The common, basic course is becoming more widespread among Communication departments across the country. By drawing on Bakhtin's notion of heteroglossia, this paper suggests that the common classroom experience privileges certain individuals and ways of knowing by silencing the many voices that exist in a classroom situation. As such, this paper initiates a "radical" departure from the colonial branding of contemporary Communication curricula and the common classroom in a move toward a more democratic and critical engagement of course “instruction.” Although a radicalized notion of a critical Communication pedagogy rejects formulaic prescriptions of teaching, the final part of the paper offers concrete examples for how a more democratic pedagogy, which recognizes diversity and difference, can exist for Communication departments.
In 1997, a major university in the Midwest adopted a “common-syllabus” policy for all multi-section courses at the 100 and 200 levels. This policy coincided with the advent of a university-wide program of tutors, called “supplemental instructors,” who were paid undergraduates in selected disciplines to boost retention rates in the 100 and 200 level multi-section courses. These policies forced little self-reflection on the part of individual instructors, departments or the university as a whole. Because this university is merely one example of a much larger trend, especially in an era where standards are imposed as a so-called means for assessment, I intend to engage in a critical reflection of these policies by interrogating the existence of the “common course” philosophy, especially as it exists in relation to a critical pedagogy framework.
Despite the emphasis on multiculturalism and diversity in Communication curricula, recently there has been a concerted effort toward constructing common courses, syllabi, textbooks, and methods of teaching (Morreale et al., 1999). This trend is a response to a variety of shifts in the contemporary higher education climate. Examples of these shifts are that colleges and universities are finding themselves more and more accountable to assessment boards, alumni, and the business community. These same schools are also noticing reductions in private and public funding while simultaneously experiencing the larger pressures of transforming into a service mentality where services are provided to customers in exchange for tuition, loyalty, and future alumni donations (McMillan & Cheney, 1996). It does not require too much attention to realize that higher education is suffering from an identity complex in which catering to the vocational and professional desires of students/clients has supplanted the liberal arts tradition of knowledge for knowledge’s sake.
The transformation of the classroom has also had an impact on the actual so-called “training” or education of the student body. Exchange of ideas, recognition of the dignity and self-worth of fellow students, and responsibility for discourse has been replaced by exaltation for consensus, a privileging of standardized knowledge, and a fundamental disregard for diversity of opinions (Allington, 2005). The instructor/professor has become the sage of truth in loco parentis, instead of a facilitator for critical inquiry. Institutions of higher education have become service stations for quick-fix professional training, rather than foras for discussion and cultural exchange (Grubb & Lazerson, 2005). Schools throughout the country are now compared and rated for their ability to produce students who write, talk and think in accordance with standardized measurements (Arenson, 2006). The homogeneity of learning and thought creates common classrooms where we can expect certain objectives and skills to be (re)produced among a wide variety of students.
The standardized classroom is not unique to just Communication departments (Allington, 2005). However, in our emphasis on audience analysis, rhetorical criticism, semiotic inquiry, and basic skills in human communication, we are perhaps the most visible field where issues of diversity and respect are critical components to our area of study. As such, our discipline requires a critical self-reflection concerning its philosophy to pedagogy. By analyzing this trend of what I call “the common classroom” and its concomitant colonial gaze, this paper assesses, by drawing on the Bakhtinian notion of heteroglossia, the multiplicity of needs, goals, expectations and experiences that may be located in a Communication classroom. In the first part of the paper, I examine more closely the development of the common classroom. Specifically, by mapping out the intricacies of the current pedagogical trends, I show how the hierarchical maintenance of power perpetuates a colonial structure between school/success and teacher/student. In the second part of the paper, I initiate a "radical" departure from the colonial branding of contemporary Communication curricula and the common classroom in a move toward a more democratic and critical engagement of course “instruction.” While initiating respect for diversity and difference should not have to be considered “radical,” it is nevertheless a unique perspective for many instructors and institutions. Although a radicalized notion of a critical Communication pedagogy rejects formulaic prescriptions of teaching, I offer in the final part of the paper concrete examples for how a more democratic pedagogy, which recognizes diversity and difference, can exist in Communication curricula.
