Certainly with enough time, motivation, and unlimited
word count, I would find myself writing an entire book in response to Richard
Rodriguez. I found myself agreeing on
one page, and disagreeing on the next - then questioning many of my own
attitudes and beliefs about education - specifically for those students who do
not match my own identity (white, male, middle-class - the top of the privileged
food chain). This is something I have
continually, consistently, and - to the best of my ability - thoughtfully
grappled with since day one of my teacher education.
In one of my early undergraduate teacher education
classes through MSU, we were required to complete a service learning experience
at the Refuge Development Center. After
getting off the bus and walking through the busy intersection of Michigan and
Pennsylvania, I walked into the large brick building that had been a church in
a past life, yet still provided sanctuary for refugees looking for resources
and education. Before working with the
students, the group was directed to meet with the supervisor who would be
instructing an orientation. Near the
end, she explained that we would be listening to a final presentation and
quizzed at the end. Our success on the
quiz would determine our ability to volunteer and attain the credit required by
service learning. She gave the floor
over to a different woman who as she opened her mouth, unfamiliar words began
to pour out. She was speaking in a
completely different language. We all
began to look at each other, confused and increasingly feeling the stress of
the situation creep up. The speaker
began asking questions - only discernible by her non-verbal cues and the inflection of her voice. "Ni
nyekundu hii?" she kept asking while pointing randomly around the
room. Collectively our heart rates
increased and the air became thin. We
didn't know the answer to her questions - we didn't even know the
questions. She became agitated with our
incompetence. Her voice began to
increase in volume. "Hii ni
nyekundu!" she shouted. And then it
stopped. "Focus on this feeling you
have right now inside of you," she said - in prefect comprehensible English. This is the life of a refuge - instantly
expected to understand a world so unfamiliar, so new, so unforgiving. As teachers, if we do not take time to
understand someone's experience, how can we ever expect them to
learn?" She then began to speak in
the unfamiliar language again, but this time it was different. "Nyekundu," she said and pointed to
the red carpet. "Nyekundu,"
she repeated and pointed to a red dress.
"Nyekundu," she said and pointed to her red shoes. Nyekundu meant red. "Nyekundu?" she asked as she
pointed to the red hat worn by the guy three rows ahead of me. "Yes," we said collectively,
"Nyekundu!"
That experience has been a constant item of reflection
whenever I encounter students for whom English is their second language. Rodriguez in great personal detail, describes
his own experience of learning English.
Along with feelings of inadequacy he brings up the perspective of
ownership. His initial struggle with
English was not solely caused by his unfamiliarity with it, but because he felt
disconnected from it and that it wasn't his to use. It wasn't until he felt belonging to the
public that he opened up and began to accept that new language as part of his
identity. However, in his experience and
reflections thereof, I believe he has stratified his concept of language. He admits that bilingual educators "do
not realize that while one suffers a diminished sense of private individuality
by becoming assimilated into public society, such assimilation makes possible
the achievement of public individuality" (p. 26), yet I question his use
of the term public. Through his other examples and journaling,
public becomes synonymous with power - the language of power and opportunity. Yet I don't believe all experiences operate through this simplified idea. Rodriguez went to a mostly white school with
white classmates where the public language or the language of power was well
defined. Yet, how does his argument
change when the population is mostly Hispanic - when they share the same
culture and background? We can still
defend the idea that English is the langue of power (nationally), but how can
we argue that it is still the public language - that it provides power in that
setting? As a white non-Spanish
speaking male, if I was to go and teach in a school like this, I would be the
outsider. Should those students be
expected to learn under my English-only teachings? This certainly seems problematic (even though
it happens regularly in schools across the country). Why would I not be forced to learn the public
language of the school? Wouldn't Spanish
provide me with power in that setting or at least cultural and social capital I
wouldn't have otherwise?
This brings back the issue of public individuality. I will not argue against the fact that there
are systems of power in our society that give privilege and discriminate at the
same time - In order to play the game,one must understand the rules. In fact, I fully support making sure kids understand the systems of power that work in and out of their lives and have the tools to navigate through them or change them. However, Rodriguez
uses this idea to help support immediately learning the language of power. He describes
the success he found in learning English and how that contributed to his later
success in life, but at every turn of the page he exemplifies the harm that this can cause to one's family or one's own identity. He comments on his feelings of separation
from his family, the strengthening distance between them, and their inadequate relationship. He describes feelings of betrayal and guilt.
He mentions self-conflict with his own identity. He remembers embarrassment and frustration of
his family's inability to help him with homework, a resentment towards their
mispronunciations. True, he was able to
achieve a new public identity and was able to navigate through the dominate crowd,
but at what cost? This becomes my focus
of question - as teachers how do we help English Language Learning students
gain as sense of belonging to a new culture, while also keeping pride and value
of their first language/culture?
References
Rodriguez, R. (1982). Hunger of memory: The education of Richard Rodriguez: An autobiography.
Boston, MA: D.R. Godine.
Boston, MA: D.R. Godine.
Hi Adam,
ReplyDeleteThank you for your post and the enjoyment of reading it!
Your passion and thoughtfulness come through so loud and clear. And your sensitivity. I think you are surely right to position this book within a dialogue later framed by Lisa Delpit--about access to the culture of power (though you don't really admit that Lisa Delpit pretty much comes down on the side of Rodriguez!).
I agree with your position. We have to give kids access to the culture of power in order to change that culture. And that at the same time we are doing that, we must do work that is culturally sustaining (to use the phrase of my colleague, Django Paris).
I also agree with your comments on the situationality of power-relations. In some contexts--Rodriguez names some, such as family gatherings--Spanish is the language of power and access. We cannot say that English is the language of power in all contexts. That is simply wrong.
But there is another way to read this text, I think. That is that Rodriguez is pointing out to us the difference between a home language of intimacy and a public language of power. And that in his bifurcated world, he learned that Spanish was the language of intimacy and English was the language of power (of course, had he grown up in Mexico, this would have been different). He laments the loss of intimacy that comes with access to public power. In this way, his experiences are similar to mine, in that I had trouble relating to my high-school-educated parents as I continued my education. His observation is the personal cost of what education gives us at the same time as it takes away.
Of course he assumes we cannot have our cake and eat it too. That we cannot be fully public and fully intimate in different spheres of our life. Perhaps what he mourns the most is authenticity. If you know your Rousseau, you might say he is the polar opposite in what he desires (Rousseau would destroy the man in order to integrate us fully to the role of citizen) but similar in how he diagnoses our problem.
Sustain culture but Rodriguez would have us see that access to the culture of power risks alienating us from those who do not share in that power. And it is often those people, the poor in spirit, whom we should be concerned about most staying in touch with.
Great post!
Kyle
Rodrigue