Week 9c (12)

ALL RIGHT, THEN. I’m posting to you from Hogwarts, where I’m getting ready for days of conferencing and also preparing to return jetlagged next week. Cheers!

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Our reading for this week may seem a little disunited, as in lacking a central theme, but I think there is one there. I wanted to include a couple more contexts in which to rephrase a question that we’ve discussed every week, I thinks: How can we foster our students’ ability to change the world and the university for the better while we also teach them to succeed in those things, such as they are? 

I know that some of you may wrestle with that in your seminar papers, and you could choose to ground the question any one of a wide variety of institutional and pedagogical contexts.

Our readings for this week include a very canonical text (Bartholomae) that has a long history of citation in composition studies and progressive pedagogy. That means that it is, at this point, part of the institutional history of the university as well as a call to reinvent the university. What can we learn from it now– about what the university is; what it should be; and how we might reform it in our time?

The other two articles– by Sarah Ahmed and Laura Portwood-Stacer– think about what the university does and what it needs in very different contexts. They might both help us think about rhetoric as a repository of hierarchical power and all kinds of capital, cultural and otherwise. How might we use them to think critically about the university– how we inhabit it and reproduce its institutional cultures or not? How might you use them to think about the work  you’re doing in ENG 110?

Then, also.

I want to look at lesson plans with you next week, so I hope you will post yours here. I’ll copy them and bring them to class so we can workshop them. As you do, think also about:

  • the process you use for writing lesson plans;
  • the process you use for revising them after you use them;
  • the criteria by which you evaluate them as you go.

The more I think about it, the more I think we have to say about all of this.

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8 Responses to Week 9c (12)

  1. Elaine Housseas says:

    eBartholomae states, “The university, however, is the place where common wisdom is only of negative value. It is something to work against. The movement a more specialized discourse begins or perhaps best begins when a student can define a position of privilege, a position that sets him against a common discourse, and when he can work self critically against not only the common code but his own.” (11) We’ve spoken many times in our seminar of our students’ recognitions of themselves as students but not scholars. Many if not most see themselves as fulfilling requirements, writing papers that are assigned to them rather than view their work as contributions to the scholarly conversations that are happening in both our classrooms and academia. To an extent, can we blame them? Bartholomae uses the term “privilege” and phrase” position of privilege” throughout this essay, arguing that our students need to recognize their positions of privilege, they must “see themselves within a privileged discourse, one that already includes and excludes groups of readers. They must be either equal to or more powerful than those they would address ( Bartholomae 6). To be honest, this confuses me. While I agree our students should view themselves as scholars, view the divide between us as smaller and less authoritative than they may imagine; however, what if our students—or us—are the populations mentioned that have been systemically, historically, and currently excluded from the institution? Bartholomae mentions the readers, but what about the excluded writers and their instructors? I started this post with Bartholomae’s argument to push against instititutional frameworks and knolwldege, to aid in its reinvention and perhaps its attempts at inclusion. I found Ahmed’s piece to be an interesting responde to Bartholomae. To question the institution, “ is to discredit the questioner for even posing a question or making a history questionable…a willful destruction of the venerable and beautiful” (1) By questioning the institituition, we put ourselves in a position to become marginalized, many of us being member to one or more marginalized populations within the academy.