Once permitted for only the large multi-section lecture courses typically taught for first year students at state universities, the common course/common syllabi approach to learning is becoming more widespread. Courses with two or more sections are becoming standardized all over the country at public and private as well as large and small institutions (Morreale et al., 1999). In addition, common objectives and common methods of teaching are also being inserted into these common courses. In so doing, schools of so-called “higher learning” have erased individual instructor flexibility, student diversity and multi-ethnic and cultural exchange (Treinen & Warren, 2001; Nance & Foeman, 1993).
One of the reasons articulated for adopting common courses and syllabi is that a shared expectation of similar educational experiences should be assumed for all students who enroll in the same courses. In other words, if I take the same course but different section of Public Speaking as does Sarah, we should both expect to learn the same basic skills even though we are in different classes and we may have different instructors. The end result, so the theory goes, is that we can gauge how well all of the students learn these skills as well seek comfort in knowing that students do not get “short-changed” if they happen to be in the class that does not learn the same things as the class down the hall. After all, the school and instructors have a responsibility to provide similar quality education (or service) to all who pay tuition. Of course, some institutions use the further rationalization that tutors for these courses should have similar expectations for multi-section courses.
This particular argument for the common classroom emphasizes prepared course planning, synchronized syllabus implementation and organized, albeit similar, teaching methods. If such planning and organization among the faculty does not occur, then the school cannot be secure in its assumption that common objectives and goals will be achieved by everyone enrolled in the multi-section course. This approach employs a very static process of teaching, whereby the differing experiences and interests of particularized sections of the course are ignored. As Paulo Freire (1996) writes,
Education thus becomes an act of depositing, in which the students are the depositories and the teacher is the depositor. Instead of communicating, the teacher issues communiques and makes deposits which the students patiently receive, memorize, and repeat. This it the “banking” concept of education, in which the scope of action allowed to the students extends only as far as receiving, filing, and storing the deposits . . . .In the banking concept of education, knowledge is a gift bestowed by those who consider themselves knowledgeable upon those whom they consider to know nothing. Projecting an absolute ignorance onto others, a characteristic of the ideology of oppression, negates education and knowledge as processes of inquiry. (p. 53)
Thus, what is to be known becomes branded onto the ignorant student who is to be molded in the eyes of the entrusted so-called “keeper of truth.” Much like the colonial powers who forced their languages, values and religious beliefs onto the powerless, contemporary higher education is also extending its own colonial gaze by constructing institutional paradigms and curricula under the benevolent auspices of efficiency and high-quality training.
Calling the common course "colonial" should not be taken lightly. While the common course certainly does not match the scale of oppression instigated by dominant countries during colonization, it does parallel the logic of colonial administration by imposing not only the types of knowledge onto subjects, but also the form or method of learning knowledge as well. Especially when we hold ideals of democracy and diversity high, this colonial imposition of knowledge is particularly troubling. In fact, we must begin to examine our current pedagogy as one that is colonizing. Instead, as Macedo (1994) cautions, if
our colonial legacy remains unexamined, the option of choosing a school where students are denied the opportunity to study their language and culture is, for all practical purposes, a choiceless choice. Instead of becoming enslaved by the management discourse of the present educational reform that enhances the economic interests of the reformers and making secure their privileged social and cultural positions, educators need to reconnect with our historical past so as to understand the colonial legacy that undermines our democratic aspirations (p. 173).
Particularly when Communication curricula emphasize core values such as diversity, cultural awareness and democracy, our decisions about the form and method of class construction become more important than ever.
A second reason that is often given for adopting the common classroom philosophy is the need to meet the demands of assessment organizations, which may be necessary for accreditation (Aitken & Neer, 1992). The accreditation concern is no doubt justified, and I do not want to be perceived as eschewing the very real necessity for programs to maintain their status and, in some cases, their ability to teach. However, my contention is that other options to the common classroom model exist to satisfy accreditation requirements, such as departmental portfolios, senior projects, alumni satisfaction surveys, teaching evaluations, etc. Furthermore, let us not kid ourselves. Assessment procedures depend on what is being measured, meaning the objectives of a course are often compared to "student outcomes," which, without coincidence, can be virtually assured to occur with some satisfaction. In short, these policies encourage hypocritical goals and mission statements. While on one hand we preach to students that they should be self-confident and develop their strengths, we then tell them on the other hand that they must conform to our own rules and expectations.
