerless and were even labeled as academically remedial. Not only that, but teachers also belong to the "culture of power." Thus, through their labeling and their choice of programs, they are excercising power over all children. The difference is that middle-class children benefit from such power because they belong to the same culture (middle-class culture, not necessarily ethnic culture) while working-class children of color are placed in subordinate positions.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Can Educational Research be Useful? Can it be Reciprocal? What about Empowering?
Prompt: In The Struggle and the Tools, Ellen Cushman argues that it’s possible (and necessary) for researchers and participants (not “subjects”) to “make knowledge together”, by joining liberatory teaching with praxis research. Meanwhile, in the article “Funds of knowledge“, Luis Moll and his collaborators show how teachers can dramatically improve the quality of their instruction by becoming researchers and engaging in rich dialog with the families of their students. Do these researchers have it right? Is it possible for teachers and researchers (and those who wear both hats) to do research and empower those they’re researching? What are the barriers that might exist between knowledge-making at the university and the improvement of the educations and lives of often underserved and/or working-class young people in schools? What barriers and opportunities are there for you, tutors & mentors in ED140 at UC Berkeley, as you embark on your fieldwork?
In "Funds of Knowledge," we see that "the teacher [Cathy] had a special status with the family that could help establish the trust necessary for the exchange of information" (136). She already had a "natural entree into the home, and had an implicit connection with Carlos's parents" (136). This is a very important point. If the goal is to have teachers as researchers because teachers are the ones that are meant to learn from the families in order to develop relevant curricula, then this point sheds light on the importance AND plausibility of such a method. Teachers can certainly engage in dialogue with the families of their students, empower them through this dialogue, and "make knowledge together" with the families. For example, one of the first things that Cathy and Deborah noticed was that Carlos' mother was quick to open up to both researchers and talk about her family, her children, her life, the differences between Mexico and the U.S., etc. Fortunately this opening up had a practical and mutually beneficial result: "as she [Cathy] gathered new information about the family, their history and activities, she started making connections to instructional activities she wanted to develop" (136).
One example of such instructional activities is the candy unit that Cathy and her team developed. This unit combined Carlos' entrepeneurial interests in Mexican candy with another community mother's knowledge of making Mexican candies. But the unit delved even deeper into students' interests. For example, the students were asked to compare Mexican and U.S.-made candy, a notion that many of these students were familiar with, considering many of them lived in both worlds. Including the selling of candy into the unit tapped into Carlos' interest and probably allowed him to share his skills with many of his classmates. Allowing Mrs. Rodriguez to come into the classroom, to show the children how to make candy and to talk to them about food production and consumption and even about nutrition, created a sense of unity between the classroom and the household. It probably also empowered Mrs. Rodriguez to think that she was contributing greatly to her child's classroom.
In this one example we see the way teachers as researchers can improve the educational quality of their students. Through their research, they gain the information and tools necessary to make classroom teaching relevant to the experiences, the discourses, and the literacies of their students. Students and community members become empowered by seeing that they are active agents of the educational process. Now the question becomes: how can this be carried out in a non-research project context? Is it really plausible to expect teachers to do research trips into the homes of 30 or more students in order to discover their funds of knowledge?
In "Funds of Knowledge," we see that "the teacher [Cathy] had a special status with the family that could help establish the trust necessary for the exchange of information" (136). She already had a "natural entree into the home, and had an implicit connection with Carlos's parents" (136). This is a very important point. If the goal is to have teachers as researchers because teachers are the ones that are meant to learn from the families in order to develop relevant curricula, then this point sheds light on the importance AND plausibility of such a method. Teachers can certainly engage in dialogue with the families of their students, empower them through this dialogue, and "make knowledge together" with the families. For example, one of the first things that Cathy and Deborah noticed was that Carlos' mother was quick to open up to both researchers and talk about her family, her children, her life, the differences between Mexico and the U.S., etc. Fortunately this opening up had a practical and mutually beneficial result: "as she [Cathy] gathered new information about the family, their history and activities, she started making connections to instructional activities she wanted to develop" (136).
One example of such instructional activities is the candy unit that Cathy and her team developed. This unit combined Carlos' entrepeneurial interests in Mexican candy with another community mother's knowledge of making Mexican candies. But the unit delved even deeper into students' interests. For example, the students were asked to compare Mexican and U.S.-made candy, a notion that many of these students were familiar with, considering many of them lived in both worlds. Including the selling of candy into the unit tapped into Carlos' interest and probably allowed him to share his skills with many of his classmates. Allowing Mrs. Rodriguez to come into the classroom, to show the children how to make candy and to talk to them about food production and consumption and even about nutrition, created a sense of unity between the classroom and the household. It probably also empowered Mrs. Rodriguez to think that she was contributing greatly to her child's classroom.
In this one example we see the way teachers as researchers can improve the educational quality of their students. Through their research, they gain the information and tools necessary to make classroom teaching relevant to the experiences, the discourses, and the literacies of their students. Students and community members become empowered by seeing that they are active agents of the educational process. Now the question becomes: how can this be carried out in a non-research project context? Is it really plausible to expect teachers to do research trips into the homes of 30 or more students in order to discover their funds of knowledge?