    “Use can correspond to an a intended function, but use use does not necessarily correspond to an intended function. This not is an opening.” (2)
    “Use is a restriction of possibility that is material. Nevertheless, there is something queer about use intentions do not exhaust possibilities.” (3) Ahmed then goes into this incredible breakdown of the the possible definitions and applications of the term use. It makes me wonder: how are we of use to our students, to our institution, our colleagues? And, how are we used? I was most drawn to her points on diversity and deviation. Ahmed states, “Diversity work is the work of trying to transform institutions by opening them up to populations that have hitherto been excluded. Diversity work as deviating the well-used paths, as not going the way things are flowing. And yet another level, diversity seems to be a rather well-used path, an arrow even which can be an instruction and thus a direction” (6) This is something I completely agree with. Diversity as becoming this all encompassing, all inclusive term that I feel has become almost separatist in the academy. For example, I remember when filling out an application for a particular doctoral program, they had an optional diversity statement in addition to the mandatory personal statement. I remember asking myself: how are these two separate statements? I also remember writing this in the application, writing “please read previous statement to learn about the fragments of my identity you list under possible examples of diversity.” Ahmed mentions one of her colleague’s commenting that the more “nots” or diverse or deviant you are, the more committees your on (13). It’s impossible to talk about CUNY without talking about our diverse student body, faculty, and staff. This brings me to her discussion on complaints. I found this part of her talk particularly moving, thinking about how many needs of these populations are not being met or only being heard momentarily. Her comment on venting particularly struck me. I think about how we vent in our practicum, how our students vent to us, and how we vent to our other colleagues. Momentarily, we feel relief, but we later realize that many of our concerns are not being addressed. I mean this in no offense to the listeners of us ventees, many of you even thinking of subsequent actions to help us when we feel the institution isn’t. Ahmed states “we reach each other through damage” (18). In my first semester of teaching, I can’t even begin to explain how true of a statement this has been in my classroom and in the relations I’ve been building with my peers and colleagues during my first semester at Queens. My experiences has made me realize how much work still needs to be done in regards to pedagogy and people with disabilities, both students and faculty. While I mean this in regards to scholarship, I mainly mean this in regards to how this could be done in a practical sense. Can be helped through seminars, trainings, conversations, etc. Will we be heard at a department level? Is it even possible to be heard at the isntititutional level when are voices are being defined as “complaints” rather than pleas, requests, or conversation starters? I’ve already tried to have some of these types of conversations in my classroom, some going better than others. But it’s a start. Lastly, in regards to the reading on how to email your professor, I didn’t really think much about it until after reading Ahmed’s article. The majority of my students use almost no email etiquette with me, many times just sending me emails with attachments and no message whatsoever. For the most part, it really doesn’t bother me. But then the last paragraph of the reading made me think: is this laziness or a lack of respect? My students are very comfortable with me. They call me Elaine (as I requested) and many have conversations not regarding our course before and after class. I don’t think my students are unaware of how much work I put in to our course, many of them have commented that they feel bad that I might’ve spent more time on the comments on their drafts than they did on their actual drafts. (I know, why would you admit that?) However, I do think I will share this reading with my class next semester, because I want to know I’m receiving a level of respect from my students that I may not receive outside the classroom.

  2. Laura Portwood-Stacer’s “How to Email Your Professor (without being annoying AF)” was very useful. I had spent a few minutes in class two weeks ago on this subject. As a “surprise” class assignment, I told all my students to take out their cell phones and/or laptops and send me an email making believe they were sending me their final draft of their second essays. I didn’t tell them anything else — and some of their puzzled looks amused me… I then logged into my email account and went over each email as a class discussion. The first surprise was that two students sent the email to my other QC email account which is not on the syllabus… The second surprise is that out of 17 students, only 3 actually sent a proper email with a subject matter, correct salutation, the reason for the email, and proper sign off. We then went through all the emails and actually had fun realizing our mistakes. I also made it a point to tell them that this exercise was not just for my class but for every teacher in their present and future courses. I hope this will stick. I also sent myself an email as if I were a student in the class and let them give me critical thoughts about it. They liked this a lot. Reproduced here:
    To: Alain Cloarec;
    (No subject)
    Mr. C. Wassup?​
    Herewith enclosed is my essay. I’m attaching it as an attachment. It’s not a virus, I hope QC email will let it go through, but if you don’t get it maybe check, like your spam folder or like whatever.
    See ya!
    (And instead of my name, I pasted an emoticon of a little green martian head smiling which cannot be pasted in this blog)