While other reasons for the emergence of the common classroom no doubt exist, the cursory examination of the reasons articulated here demonstrate how the argumentative rationale for the common classroom is embedded in notions of paternalism and self-legitimacy. These colonial tactics of control are meant to perpetuate the institutional apparatus of power.
In each Communication class, for every semester, there are different exigencies that must be recognized. A class of more than one student is an exciting place where a collection of different experiences, skills and aspirations convene at one moment. The place of the instructor/facilitator adds to this unique moment. If we reject the colonial philosophy of banking or imparting knowledge on the so-called student, then we must recognize that each class for each semester is a different culmination of a multiplicity of voices and energies that can only be expressed if the environment allows them to thrive and breathe.
In Bakhtinian terms, the notion of heteroglossia illustrates how the presence of symbolic exchange by definition presumes that a variety of voices intersect and interact in unique social circumstances (Holquist, 1981: xix). According to Bakhtin,
Dialogism is the characteristic epistemological mode of a world dominated by heteroglossia. Everything means, is understood, as a part of a greater whole — there is a constant interaction between meanings, all of which have the potential of conditioning others. Which will affect the other, how it will do so and in what degree is what is actually settled at the moment of utterance. This dialogic imperative, mandated by the pre-existence of the language world relative to any of its current inhabitants, insures that there can be no actual monologue. One may, like a primitive tribe that knows only its own limits, be deluded into thinking there is one language, or one may, as grammarians, certain political figures and normative framers of “literary languages” do, seek in a sophisticated way to achieve a unitary language. In both cases the unitariness is relative to the overpowering force of heteroglossia, and thus dialogism. (1981, p. 426)
Since dialogism refers to how at any particular instance “there is a set of powerful but highly unstable conditions at work that will give a word uttered then and there a meaning that is different from what it would be at other times and in other places” (Holquist, 1990: 69), we can see how heteroglossia works in conjunction with dialogism to offer a perspective that allows us to see the different connections and intersections of meaning formation and generation. For Bakhtin, these connections and intersections are relational, and meaning cannot be discerned by imposing a macro-level perspective onto the situation (Holquist, 1990: 89). Instead, to examine the discursive context, we must have an inclination for the particular and an emphasis on the recognition of the myriad voices and experiences that occur during the meaning process.
It is also important for us to remember that Bakhtinian heteroglossia is a form of critical analysis of literary style. Heteroglossia allows us to peer into the performative aspects of meaning generation (Bakhtin, 1981: 263; Butler, 1993: 12-13). Once we understand the performative nature of speech acts, including the dialogic interchange of experiences in the Communication classroom, we can recognize not only how the polyphony of experience and voice intersect during a moment of learning, but we can also notice potential areas for resistance. We should recall that learning is a process of inquiry (Freire, 1996: 53) which involves the simultaneous exchange of both historical contexts and contemporary participant agency. As such, the idea of the performative, in which a participant subject would engage as he/she interacts in heteroglot, is an empowering concept. Judith Butler explains how this can be a moment for recognizing the intersection of different power formations:
Performative acts are forms of authoritative speech: most performatives, for instance, are statements that, in uttering, also perform a certain action and exercise a binding power. Implicated in a network of authorization and punishment, performatives tend to include legal sentences, baptisms, inaugurations, declarations of ownership, statements which not only perform an action, but confer a binding power on the action performed. If the power of discourse to produce that which it names is linked with the question of performativity, then the performative is one domain in which power acts as discourse. (p. 225)
Of course, Butler is referring to namely legal and religious performative acts. However, my contention is that performatives in the educational realm also incur binding power since the nature of pass/fail, grades, and ultimately social acceptance rest on the performance of student interaction (sometimes instructors name this “participation” in their grading criteria).
In addition, Bakhtin was concerned about the stratification of voices, even among the heteroglot. He saw the relationship between and among voices predicated on class formations. Those persons in positions of class privilege also ensured their voices would be heard, or even given access for others to hear. Persons in less-privileged positions found themselves voiceless, or at the very least, speaking with muffled voices. In an effort to redirect our attention from privilege to the voice, however, Bakhtin wanted to conceptualize heteroglossia as a milieu of multiple voices that could be heard (Holquist, 1990: 69). The chance to be heard, therefore, was tantamount to seizing the means of production.
