Three Steps Forward, One Step Back: Dilemmas of Upward Mobility

Excerpted (pp. 43-48) from Three Steps Forward, One Step Back: Dilemmas of Upward Mobility Esther Kingston-Mann

Achieving Against the Odds: How Academics Become Teachers of Diverse Students
Esther Kingston-Mann and Tim Sieber, Eds.
Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2001

The mounting odds

In the '90s, my students became far more diverse than before in racial, ethnic and linguistic backgrounds, and seemed to me financially and emotionally much closer to the edge. They were also more likely to be working 40 hours a week and raising children, while attending college on a full-time basis. In a political climate that increasingly scapegoated the poor, I noticed greater harshness in the judgments that students imposed upon themselves. Rejecting my efforts at reassurance, they argued that the obstacles and difficulties they faced were proof that they were not really "college material." As material and psychological struggles for survival took an increasing toll on student academic work, I was forced to re-examine the more traditional expectations and assumptions about students that I still possessed.

Lateness

Anita was always late for our appointments. She would eventually appear, looking exhausted and embarrassed. Her husband was disabled and she worried that he couldn't care for their two children while she was on campus or at her evening job. When Anita told me that she was distracted by a recent doctor's report that she had a heart problem, I wondered to myself how long she would remain in school. I urged her to put her name on the waiting list for the campus child-care center and to consider withdrawing from a class or two. But Anita explained that the university's financial aid and scholarship regulations required her to remain a full-time student. Convinced by Anita that I could only play a minor role in her struggle for academic survival, I was left to reflect on my annoyance about her "lateness." Somehow, she managed to survive the academic year with a B- average.

Tetteh has also missed several classes and several appointments. He is taking Hi C114 for the second time, works six nights a week at a mental health center, goes to school full time during the day, and has a 14-month-old baby. I remember how little English he understood when he enrolled two years ago, only 6 months away from his home village in Cameroon. He is enjoying class and looks forward to reading the English version of Achebe's Things Fall Apart (having already read it in French translation). According to Tetteh, the only thing he needs now is the time to read and study. I agree; he would have to be superhuman to succeed academically when his nonacademic burdens are so heavy. For Tetteh, course withdrawal is not an option. In an angry voice (angry with whom, I asked myself), he declares: "I can't fail again, not for a second time!"

During the last four weeks of the semester, Tetteh is absent from six classes and cancels several appointments --his child has been hospitalized. When we finally meet, he apologizes for "insulting me" by missing our meetings and falling behind. I am dismayed at the depth of his feeling of shame-- it's almost as if he feels dishonored by the burdens he is carrying. With the help of a tutor, we draw up a study plan that Tetteh considers moderately realistic. But he doesn't show up for the final exam. I telephone him and we make an appointment to meet. On the next day, Tetteh leaves a message telling me that he deserves a failing grade and wants me to give him an F. He doesn't return my phone call.

Grades

Delores appears in my office to talk about a grade of D on a recent take-home essay exam in which she answered half of two questions and did not respond at all to the third. Explaining that she had repeatedly re-read the assigned material and re-written the exam, Delores points angrily at my marginal comment: "This was not written with a great deal of care." I apologize. With a felt-tip pen, I draw a thick line through it. The tension between us subsides a bit, and we are able to talk about strategies for answering exam questions. I still think she was careless. But if the improvement of her academic work was indeed my top priority, my judgmental statements seemed to be a distraction.

For more than twelve years, Joe, a Vietnam veteran, has carried in his wallet a silver bullet and a piece of paper with harsh comments from a teacher on his "clumsy" writing and "superficial" ideas. After receiving a grade of B on one assignment in a Russian history course, he wrote me the following letter:

I want to express how inadequate, limited, and poorly thought out and executed my paper was. I think that my paper should be dismissed and given no credit for the course. I think that an incomplete grade should be given me until such time that I finish a proper paper, appropriate to the course's requirements. I want you to know that I value the education that I am receiving here at UMass Boston. I would like to be able to meet my professor's expectations but I do not feel that I have done so. I'm ashamed of some of the material I have presented to you and other professors. I believe that I am capable of doing better. I am aware that we live in a time-oriented society, but that should not be an excuse for shoddy or superficial work. I would appreciate it if you would respond favorably to my request.

We meet, and I try to convince Joe to let me be the judge of his work. He relents, and receives a B+ in the course.

I meet with Patrick, a student who is fascinated by historical issues, and a questioner who sends our class discussions in wonderfully unexpected directions. I especially like the way that he thinks aloud, serving as a role model for many students who may never before have considered taking themselves seriously as thinkers. But Pat's midterm exam contained too much abstract discussion and not enough concrete data for a history course, and I returned it with a grade of C. Pat notifies me that he plans to withdraw from the course but would like to speak with me beforehand.

Pat describes himself to me as a man burdened by a heavy sack of rocks which includes fear about his own abilities, a wish not to disappoint me, and the precariousness of the 4.0 average which he intends to gain him entrance to graduate school at the age of 43. According to Pat,

I need every advantage I can get. And although I really like your class, I'm not sure I can afford to be in it. I've read your comments over and over, and I really see what you mean --but I probably would have seen just as well if you had given me a B. Do you really think that I can do any better in this course?

