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.

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.