The main point to be made is that with all of the different experiences and ambitions of the students/participants in a Communication classroom along with the inescapable fact that instructors are not sages with a monopoly on Truth, we need to (re)define our conception of the classroom; a classroom composed of voices. If we continue with Bakhtin’s notion of heteroglossia, we will also notice that instructors are always unable to have a controlling or “owning” influence over the discourse that occurs in a classroom since the heteroglot of the moment consists of multiplying discursive forces and respective voices which do not all emanate from one single person, which is typically the teacher in the traditional classroom. Jasinski clarifies this complicated and often overlooked aspect of Bakhtin’s thought:
The language of a culture consists of multiple idioms, speech types, and voices. Inventional practices orchestrate linguistic multiplicity but, Bakhtin argues, individual authors never gain absolute control over linguistic heteroglossia. Individual authorial agency is decentered in the act of textual production as intentions are “refracted” through the spectrum of languages and voices that the author seeks to organize. (1997, p. 215)
Furthermore, if we view the voices of heteroglossia as relational and fluid, then we see a typology of classroom communication constituted by current trends that emphasize the common course and by a Bakhtinian heteroglossia. The common course schema would include viewing the Instructor or Professor as the empowered voice, transmitting material to the muted subjects, known as students or clients. A typology based on heteroglossia on the other hand shows how multiple subject positions, regardless of class or privilege, are related in the way they communicate with each other. In fact, the relationships are always fluid, flexible and potentially empowering, since even a person's current subject position can change depending on their experience, dialect, etc.
Based on this typology, we can see the tremendous difference between the homogenous classroom and the heteroglossia classroom. This is why, in the spirit of the work of Sprague (1992, 1993), I am proposing the idea of a Critical Communication Pedagogy. While critical pedagogy is nothing new in the areas of English studies (See Berlin & Vivion, 1992; Giroux, 1988, 1990, 1994; Kecht, 1992; McLaren & Leonard, 1993; Ohmann, 1987), the Communication discipline has generally failed to be reflexive of its continued imperial forms of education. Before discussing two examples of how a Critical Communication Pedagogy can be useful and effective, I believe a brief examination of what I mean by “critical pedagogy” is in order.
Of course, one of the central tenets of critical pedagogy is the emerging educational experience that emanates from the facilitator (instead of “teacher”) and participants. This emergence occurs primarily through a dialogue between participants so that different experiences, identities, and concerns are voiced. All are encouraged to reflect on their own situation and then relate their situation to others. Freire emphasizes well this underpinning element in critical pedagogy: “It is not our role to speak to the people about our own view of the world, nor to attempt to impose that view on them, but rather to dialogue with the people about their view and ours” (1996: 77). Hence, no detailed or planned agenda is established. In fact, a planned model often has deleterious effects. As Ira Shor suggests, “We have to reinvent liberating education for our own situations” (1993: 34). Instead, the balanced relationship between facilitator and participants and between the different identities present is privileged. This new environment treats participants with respect and recognizes their dignity as individuals, regardless of their assumed or inscribed identities. Thus, while each pedagogical experience may be different, its underlying theme remains constant. Additionally, while I have no pre-set formula for how to engage in a Critical Communication Pedagogy, I can say that an openness to this new way of instructing can be extremely rewarding for participants and facilitators alike. In what follows, I will provide two examples of how a Critical Communication Pedagogy made a difference in my classes. These examples do not prove that critical pedagogy will succeed in every situation, for situations are different and require different approaches. However, given the interconnected nature between the communicator, message and audience, the educational methods that focus on the subject’s relation to textual production and the different identities between the speaker and audience may benefit Communication education.
I employed the two following projects which I believe illustrate the empowering potential of a Critical Communication Pedagogy. Other examples of critical pedagogy also exist in our field (Nance & Foeman, 1993). These two projects, or participant-based interactions, are the interview speech and a less complicated writing exercise. Again, these examples should be viewed as merely possible moments of opportunity for the (non)radical classroom, and I encourage others to try their own ideas or, perhaps more importantly, seek suggestions from the participants in the class.