    What struck me most in reading David Bartholomae’s “Inventing the University,” is that… he reviewed 500 essays!!! I just spent 14 hours last Saturday reviewing 17 five-page essays… Aside from these depressing facts, Bartholomae sheds much insight in student writing by way of his meticulous analyses of some of the sample essays he incorporated in his article. His thought that every time a student writes in any educational environment, the student needs to “learn to speak our language” (4) is an excellent point. (The Foucault quote at the beginning of the article may reflect even the idea that if the student fails to learn our language, she/he might get a dose of discipline or punishment…) Other insight comes from Bartholomae citing Linda Flower who wrote that “the difficulty inexperienced writers have with writing can be understood as a difficulty in negotiating the transition between writer-based and reader-based prose” (8). In this she means that experienced writers imagine their reader response to their writing and can change how they write according to their readers’ shared interest. Flower argues that we should teach students to write and revise with their readers in mind (8). Bartholomae echos this idea stating that all writers “must imagine for themselves the privilege of being “insiders” -that is, of being both inside an established and powerful discourse, and of being granted a special right to speak” (10). He also states, and I would wholeheartedly agree, that teachers should give more precision when asking students to “‘think,’ ‘argue,’ ‘describe,’ or ‘define’” (12). I believe these all mean that we should ask our students to analyze and find meaning in their thinking, arguments, descriptions, or definitions (the “so what?” effect). My students are smart but need prompting to dig deeper into what is behind the words and in between the lines of an article. The constant questions I keep asking them are: what does this mean and what does this imply and how far can your thought go using this particular article as a springboard. Once they allow themselves to follow the logic all the way to the end, they realize the power of the writer. Bartholomae writes that students are usually aware of the system of codes “that operate within a discourse” (17) and that it is once they have learned how to speak in and through these codes that they will gain the abilities “to establish authority” (20). This is, of course, what we want them to achieve.

    Sarah Ahmed in “Refusal, Resignation and Complaint,” introduces several themes: “the uses of use,” “On Being Stopped,” “Closing the Door,” and “A Leak is a Lead” all related to her “project on complaint” stemming from her experiences in her work inquiring about sexual harassment and misconduct in Academia. In sometimes beautiful poetic ways (with pasted photos as if a photo essay) Ahmed’s piece is in fact, an act of protest and resistance related to her resignation from the Goldsmiths University of London where sexual harassment—and the inaction against it—seemingly became a part of life at that institution and, by extension, many other educational institutions.
    Writing about words such as “use” and “path” Ahmed speaks of paths that “might disappear” if not used and that some paths are routes through life that might discourage one if too difficult to follow. She also writes about “on Being Stopped” as having to do with diversity within institutions that openly promote it but secretly want to avoid it and do so through bureaucratic or organizational non-decision decisions that she calls “dynamic ‘non-performativity.” It’s all about excluding–under the guise of “diversity.”
    Ahmed also discusses the topic of complaint which is framed as: “self-damage as well as damage to others, ruining a department.” Complaints are sometimes let free to venting but this is only used in a manipulative way to avoid potential explosive escalation. Once vented, the complaint is then considered “out of the system.” Filing is another method of putting complaints away, thus discarded.
    Most poignantly, Ahmed writes of a tragedy involving a woman’s suicide due to an institution’s inaction against a professor who had abused her. She then speaks of resistance in that “our political work is the work we do to ensure that making a complaint does not mean closing a door.”
    In her conclusion, Ahmed professes that a ”leak can be a feminist lead,” and views her resignation (or resignation as a whole) as “another way of saying no to system; you withdraw your labour, your body, yourself.” She ends with the famous quote from Audre Lorde and indicates that even though she, and other feminists, may have limited tools, they will continue the fight. It is, of course, a shame that many institutions still live by a patriarchal code that has no place in academia or anywhere else. If the master’s tools are limited, it’s high time to take on other tools or to make one’s own. Ahmed’s article is one way to show how we can foster our students’ ability to change the world and the university for the better: speak up, speak out, and make a commitment in favor of ethos. Then write about it.

