Response to Lyons

Of all the readings from the course this semester, I felt that Lyons' "Rhetorical Sovereignty" evoked the theme of the course--the politics of literacy--the most. I know that politics come into play with many of the other pieces, but as Lyons historicizes Indian assimilation into American culture and depicts their exploitation, literacy seems like another instrument of war. Indians lose land, an integral part to their identity and community according to Lyons, by the machinations of the legal and political system. They are included in the proceedings, they are included in the conversation, but they are also controlled by their lack of power. On the one hand, the treaties have helped preserve Indian values, yet they would become documents that could be amended or ignored by the powers-that-be.

Determining the terms by which someone is defined is a powerful rhetorical and political tool. Lyons values this function the most. He seems irritated with the Indian scholars who look to the past and only the past to shape Indian identity. Instead, Lyons wants Indians to acknowledge that past, be aware of that past, but move ahead into the future. Although Lyons concedes that introducing Native American Rhetorics and the idea of Rhetorical Sovereignty into academic settings won't do much, it would certainly be start.

I hope that we'll be able to talk about the idea of Rhetorical Sovereignty more in class. Lyons points out that it is term loaded with all sorts of meaning and implications. And, while I have a somewhat clear idea of how it might function for his agenda, I wonder how it could be used in our classrooms or by other cultures.

Summary of Richard Scott Lyons "Rhetorical Sovereignty"

In "Rhetorical Sovereignty," Richard Scott Lyons discusses how Indian populations have been reconstructed by the dominant power, controlling Indian identity and political power in public discourse. He calls for several reforms—ideological, political, educational, cultural—while focusing on American Indian rhetorical sovereignty, that is, the right of indigenous people to represent themselves how they want to be represented. Controlled by institutional powers intending to assimilate American Indians into White American culture, writing for and about American Indians is largely problematic, given its association with a long history of violence and colonization. However, combined with American Indian Rhetoric and the principle of Rhetorical Sovereignty, writing can be used to revise history and show an accurate depiction of American Indian culture as well as voice localized concerns related directly to the community.

Lyons traces the development of the term sovereignty throughout history to reveal how its meaning can change and be reappropriated. In medieval Europe, the sovereign was only answerable to himself and to God. Lyons indicates that sovereign power is locatable within peoples, an important concept that leads to his discussion of American Indian treaties with the Europeans and, after the Revolution, Americans. In short, Lyons describes how American Indian sovereignty is revised to fit the expansionist agenda of American government. He accuses Americans of committing rhetorical imperialism by controlling the terms of the debate that has left Indians out.

Next, Lyons reviews some contemporary work on American Indians. His main concern is that many of these scholars turn to the past rather than the present, focusing on what is lost or reinforcing the “Indian” way of thinking, mainly through oral communication. Lyons endeavors to relocate American Indian scholarship in the present cultivation of immediately locatable peoples and cultures. The “New Ghost Dance,” he describes, focuses on returning American Indian power to American Indians with the mutual support of non-Indians.

He ends by looking at institutions to begin teaching American Indian Rhetoric and a revised

history of minority struggles in which Native American are put with African Americans, Women, and others. He urges for higher education to take on American Indian Rhetoric and Indian Studies. He also briefly describes a Native American type of education that focuses on the values of the community.

Meandering Thoughts on Geisler

I had a colleague who loved--as far as I know still loves--Activity Theory. This person would tell me that as much as we work through technology, referring mainly digital and electronic technologies, it also works through us and shapes what we think and do beyond the time we use that particular piece of technology. At the time, I looked at her wish sincere disbelief. My mind immediately jumped to ridiculous conspiracy theories. “Are you kidding me? This sounds like The Terminator. The Matrix. The Robot Uprising.” However, I had a much more sober mind when reading Geisler, and now my former colleague’s loony idea makes some sense.

I moved away from my own loony conspieracy theories when I put this idea into another perspective. The other day, I was reading about the “gamitization” of our culture. That, in short, is how games affect learning and judgment. Of course, my conspiracy-addled mind immediately thought: “Video games are going to make us docile energy sources for the Robot Revolution! Real life will never exist again!” But no. At least not yet. I bet that games have been influencing what we do for a long time. I thought about how we learn and use games for fun. Yahtzee helps us with math. Scrabble exercises our vocabulary. Monopoly teaches us to be greedy capitalists. With all accept for the last example in mind, I was comforted to realize that gamitization hasn’t taken over my entire life.