The first example is what I call the “interview speech.” The description for the interview speech in the syllabus read as follows:
For this speech, you need to interview someone outside of this class who you do not know. The person must be a different gender than yourself, have a different ethnic and racial background, and must be from a different socio-economic class than yourself. You should ask questions such as: 1) What is your name? What ethnic/racial background/heritage do you have? How old are you? Where do you work? 2) How do you think your gender, ethnicity, and class affect your position/location in society? 3) Do you think people use different persuasive strategies on you than they do with people of different gender, ethnic, racial, and class backgrounds? Make sure you tell the person you are interviewing the reason why you are going to ask them questions before you ask them. Feel free to ask more questions if you need to, especially if their answers lead to interesting issues. Make sure you tape record (with their permission) or write their answers down so you have their answers when you prepare your speech. Once you have their answers, integrate them into a framework that has an overarching thesis or argument that you develop on your own. Obviously, the more interesting the person and their answers, the more interesting will be your argument. Finally, your conclusion should draw some implication from what you learned from this experience. How does it help you with audience analysis? How does it help you understand your own identity? Is there any other significant implication to your interview that you (and we) can learn? What does it tell us about our society and culture?
The importance of this speech for the persuasive speaking class was threefold. First, by asking the participants to develop an argumentative position in the speech, the speech prepared them for their future persuasive speeches for the course. Second, the speech helped the participants understand audience analysis more than the typical lecture that focuses on demographics. With this speech, the person is able to actually witness how people view things differently, how their values and needs are different, and how we can seek common ground with them at the same time. Finally, this speech permitted the participants to see and understand the differences in identities that they otherwise may not have recognized. This realization occurred not only with the speaker who conducted the interview, but it also emerged with the participants in the audience. As some of their comments will illustrate, this speech helped open their eyes (and mine) to the differences that we may normally be ignorant of or normally fail to recognize.
With this backdrop in mind, excerpts from the participants’ actual speeches will illustrate the enormous importance of this assignment. Of course, with each speech ranging from six to eight minutes, I cannot include everything. Thus, what follows is what I believe to be a partial representation of the best comments which still reflect the overall presentations.
The first speaker was Henry. Henry had been complaining that the group discussed racial issues too much. He believed that we should have been focusing on persuasive speaking and persuasion theory. While I suggested that questions of identity are integrally linked to persuasion, Henry dismissed the relationship and became reserved until the interview speech. Since he volunteered to give the first speech, I thought he was trying to get it out of the way. Because he had voiced his frustration with discussing identity, I did not anticipate his speech to be sincere or insightful. I could not have had a more inaccurate expectation.
Henry began his speech by walking in front of the audience, away from the podium, and stating a rhetorical question, “Does society treat people differently?” He continued, “I am a white, middle-class male who was raised in a suburban neighborhood. I have always thought that everyone has had similar experiences as me. I have always thought that everyone has had similar opportunities. But, after the interview, I am convinced that people are treated differently.” Henry then introduced us to his interviewee, Sara, who is a middle-aged African-American woman. Henry has an internship at a local hospital in public relations, and Sara works as a housekeeper at the hospital. Sara apparently has worked at the hospital for at least twenty years and still only earns around $17,000 per year. Despite her loyalty and years of service, Sara is often treated differently than the other housekeepers who are younger and are not African-American. Sara described in detail to Henry how she is mistreated when she shops at the mall or when she goes to eat at restaurants. She even described how different persuasive strategies are used on her than are used for white people. As Henry explained, Sara recently went to purchase a car. When she arrived at the dealership, two white people were looking at cars. Several sales representatives were on duty, but only one went out onto the lot and approached the other couple. Sara just stood there for several minutes, dumbfounded, without any assistance. According to Sara, the experience reflects how older African-Americans are perceived as being poor or unworthy of certain service.
As Henry told us the story of Sara, he became impassioned with empathy and concern. At times, his eyes clouded up, but his voice remained stern and assertive. Henry sincerely appeared to be moved by his interview with Sara. Given his earlier dislike for discussing identity, the audience, too, was enwrapped in Henry’s speech. They seemed amazed at his transformation and appreciated his sincerity. When he concluded his speech, Henry declared, “I’ve learned that society does treat people differently, and that people have predispositions toward other people . . . and I’ve learned it all from Sara.” At that moment in time, it seemed as if everyone in the class, particularly Henry, understood the importance of identity and public speaking.