  3. So much of this week’s readings address first-year student issues (particularly those of writing students, but not exclusively) in a way that reinforces the need for first year student integration programs, much like the Freshman Year Initiative program here at Queens College. Of particular importance were examples like Bartholomae’s incoming student writers whose reaching academic tone shows knowledge enough about shifting audience expectations and elevated language. This “mimicking” or “fictional” use of language is something I think most of us could and can see in our student papers; more often than not, I see these moments in artificial, stilted moments of passive voice, as students attempt to mimic what they believe is appropriate language use and tone. As Bizzell argues in “Cognition, Convention and Certainty:
    What We Need to Know About Writing,” “the problems of basic writers might be better understood in terms of their unfamiliarly with the academic discourse community, combined, perhaps, with such limited experience outside their native discourse communities…” (qtd. In Bartholomae 11). It seems impossible to ignore that many student writing issues involve overcoming the barrier to entry that is understanding academic and university culture.
    Of course, this is, in many ways, best seen in Laura Portward-Stacer’s article on how to email your professors. While I know that I and other professors in this class have had these conversations early on in the semester with our students, this article furthers the argument for classes focused on supporting incoming freshman who are simply ignorant of this new culture. While I think the Freshman Year Initiative is a boon for new collegiate students, I don’t think it provides enough assistance. In the past, I worked as a graduate teaching assistant for a program called First Year Experience (FYE), that offered a required course for incoming freshman titled Academic Inquiry and Scholarship, which instructed students on skills necessary for their new environment, including: understanding university and academic cultures, the ethics and methods of research, major/academic exploration, and critical thinking skills. At this point, much of this responsibility can fall on the freshman writing instructor at CUNY, or not at all, leaving the student to fend for themselves.
    Sara Ahmed’s experiences reinforce the need for students to understand and acknowledge the conventions of academic culture, if anything, to protect themselves and shape their academic futures. A prime example in her article is when one student states: “I was repeatedly told that ‘rocking the boat’ or ‘making waves’ would affect my career in the future and that I would ruin the department for everyone else. I was told if I did put in a complaint I would never be able to work in the university.”
    Perhaps the most jarring realization in reading these articles is that, without a dedicated course for teaching students the basics of university culture (something of the utmost importance for first-generation or international students), much of this responsibility, if one chooses to bear it, falls upon the freshman writing professor. And I’m not sure how I should feel about that.

  4. Jacqueline says:

    I’m curious how we can consider our students’ struggles to write and read academic writing, as investigated by Bartholomae, through Ahmed’s ideas on “use.” Though I acknowledge how distinct the kinds of resistance Ahmed is discussing is from our students’ struggles to find footing in the college environment, her work on “use” yields interesting questions when extended to other conversations. I’d like to continue to reflect on “use” as it applies to my class material and assignments for my students, questioning both my intentions and motives and the potential ways that my students will benefit or suffer from the terms of use that I set up for them.

    What do we expect from our students? What would be the best use of our classes for our students? Of course, it will vary, but I’m still inclined to consider these questions. Bartholomae accuses exercises that prompt students to evidence more audience awareness (definitely a goal in ENGL110) as implicitly arguing, “what is generally true about writing—that it is an act of aggression disguised as an act of charity” (10). Though my students are often engaged and interested, I sense their resistance to the “act of aggression” that asks them to approach reading and writing in often new and challenging ways. If I as their instructor am able to recognize that aggression, both in that request and in my own experiences as a writer, how can I use it to their advantage? Ahmed writes that transforming institutions “requires becoming conscious of how they are built” (2). We’re asking and hoping that our students transform their own thinking, to become conscious of how texts are built—and we’ve all experienced the pushback against that intended use written into our syllabi—but explaining that goal in such abstract terms doesn’t inspire excitement as much as confusion about the task at hand. (Also, comparing my students’ minds to institutions is somewhat violent, but we are up against the ways their educational institutions have conditioned them up to now.) Perhaps I need to have it clearer in my head what I want when I say critical thinking, how that is built.

    As Bartholomae discusses, students will write an argument “regardless of whether it is true or not” (13) and use what Mina Shaughnessy calls a “pre-packaging feature of language” (19), because they are experimenting with not only new ways of thinking about thinking but also new expectations on a number of levels. For Ahmed, “use often comes with instructions that are about maintaining personal and social boundaries” (3). How might I make more room to confront the personal and social boundaries the students are asked to navigate in the classroom environment in order to encourage them to make arguments that they feel connected to? Not to necessarily discourage “pre-packaging” of language (like patchwriting) since it is often a necessary step in gaining confidence as a writer, but to get more of my students thinking critically (this intended use I’m circling around)? As I’m thinking about ways to adapt my syllabus and lesson plans for the next time I teach 110, I want to question what the “use” is of each assignment, each class. I would like to experiment with more open conversations about the expectations in the academic environment and more explicit opportunities to question and consider those expectations as a class. My hope is that doing that—potentially even extending Ahmed’s use of “use” into those conversations—will get them more explicitly involved in thinking about the academic setting and hopefully translate onto the page, even if that means “muddier and more confusing prose” (Bartholomae 20) as a starting place.