In Patrick's case, the grade of C was not only hurtful; it also distracted him from solving the quite manageable problems I had identified in his paper. I put all of my persuasive powers into convincing him that he should not withdraw. Unlike Tetteh, Pat allowed himself to be reassured, and finishes the course with a well-deserved grade of A. In his case, grades did not seem to promote either learning or achievement. While I wanted Delores and Pat to pay attention to the problems I saw in their exams, it seemed to me that that grades were positioning me as a sort of "bouncer" at the gates of knowledge.

Building Connections: Learning from Colleagues

In the l990s, the lessons of the Vietnam veteran project were reinforced by ideas and perspectives gained as director of UMB's faculty-based Center for the Improvement of Teaching (CIT). I was invited to take this position because I was viewed as an already successful teacher. But CIT became an opportunity for me move toward deeper understandings, to join with colleagues to build a more inclusive curriculum, and to learn more about alternative teaching strategies that provided students with challenging work in a supportive setting. Although I was already accustomed to investing time and energy into the creation of course materials with intellectually engaging and provocative content, CIT workshops and forums linked me with diverse colleagues --many of whom are contributors to this book-- who helped me learn more about how to encourage students to engage with each other and with me in a more co-operative learning process.

Names

Although I always tried to learn the names of students in my classes, my colleagues taught me that students might be more engaged and better supported in their uphill academic efforts of they knew the names of their peers in addition to a professor. I introduced a "name game" strategy to which we devoted the first 5-l0 minutes of each fifty-minute class. At first, students good-humoredly tolerated this exercise as one of the many incomprehensible tasks that teachers routinely require. But they soon wanted to succeed in the game (i.e., by learning each other's names). Somewhat puzzled but open to my participation in the circle, they spontaneously -- and often with a great deal of tact -- helped classmates who forgot particular names.

In the course of this exercise, I observed a number of "majority" students becoming aware of how very difficult the name game was for non-native speakers. More than most other students, the ESL students took the exercise very seriously --by making lists, repeating each name as it was spoken, and even practicing with each other outside the classroom door. On the other hand, native English speakers frequently reported that our class was the first time they had ever been expected to pronounce Vietnamese, African or Spanish names. At the end of the semester, one non-native speaker declared that the university seemed less "scary" because she now knew twenty-five people by name (these were, she said, the only first names she knew at UMass Boston). A biology major named Chris commented, "I like this class but it's really not like a college course…because I know everyone's name...."

Journals

In order to engage students in reflection and writing about their reading assignments, I learned to use ungraded but required in-class journals. Unsurprisingly, some students were skeptical about my claim that required writing would not in fact be graded. Circumspectly but persistently, they tried to find out if my written comments on their journals constituted a covert sort of grading system. Would I really accept journals that expressed dislike for the assigned readings or disagreement with my interpretations or judgments? I always responded with words of positive reassurance. But it was of course a continual struggle to avoid the impulse --born of years as a member of the professorate -- to respond as the universal expert and judge to student writing.

On occasion, student journals revealed that assignments or texts that I considered transparent were in fact ambiguous, and open to interpretations I had not foreseen. For example, in journal responses to the character of Okonkwo in Achebe's Things Fall Apart, most of the males in one class (both Euro-Americans and students of color) commented approvingly on Okonkwo's physical strength and courage, and sympathized with his hatred for an unambitious father. In contrast, female students were more impressed by Okonkwo's violence and cruelty to his wives and daughters. Males and females were equally astounded at each other's responses. Richard described Okonkwo as a typical "American-style" male; Anita argued that he was not even typical of the African males portrayed in the Achebe novel. A quite sophisticated discussion ensued, in which students questioned their beliefs about what constituted "typical" behavior, and proceeded to consider the similarities between the traditional, patriarchal Ibo society portrayed by Achebe and the traditional societies with which they were familiar in the local neighborhoods of South Boston, Dorchester and Brighton.

Frequently, journals encouraged participation in classroom discussions. Since each student prepared a journal entry, I could ask even the shyest person, or the people most nervous about speaking in English, to participate by reading their journals aloud. On occasion, positive feedback from me and from classmates served as a bridge to greater involvement. But not always. I remember Dong's fear that her "bad English" kept her from finishing in-class journals during the time allotted. I sympathized, but assured Dong that her journals to date were in fact perfectly acceptable. When I suggested that she come to my office to look at some other student journals, Dong responded with a smile: "I don't want to bother you." I tell her that my office hours are for her to use. She smiles again, and shakes my hand. But Dong soon withdraws from the class. The encouragement I gave to her was evidently not as compelling as her fears, or the weight of her previous schooling. Her disappearance from class did not at all diminish the value of journal writing, but it reminded me that panaceas were in short supply. Students at UMB were always balancing new experiences against the lessons of their personal history and they drew different conclusions at different points in their own evolution as learners.

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