Another speaker was Rita. Rita interviewed who she thought was an upper-class Native-American man, named Juaquin. Based on this assumption, Rita did not think Juaquin had experienced any type of discrimination or oppression. Nevertheless, Rita said she was excited about interviewing Juaquin because she wanted to learn more about Native-American culture.
As Rita explained, she found out that Juaquin was actually bi-racial. Juaquin was part Cherokee and part African-American. This fact surprised Rita considerably and startled her previous assumptions. During the interview, after hearing this about Juaquin, she began to wonder, has he felt discrimination? So, Rita questioned Juaquin about his life and his experiences. Rita then learned that he became wealthy only recently, through a series of successful business deals. Previously, Juaquin had struggled to escape from the ghettos of Detroit and make something of himself. Juaquin told Rita that, as he lived in the ghetto, he had frequent encounters with the police. Assuming that his upper-class status remedied Juaquin’s situation, Rita asked him if he felt his current condition was better than the way he lived when he was younger. Juaquin answered that having money helps him to live a better life, but he still has difficulty with the police. Last month alone he was harassed thirty-one times by police officers. As Juaquin explained to Rita, being a Black Indian and driving a Jaguar turns lots of heads. He is often interrogated as if he was a drug dealer. After all, African-Americans and Native-Americans are not seen driving fancy cars if they are in a legitimate line of work. Thus, Juaquin told Rita that although his life is improving considerably, he still faces much discrimination that is solely based on his ethnic identity.
Rita expressed how significant this interview was to her. It helped her question her own stereotypes, since she originally thought Juaquin was only Native-American. Additionally, Rita said, “I thought he was rich and never experienced ordeals with the police. But, he was harassed thirty-one times because he has black skin. Stereotypes are both unconscious and conscious and when we recognize this then we will better be able to discard them and give way to the openness that other cultures have to offer.” As she concluded her speech, Rita confided that, “This speech opened my eyes because it forced me to question my own beliefs and dogmas. It allowed me to open myself to other people.” When she was done, I could not help but ask myself how many times I have immediately assumed someone was a particular race based on their appearance or economic status. The rest of the audience also seemed struck by Rita’s message. As Rita demonstrated, such an assumption can be extremely problematic not only in our everyday life, but also as speakers who want to communicate with our audience members.
This example demonstrates how a Critical Communication Pedagogy can be instrumental in developing speaking skills and appreciating the different perspectives that exist in society. This particular assignment may not be helpful to all or even many of the speech classrooms throughout the country. I realize that I was fortunate to have a small class size and students who were receptive to this approach. However, I believe with some modifications or with a completely different exercise the underlying philosophy behind critical pedagogy can be fruitful for most speech classes.
The second example of a Critical Communication Pedagogy is a simple writing exercise. In one of my persuasion classes, I asked the students/participants to write a lengthy research paper on any subject that they desired with only two criteria: 1) the paper must relate to the concept of persuasion somehow, and 2) the author must make some type of argument supporting their own position. Of course, this exercise is quite broad, but it gives the participant an opportunity to explore areas of their own interest while simultaneously encouraging responsibility of thought and agency. The exercise very clearly breaks from the traditional form of a writing assignment where the student is asked to write on a specific area of the instructor’s choosing. Richard Ohmann (1987) discusses one of the problems in assigning the traditional writing exercise:
We tell students to find their own voices, yet most feel subtly and not-so-subtly pressed to submerge their identities in academic styles and purposes that are not their own. They have little understanding of their world, and not all that much experience of it, but the academic paper calls for a knowing posture and for routines of mastery. (p. 252)
Instead, I encourage the participants in the class to find their own discursive space, in what Giroux (1994) describes as the theorizing “about their own experiences” in an effort not only to stimulate responsible agency, but also to create a “rupturing practice, as an oppositional pedagogy in which one pushes against the grain of traditional history, disciplinary structures, dominant readings, and existing relations of power” (p. 135).
At first, the participants of this exercise were hesitant, even scared, at the prospect of writing something that originally seemed so abstract. In our traditional exercises on writing, students become dependent on the ideas and directions of their instructors which discourages creative practices and undermines our concepts of discursive, albeit performative, agency. Indeed, the symbolic placing of the “professor” and his/her supposed expertise in the field of inquiry always already constructs the “student” body of the classroom into believing the professor’s knowledge is that which should be emulated, processed, and eventually spat-out. Thus, the participants’ immediate negative reaction to this particular exercise was expected.