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Literacy as a State of Grace versus Literacy as Power
I think that Sylvia Scribner thoroughly deconstructs the metaphor, or what I would call the myth, of literacy as a state of grace or salvation. She describes this phenomenon as "the tendency in many societies to endow the literate person with special virtues" (76-7). The problem that I find with this definition, and I agree with Scribner that our society does this, is that in mainstream American society, one is considered "literate" or "well-read" when one is familiar with the literary canon of dead European male writers. Why? Because this is the canon that is dominant in K-12 and even in college education. This Eurocentric view of literacy pushes the literature of the many world cultures to the margins. Not only that, but the idea that "literate and nonliterate individuals presumably are not only in different states of grace but in different stages of intellectual developmentas well" is a strong basis for racist arguments. We already discussed this in the ideas of Ong, but the fact that certain societes function without written language doesn't make them any less "literate" or capable of logical thinking.
Scribner identifies another problem with this metaphor. There is a particular quote which I found very telling: "In the literacy-as-a-state-grace concept, the power and functionality of literacy is not bounded by political or economic parameters but in a sense transcends them; the literate individual's life derives its meaning and significance from intellectual, aesthetic, and spiritual participation in the accumulated creations and knowledge of humankind, made available through the written word" (77). This quote is relevant to the discussion we had last class about whether literacy should serve "personal enrichment." Personal enrichment is important. But in my opinion, literacy as a functional tool and literacy as a means of empowerment are much more important views of literacy. This is especially true if one goes into the field of Education because of a concern for social justice. I think that attaining literacy solely for academic reasons, for the purpose of "being familiar" with a certain canon does nobody any good. I understand the problem that Scribner presents with literacy as power: does literacy really result in social movement participation? According to Scribner, there has been no real evidence of this. But I think that literacy campaigns are still important because being familiar with dominant secondary discourses is empowerment for individuals. An example I have in mind is from this week's reading, "Activist Methodology" by Cushman. Cushman tells the story of Mirena, who wanted Cushman to teach her how to "sound right" so that she could convince a potential landlord to rent out an apartment to her. Both Cushman and Mirena realize that in order for Mirena to be able to "make it," she needs to possess a certain kind of literacy. This story is an example of the way literacy as adaptation and literacy as power can be combined. I think this can also happen in the literacy campaigns of places such as Cuba and Nicaragua. Adults who never knew how to read or write can be taught these basic skills, and this newfound literacy is a tool that individuals can use to defend themselves against wealthy employers and abusive authorities.
In class we also discussed the possibility that empowerment and personal enrichment can happen simultaneously. I completely agree with this and I hope that nobody takes away the idea that I am against the notion of personal enrichment. I think this kind of personal growth can occur when one is working for the education and empowerment of others. For example, we saw this in the example of Cushman and Mirena. Cushman points out that knowledge about the political aspects of trying to rent an apartment could only have been achieved through the sharing of information between Cushman and Mirena. And I also hope that nobody takes away the idea that I am against the enriching qualities of canons studied in fields such as Literature, Art History, Philosophy, etc. I think that the canon of "dead European male writers" can also be used for empowering purposes. For example, when one reads Hard Times by Charles Dickens, not only does one experience the literary value of a writer like Dickens (personal enrichment), but hopefully one also comes away thinking about things such as class struggles, capitalist oppression, and labor organization (adaptation and empowerment).
Scribner identifies another problem with this metaphor. There is a particular quote which I found very telling: "In the literacy-as-a-state-grace concept, the power and functionality of literacy is not bounded by political or economic parameters but in a sense transcends them; the literate individual's life derives its meaning and significance from intellectual, aesthetic, and spiritual participation in the accumulated creations and knowledge of humankind, made available through the written word" (77). This quote is relevant to the discussion we had last class about whether literacy should serve "personal enrichment." Personal enrichment is important. But in my opinion, literacy as a functional tool and literacy as a means of empowerment are much more important views of literacy. This is especially true if one goes into the field of Education because of a concern for social justice. I think that attaining literacy solely for academic reasons, for the purpose of "being familiar" with a certain canon does nobody any good. I understand the problem that Scribner presents with literacy as power: does literacy really result in social movement participation? According to Scribner, there has been no real evidence of this. But I think that literacy campaigns are still important because being familiar with dominant secondary discourses is empowerment for individuals. An example I have in mind is from this week's reading, "Activist Methodology" by Cushman. Cushman tells the story of Mirena, who wanted Cushman to teach her how to "sound right" so that she could convince a potential landlord to rent out an apartment to her. Both Cushman and Mirena realize that in order for Mirena to be able to "make it," she needs to possess a certain kind of literacy. This story is an example of the way literacy as adaptation and literacy as power can be combined. I think this can also happen in the literacy campaigns of places such as Cuba and Nicaragua. Adults who never knew how to read or write can be taught these basic skills, and this newfound literacy is a tool that individuals can use to defend themselves against wealthy employers and abusive authorities.
In class we also discussed the possibility that empowerment and personal enrichment can happen simultaneously. I completely agree with this and I hope that nobody takes away the idea that I am against the notion of personal enrichment. I think this kind of personal growth can occur when one is working for the education and empowerment of others. For example, we saw this in the example of Cushman and Mirena. Cushman points out that knowledge about the political aspects of trying to rent an apartment could only have been achieved through the sharing of information between Cushman and Mirena. And I also hope that nobody takes away the idea that I am against the enriching qualities of canons studied in fields such as Literature, Art History, Philosophy, etc. I think that the canon of "dead European male writers" can also be used for empowering purposes. For example, when one reads Hard Times by Charles Dickens, not only does one experience the literary value of a writer like Dickens (personal enrichment), but hopefully one also comes away thinking about things such as class struggles, capitalist oppression, and labor organization (adaptation and empowerment).
Thursday, July 9, 2009
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