Board games are easy to put away though. The types of technologies that Geisler talks about aren't so easy to set down and leave behind. They replace maps, phone books, journals, checkbooks, and more. When the medium changes, things can get messy. Thinking back to my gaming example. Some gaming experiences are more immersive than others. If you wanted to, you could play certain video games indefinitely. How do we know when to call it quits? Believe it or not, it's easier for me to turn off the Wii than to put down my laptop and leave work behind.

Geisler’s use of activity theory made me think of the concerns that I have with digital technologies taking over my free time. I am no Luddite, but I have recently quit Facebook and drastically reduced my using the computer for recreation. Using these things so often just seemed natural to me. Then, I realized that they were replacing some of the things I valued. Faster isn't always better. I sometimes like to be slow.

While I don’t fully understand Activity Theory now, I see its relevance. I like how it can integrate abstract culture and material action into a theory. While I think that this theory might be better situated outside of English Studies, it does have a lot of interdisciplinary appeal to me that can make sense out of our lives. Maybe there is something to all this book learning after all.

Summary of Geisler's "When Mangement Becomes Personal"

Cheryl Geisler applies Activity Theory, the idea that human mental processes materialize through tools and the development of tools, to the vogue of personal digital assistants (PDAs), focusing on Palm Technology. After giving an overview of the cultural history of the Palm, Geisler reviews how the Palm has affected her own professional and personal life, describing how she has transferred regular pen-and-paper writing tasks into her PDA. Overall, Geisler finds that the Palm, instead of mediating work from personal life, invades her private space.

Her analysis of the cultural history suggests the Palm came from needs and desires directed by American business culture. The broad trend of professionalization compelled people of the “managerial class” to manage their time effectively and condense the planners and notebooks that they carried into fewer tools. Geisler points to “technologies of the body” responding to the time-crunch culture and shaping how these technologies are produced—the Palm PDA actually fits into the palm. This new technology replaces the business technologies, like the rolodex, of the past with something intended to be more efficient.

Geisler presents a personal analysis of how the Palm affected her task-management and digital writing. Her complex analysis, in short, suggests that her personal writing / plans were showing up at work. This creates problems, as the line between work and personal life is blurred. With the current ubiquity of PDAs, social networking sites, and demanding, hybrid jobs that cross between recreation and professionalization time and space, it would seem that Geisler’s analysis presaged our digitally saturated personal and professional lives.

Response to Cushman's Chapter

I really enjoyed reading Cushman’s work this week, yet I still have mixed feelings about this type of academic work. I’m certainly not questioning its integrity and usefulness, because the immediate, “real-world” impact is front and center; but then again, maybe that’s part of what bothers me. In my assigned chapter, we go along with Cushman as she follows Raejone’s attempt to get into college, which ultimately fails. Cushman successfully shows through her analysis that transfer can help bridge gaps between social others, and this endeavor is, in my opinion, full of good intentions.

However, the reality comes crashing down in the end, leaving Raejone in no better place. I admire Cushman for revealing that these efforts are sometimes in vain. We are denied a comforting closure to Raejone’s story. It helps build Cushman’s ethos. Nonetheless, I can’t stop wondering if Cushman should have done something more to help Raejone. It may not be her position as a researcher to “save” Raejone from a life of poverty and hard labor, but in a way, Cushman profits from Raejone’s hard life. Is this a bizarre form of exploitation?

During most of my reading, I’m cheering the two of them on, wishing Raejone to get into college and achieve her goals. Cushman builds my sympathy for these real people in a way that pushes forward her political agenda. I see that Raejone’s experience and Cushman’s text might be able to shape policy later on, but what about Raejone the person? On closer inspection, I don’t feel comfortable with Cushman entering Raejone’s life, writing an academic chapter about it, and abandoning Raejone.

Perhaps I’m looking at this the wrong way. This information should be shared with others. The point of transfer is to enter into dialogue with various people—it’s a tool for shaping different communities. Certain relationships just have boundaries. We can’t intervene in everyone’s life. Still, there are living and breathing people who have to face the harsh world that researchers visit temporary before returning to their own lives.

A friend of mine said something along the lines of: “I just feel more comfortable researching dead people.” And maybe that’s why I tend to stick with literary material.