  5. Kate Bryant says:

    I appreciated reading David Bartholomae this week for his clarifying articulations of some of the dilemmas we keep approaching from different angles, as well as for his concrete examples of student writing. “Inventing the University” has to do with assuming authority, asking students “to try on the peculiar ways of knowing, selecting, evaluating, reporting, concluding, and arguing that define the discourse of our community” (1). After his presentation of student papers Bartholamae sums this up: “To speak with authority student writers have not only to speak in another’s voice but through another’s “code”; and they not only have to do this, they have to speak in the voice and through the codes of those of us with power and wisdom; and they not only have to do this, they have to do it before they know what they are doing, before they have a project to participate in and before, at least in terms of our disciplines, they have anything to say” (17). He also offers descriptions of issues I think I’ve encountered without knowing yet how to articulate them. Bartholomae suggests that one of the student writers he cites “has entered the discourse without successfully approximating it” (8). A student like this is “not so much trapped in a private language as they are shut out from one of the privileged languages of public life, a language they are aware of but cannot control” (9).
    Many of our conversations have been about navigating spaces between practical realities and ideals. How to invite students into the space of academic discourse? Through dialogue, through modeling, through responding to their work directly, through introducing new ideas… And then, how to make that space more accomodating of them in turn, in all the ways that this might be possible? (Including the ways Sara Ahmed points at as she traces the usefulness of complaint.) I think Bartholomae is also modeling a particular kind of reading. He describes what is happening on the page in his examples, but he also reads a level beyond that to intuit how students are understanding the task at hand. This is the kind of reading that seems necessary to interface with a student most effectively, and is what I find most mindbending. It requires so much focus, and hopefully improves with practice, i.e. so far I cannot figure out how to grade fast(er.)
    Like Alain, I agreed that “Teachers… could be more precise and helpful when they ask students to “think,” “argue,” “describe,” or “define” (12). I often find myself frustrated with the words I’m using to respond to students, and uncertain if I am using them clearly and consistently. We mentioned last week that a “claim” can be confusing. I try not to ever say things like “develop this further” without providing suggestions or asking questions that I hope will help a student follow a thought further, but I also sometimes feel like I’m feeling around the edges of a discourse I am not yet comfortable in. Also– I did not totally understand the way Bartholomae was using the concept of the “commonplace” in student writing.

    After reading Ahmed I began to think about Bartholomae’s essay as opening a conversation about how exactly writing instruction might be of use to students. The idea he introduces that successful writers “can both imagine and write from a position of privilege” (9) feels like it can provide one frame. How many ways can we try to open a hole in the fence, to help students access this position? One way might be to continually try to describe to ourselves and students the usefulness of something, and then sometimes also ask them to articulate what will be of use to them. (Ahmed says, “Use is a relation as well as an activity that often points beyond something even when use is about something: to use something points to what something is ‘for’.”) As always this seems like an ideal to strive for that will crash into my tired overwhelmed reality, and that of my sleepy and confused students, who sometimes only want the phrase or the trick that is going to unlock a door for them, and get them through the assignment. And I don’t blame them! I want that too.

    I posted Laura Portwood-Stacer’s article a few weeks ago as an optional resource, and one of my students emailed and thanked me for posting it, and that was nice. I’ll probably give it to them early on next time, perhaps as part of a conversation about how the class is meant to function and ideally, how it can be of use to them.

  6. Weiheng Sun says:

    When reading Laura Portwood-Stacer’s piece, I opened my mailbox to review how my students email me. More than half of the emails do not address me; students simply “Hi,” or they will say nothing but attach the assignment. For the rest, the weirdest one is “Dear Dr. Weiheng”: I’m not a doctor yet; Weiheng is my first name. Although I did not correct them in class before, I feel it necessary to let them Portwood-Stacer’s work so that they will be able to email their professors with a proper language. This is the point where students start “to learn to speak our language, to speak as we do” (Bartholomae 1). I noticed that when I teach MLA format to students, some of them respond to me that that’s not the way their high school teachers taught them. The title of a book should be italicized, not underlined; the title of an article should be in quotation marks; the period should be within the quotation marks if there is no parenthesis; avoid dangling quotations etc. One student asked, after writing Essay 2, if we’ll use such form in Essay 3. I said that “you’re going to use it during your college life.” I didn’t expect that the format could be such a “resistance” in their reception; some of them still don’t care much about their format. But of course, the first-year writing is more than format. How they find their own way to join the academic conversation is the issue.

    Ahmed also talked about citation: “So much is reproduced by the requirement to follow. In the academy you might be asked to follow the well-trodden paths of citation; to cite properly as to cite those deemed to have already the most influence. The more a path is used the more a path is used.” Who regulates the format? As I read articles years ago, writers also use dangling quotations. Is that incorrect?