After explaining the purposes and possibilities of the exercise, however, the class felt much more comfortable. As they would discuss their projects with me after each class session, there appeared to me a sense of liberation and excitement as the participants began exploring the intersections between their own subjectivity, persuasive and discursive events, and their performance in the classroom.
What occurred as the participants presented their writings to the rest of the class was a positive interaction of different experiences and argumentative positions. Even when conflicting perspectives emerged during the discussions, the pedagogical and performative ruptures in the participants’ worldviews created opportunities for self-reflection, self-improvement, and self-liberation from the typical oppressive classroom methods to which everyone had been accustomed. Indeed, as Ohmann suggests,
. . . students [sic] should have as much responsibility as possible for their own educations. The habits of expressive power come with actual shared power, not with computerized instruction in sentence-combining or with a back-to-basics movement that would freeze students’ language into someone else’s rules, imposed from without. Respect the linguistic resources students have; make language a vehicle for achievement of real political and personal aims. (1987, p. 293)
In this spirit, my writing exercise seemingly helped everyone to discover and apply their own skills at inquiry into a powerful display of liberating agency. While other exercises may also help usher in similar pedagogical moments, writing helps the participant engage their own identity with responsibility, communicative acts, and different types of texts. The possibilities are endless, but the opportunity is crucial.
I have attempted to show how the contemporary trends toward common courses, syllabi, textbooks and methods of teaching are products of the colonialism of current Communication thinking. In response, the encouragement of student/participants to engage in responsible subjectivity as conversants in an on-going discussion, rather than the privileging of the views and directions of a professor, is perceived by some as a radical departure from traditional philosophies of “teaching.” However, with the emphasis of democratic self-expression, responsible advocacy and diversity of opinion, a Critical Communication Pedagogy is not really “radical” in any sense of the term. By tapping into cultural values that exist outside of the classroom, a Critical Communication Pedagogy embraces the norms and ideals of a diverse and multi-ethnic nation that is built on the principles of democracy. Hence, the (non)radical notion of a Critical Communication Pedagogy can provide a springboard for future leaders, responsible citizens, and civic activists.
But a Critical Communication Pedagogy embraces much more than just civic virtue. It holds as fundamental the individual ability for self-reflection. It encourages the organic development of ideas. It eschews stifling and suffocating notions of commonality and efficiency. It forces the recognition of diversity of experience and ambition. It requires an acknowledgment of responsibility. And, it fosters a sense of community and performative agency. This civic virtue and sense of reflection are important in our efforts to address issues such as standardization and top-down assessment requirements. In other words, critical pedagogy allows movement for change by eliciting ideas from all participatory parties, based upon their experiences. Additionally, a critical pedagogy requires us to question and perhaps even shuck mandating anything, particularly standardized curricula and tests. Pragmatically, such standards may be met for adequate funding or certification, but overall, a school or educators should focus more on learning and inclusion of experience, rather than teaching to such standards.
Perhaps decision makers will not be so easily swayed about the importance of a more critical pedagogy. We can hope that a call for securing and embracing academic freedom, along with citing the many court decisions that uphold academic freedom as precedent, can also help in this pursuit. I would like to be idealistic, or perhaps naïve, enough to think that the best educational approach is the one that ultimately services and teaches our students the best. If decision makers ultimately look at the bottom line, perhaps referencing the value of critical thinking skills for business careers, as has been done in California (Lazere, 1987), could provide some additional incentive to allow a more critical approach for our teaching in the classroom.
In short, a Critical Communication Pedagogy allows students and instructors alike — as participants and facilitators — the opportunity to share in their subjectivity and agency. It blends the heteroglot of cultural and social experiences into a unique moment of expression and excitement. It deconstructs the traditional hierarchy of the classroom. And, it reveals for participants a possible mode and method of liberation that may not otherwise be seen or experienced. A Critical Communication Pedagogy forces all of us to come to grips with difficult choices, risks and contradictions. However, in those crucial moments of decision-making, critical pedagogy provides an opportunity for both empowerment and resistance, through a recognition of personal agency and performative, albeit discursive, responsibility.
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