Executive Summary of Chapter 8 of Ellen Cushman's The Struggle and The Tools

Cushman examines how Raejone, a single Black mother from a low socioeconomic background, negotiates the discourse of power and her cultural language and values as she tries to gain acceptance into a State university. Navigating through gatekeepers and her idea of their expectations, Raejone translates her values into qualities and language that college admissions committee would find desirable. Analyzing Raejone’s personal statement as well as her meeting with an admissions officer Mr. Tony Villups, Cushman argues that “the transfer of language can promote social and political equality” (186).

Raejone balances the rhetorical demands of her audience with her personal experiences in her statement of purpose. For instance, Raejone reshapes the “cultural value of self-help and personal struggle” into the concrete experience of completing her GED; however, she leaves out details about the challenge to go to school and take care of her children. Cushman indicates that Raejone carefully uses personal pronouns and shared values to reach her audience.

Next, Cushman illustrates how Mr. Villups reinforces yet subverts his position as an academic gatekeeper and invites Raejone and Sasha to participate in the language of power. At first, Villups asserts his authority by exclusively speaking in the language of power, and this move keeps Raejone and Sasha from feeling comfortable enough to join the conversation. However, Villups switches to Black Vernacular—“You ain’t gotta think of nothin’ flowery”—and welcomes Raejone and Sasha’s discourse.

In the final segment, Cushman helps Raejone decode the language of the University. Raejone learns that the school does not offer a degree in primary education, and the only alternative is to apply to an expensive, local private school. While this discovery frustrates Raejone’s efforts to get to get a degree, readers learn that Raejone never even gets to enter college. She deals with extreme economic problems and defers her college hopes to her children.

Response to Greene

One of my friends would argue until she's blue in the face that Early America is largely ignored by academia, and we should look deeply into the rich history surrounding this long period instead of writing it off as precursor to The American Revolution and the 19th Century American Renaissance. Greene's piece not only reminds me of my friend's sentiments but also brings to mind our recurring conversation about dominant narratives and revisionist history. To me, the value of this work is unquestionable. However, I often wonder who should be doing revisionist history? Who has the authority to speak for the marginalized group? What are the risks? What are the advantages from looking in from the outside?

After reading "Can the Subaltern Speak?" by Spivak, I've been haunted by these questions. She essentially says the subaltern can't speak, and intellectuals should be aware of using the subaltern as part of their own political or academic agendas. Now, I would agree that the subaltern is an extreme case in light of our conversation about literacy, but the task of representing other people fairly and ethically is one that seems central to our research.

We've looked at some instances where outsiders go into a community to study the people and left that community worse off--I'm thinking of Heath specifically. I can recall hearing people say during class, "Why didn't she include this? / What did she leave out?" At first, these questions are dismissed in view of her academic background. Given her robust vita with multiple publications and an impressive educational pedigree, Heath seems to have authority to write on this matter. Yet, in the spirit of full-disclosure, there's a part of me--probably those working class roots--that wants to say: "Who is she to talk about these people?" Since then, ethnographers seem to be more transparent about their backgrounds and ideological leanings, but even with this open approach, there are still problems.

Greene has extensive experience with her subject and is also Hispanic. I can see why she would want to revise the Anglocentric Early American narrative with the rich contributions the Spanish gave to America's intellectual history. It is engaging work and helps to get a fuller picture of American history and literacy. However--I feel somewhat uncomfortable asking this--Am I wrong to think that Greene has more credibility to speak on this matter because she's not only a collegiate scholar but also Hispanic?

Maybe some more background on my line of thought will help you understand why I'm asking this question. Last semester, I surveyed some Feminist and Queer theories, and this semester I’ve had to read some Engels. What they have in common, generally speaking, is that they value representation and action directly from people associated with their culture. Engels applauded “true” working-class movements and begrudgingly endorsed the bourgeois-tainted strand of English Socialism. Radical Feminists and Queer theorists generally rejected the mainstream culture and claim that outsiders should not represent them. While these are class, gender, and sexuality issues, I also know that this argument extends to race.

So, I’m left wondering: who am I able to represent? Who are you able to represent? Is it a level of personal comfort? Does it have to do with the past, socioeconomic background, expertise of study? Maybe I just feel more comfortable making claims about literary texts than I do about living people.