    I also find Ahmed’s article illuminating in a way he deconstructs the notion of use, door, path, complaint, and resignation, so that we may stop and think, try to break the original path and “fight for room,” “to fight for a possibility that has been restricted by use.” I like the idea about “complaint:” how complaints “can be stopped by the appearance of being heard,” “Venting is used as technique of preventing something more explosive from happening,” “the complaint graveyard.”

  7. saba says:

    What interested me most about Bartholomae’s article was the minute analysis of how different students “locate themselves within an academic discourse”. This somehow reminded me of Gaipa’s “Breaking into Conversation”. While Gaipa’s Ballroom Conference model visually depicts “how students can acquire authority in their writing”, Bartholomae’s discusses the pathology of “stylistic resources that enables writers to locate themselves within an ‘academic’ discourse.”. The very notion of these doors/ gates/ entrances into academic sphere by means of writing—which is one of the most important doors if not the most— brings me back to Sarah Ahmed’s article and her borrowed concept of revolving doors: “She describes the department as a revolving door, women and minorities arrive only to head right back out again. “. While the haunting image of a “well-trodden path” reminds us of: “ To deviate from that path can be hard. When it is harder to proceed, when a path is harder to follow, you might be discouraged; you might try and find another route. “ But then comes the concept of “complaint”, where in my opinion is the beating heart of Ahmed’s resistance :”A complaint becomes a recording device; you have to record what you do not want to reproduce.” which in case of Sarah Ahmed, is crystalized in every aspect of her piece. Just like Alain I thought Sarah Ahmed’s piece was “an act of protest” in its form and poetics.
    Back to Bartholomae’s article, I also appreciated the mention of commonplaces and how they’re so naturaly inherited by students in their writing. I try to make my students aware of these commonplaces.
    Reading “How to Email your professor (without being annoying AF)”, I had an initial reaction imagining myself as a student being instructed to communicate a certain manner in emails. But then I realized, I have thought about the reason why my students’ emails, do not include a body of text when they send their documents. Therefore followed: thinking about respect, politeness, etc. what do they mean? and do they matter? and the why of it all: Why is this instruction necessary? Is it because college students are still too young to take these politeness measures into consideration? Or is it because of the lens through which students view us instructors? I wonder about the latter and in case that it true, what does it tell us about our classrooms and how it can be treated? Notice the emphasis of author reminding the reader of professors being human beings too.
    I think I will share it with my class (as a suggestion).

  8. Farrah Goff says:

    I personally found the article by Professor Portwood-Stacer (P-S) quite enjoyable, but also a little humorous. I think the overall intent of the article is extremely important, especially now seeing what kind of emails I receive from my students on a regular basis. I liked Alain’s idea of including this in a possible lesson, I think the value of the activity would be seen not only in our own interactions, but also for the students in general who tend to take a “I’m an XXX Major, I don’t need intro to writing” point of view. The ability to write an effective email should not be underestimated. I have often strived to show to my classes the value of strong and clear writing outside of this classroom and college in general.

    Moving on to “Refusal, Resignation, and Complaint” I found the article particularly interesting in its discussion of “the legacy” or history one leaves behind. The author provides an image of a table that has been worn down and left with scratch marks to speak to the idea of the legacy one leaves behind and the work we as instructors in academia do in order to cause effect, not simply just on our students but also on the institution as a whole. I believe we as a class are already encountering these metaphorical walls or stop signs in a way, where we are constantly stuck in this battle of what is the policies, the rules, the requirements of the institution as a whole, and what about the individual needs of ourselves, our students, and our classrooms? We saw this particularly in our discussions on disability and plagiarism (perhaps why this article followed those classes?). Our own desires to effect legacy or change in the institution, especially as we broke down CUNY policy on behavior intervention and plagiarism, was clear. While we recognized a certain compliance with the overall hierarchy of the education system we also acknowledged a fair amount of autonomy in the conduct of our classrooms and an ability to work within this set framework. This is where I circle back to the article “deviation is hard, deviation is made hard” yes, deviation is made difficult, but as instructors and students ourselves perhaps in some ways we are the best opportunity to engage in this deviation, to work continuously within the framework and rules, but to edge out other practices that no longer or never did fit the actual needs of students and the classroom environment.

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