This is another self-reflective blog, assigned in a graduate seminar course on theories of reading.
In a way, I think that the material in this course has helped me consciously notice, articulate, and conceptualize many beliefs that I’ve held for a long time. One idea I’ve now come to wholly believe is, reading is a dynamic exchange, rather than a passive reception of information. As I discussed in Blog Post #1, reading has always been comfortable and relatively easy for me, and I think that this confidence also applies to my writing ability, which has always come intuitively.
It is both enlightening and disheartening to apply what I’m learning at SFSU to the courses I’m currently teaching at Hillcrest juvenile hall and San Quentin State Prison. I have never been more aware of the complexities in literacy disparities. I think there is a lot of identity conflict around some of this, as a proponent of social justice who is also a white woman, I acknowledge that there is probably some element of the white savior complex, because I do want to be considered “one of the ‘good’ white people” by my students of color (the overwhelming majority are either Black or Latino. I think that out of 41 students, maybe seven or eight are white. The fact that I only teach incarcerated men adds another layer of complication as well).
But, as diligent as I am about monitoring and maintaining awareness of my social positionality, every week I seem to find yet another small but likely impactful opportunity that I have been given that has allowed me to advance as far as I have, opportunities that my students probably haven’t been afforded. I grew up in a household with two college educated parents, who were able to afford preschool and childcare. My parents owned the house we lived in; my sister and I didn’t have to worry about switching schools due to evictions or rent increases. We attended the same school from kindergarten through eighth grade, and while I might have some valid complaints about certain aspects of my early education, I have to admit that it was consistent. My parents read to us every night, and my mom regularly took my sister and me to the local bookstores and bought books for us. My sister and I each had “college money” in some ambiguous bank account somewhere. And, while my challenges with learning disabilities, anxiety, and depression were regarded as “exaggerations” for several of my formidable years, eventually these issues were acknowledged and my parents were able to cover the costs of mental care with good, employer-provided health insurance.
Yes, I’ve encountered challenges. But, I’ve never experienced poverty. I’ve never feared that being pulled over for speeding or having expired registration would result in my being shot and killed by a police officer. I did not grow up hearing that I would end up in prison one day, nor have I had to go through the arduous process of visiting a family member in jail. When I was dangerously close to failing out of high school during my junior year, which was partially due to several weeks of mononucleosis, partially due to my lack of motivation and failure to prioritize school over my friends and what had become frequent indulgence in illicit substances, my mom, the school special resource teacher, and the principal sat down with me and decided that I would be better off enrolling in a dual-enrollment program (Cañada Middle College) at the local community college rather than transferring to a continuation school.
A stable home environment, parents who knew not only how to advocate for me but how to navigate the system and ask the right questions (particularly my mother, who can befriend just about anyone) has provided me with opportunities like enrolling in Cañada Middle College, which allowed me to start college classes as I completed my required high school credits instead of transferring to a heavily-policed continuation school filled with remedial course packets, and maybe a diploma at the end. This social background and the worldview I have developed as a result of my circumstances have afforded me a foundation that is, by nature, comfortable in academia, familiar with its recurring themes and schema. I’ve never been the world’s best student, but I can usually figure out what an assignment prompt is asking if I’ve completed the reading and paid attention in class–because I’ve been trained to do this, my entire life.
Over the past eight weeks in ENG 701, I’ve realized over and over that most of my students probably do not “read” any part of the educational experience as predictable, nor do they experience the classroom as a space that is politically neutral. Of course the way that I read a text is going to be vastly different from the way my students do–and what on Earth gives me the right to claim that my reading is correct over theirs? I look forward to implementing more critical aspects of learning into my classrooms so that I can help my students develop their own voices and responses to texts.
Alex Naeve 