One of the first classes I taught, which was a freshman level composition course, involved a series of readings that focused on ethical questions. The syllabus had been established for me by the program administrator, and the readings had a few different themes running throughout them.

Race was one of the themes. Education was another. The relationship between the two became part of the conversations we were having in class, and I had not decided that these were topics I would be talking about. The choice was made for me. I was an apprentice, and this is what teaching was supposed to be like according to the program director.

I wonder if I would have made a similar choice for myself. I wonder if I, as a white man, would have chosen to have these conversations with my student. And I don’t think I would have. I was worried about being an effective teacher, and in an attempt to control the learning environment, to avoid unnecessary complications that I was poorly equipped to handle, I likely would have avoided talking about race, gender, power, education. I must admit that I would have avoided these topics, and I would have made a terrible mistake. In avoiding these topics, I would have been avoiding talking about life—there would be no substance.

Conformity and Rhetoric

What I learned about teaching from those early classes is that the diversity of perspectives that students have on controversial topics is a resource for educators and a boon for everyone in the classroom. While the texts that we studied were eloquent and profound, it was student responses that were eye opening.

In “Vernacular Rhetoric and Social Movements: Performance of Resistance in the Rhetoric of Everyday,” Gerard A. Hauser and erin daina mcclellan suggest a theoretical framework for analyzing the rhetoric of movements through multiple voices, not just through leaders and privileged voices. They explain, “a mature understanding of movement rhetoric must take into account the nature and persuasive powers of its vernacular rhetoric.” Movements are not homogenous, and thinking about what a movement wants is, in this way, flawed. Thinking about the many motives and perspectives that lead individuals to join in collective action seems very closely related to the way we should be thinking about our students.

The classroom is made up of many perspectives temporarily brought into alignment based on a shared goal. That goal is similar enough to constitute a cohesive action, but in many respects, the multivocal nature of the classroom is important to understand.

As educators, we may find ourselves tied in with a dominant narrative about what it means to be successful, what activities should be encouraged, what ideas are to be valued—but if our goal is to ensure each student is capable of pursuing their own interests, then we need to validate and value divergent, and at times contradictory, perspectives.

Sharon McKenzie Stevens highlights this tension in the next chapter, “Dreaming to Change Our Situation: Reconfiguring the Exigence for Student Writing.” Stevens explains the tension between inviting participation and setting boundaries that place “locate students at the margins of the university community.” The view of the university as a place that generates high quality research and scholarship leaves us with the perception that our students are not yet achieving what the university is designed for. Our students need to train and come into the work of the university. This is a flawed view.

If we see the university as a place of learning, then students are no longer on the edge, they are the center. Our students are engaged in the act of discovery and knowledge creation in the same ways that a veteran researcher is if they are invited to participate. Steven’s view of universities as places that “foster the emergence of new collectives” relies on the ability of universities to evolve based on the efforts of its members—it undermines the view of universities as focusing on prescribing norms.

Why teaching matters

Now, years later, I am interested in empowering my students. In part, I want to encourage them to take ownership over their own lives, but I also believe that teaching students about communication requires it.

The lofty goal of teaching students to communicate better is admirable and, in a sense, impractical. Communication does not follow a single set of rules that can simply be received and put into practice. If my students are going to be more successful communicators in the future, then they need to take ownership over the process from the beginning—which means everyone must listen a little more.