Es mio mio mio
During MayDay Colloquium XX, held June of 2009 in Boston, Hildegard Froehlich did this lovely wondering-out-loud-thing she does most beautifully. Thinking aloud with us during the opening session she pondered how she felt she was no longer able to refer to students as “mine” or as “her” students, or “my” students.
“That’s nice.” (I remember thinking not so very generously to myself.)
Ah, but then when I recognized the stealth-like meaning of this comment my next reaction was one of those intensely joyous “Ah hah” moments in which your entire world suddenly shifts. In this one brief moment (one that was probably a deliberate pedagogical strategy that was shared as a think-aloud protocol – she really is that lovely and brilliant) she shattered the illusion and desire of ownership. She did away with those possessive pronouns we so easily take for granted and reminded those of us in the room of the hegemony – the maintenance of domination through consensual social practice [1] that is produced in the simple yet insidious use of words.
I have since had a conversation similar to Hildegard’s in every single class I have shared with others. Her insight so shifted my world that I no longer even feel comfortable using the words “my” class, or even the words students “I have taught.” I have so embraced this message that I stumble over describing what I “do” when it comes up with others. I usually settle on something like, “I am one who helps others think about what it might mean to think through what it might mean to teach and learn music.”
Oh, thanks. Sorry I asked.
This conversation with students, as to the shedding of possessive pronouns, is often messy. Their first reaction is why not refer to the class as mine, it lets people know a certain amount of information. Their second reaction is, “But, they are mine.” Well, perhaps in the sense that for 40 minutes twice a week they are in a space of which you are ostensibly and legally “in charge.” But to the extent that a sense of ownership pervades the thinking they do, they creating they do, the singing and moving and playing they do, then no, they certainly aren’t yours. And not only are they not ours, with the cavalier use of these words (these performatives) we succeed in erasing our own presence, our own thinking and musical lives, our own being.
I believe that we ought to consider this use of possessive pronouns as one that leads to the formation of curriculum as self-centered, as one that replicates rather than affords understandings upon which we have no control, upon which we desire no control. We might also consider that the naming of “my” students is what creates, to a certain extent, the differentiation between school music, which often centers upon an individual’s class (”my” class, “my” orchestra) and music making that is engaged in and with elsewhere.
Es mio mio mio! was one of the first sentences I managed to put together in Spanish that brought laughter to my heart. Goodness knows what I was thinking; some moment of selfish poutiness, no doubt. I call it to mind every now and then; often accompanied by foot stomping. The moment brings with it both the remembrance of possession and of the remembrance of moments that can shift one’s world.
Ellos, no son mios.
[1] Darder, A, Baltodano, M., Torres, R. (eds). (2003). The critical pedagogy reader. New York, NY: RoutledgeFalmer, p. 76.
Being seen
Being envied is a solitary form of reassurance. It depends precisely upon not sharing your experience with those who envy you. You are observed with interest but you do not observe with interest—if you do, you will become less enviable.
(Berger, 1972, p. 133)
Thanks to Eva for her response to my first ecolumn. Actually, thanks to Eva for more than that. In the midst of teaching full time and pursuing a doctorate in music education, Eva was instrumental in getting these ecolumns up and running. I am thankful for her work just as I am thankful for how her thinking has broadened my own thinking. I know not of the pleasure Eva finds in this work she is doing for MayDay; I do know that it is work I would not do well. Somehow though, I sense it is work to which (and through which) she feels connected.
So often these kinds of engagements pass by unremarked, without “reward.” Indeed, so much of what we do seems to go by unremarked, “unrewarded.” However, while I can’t speak for Eva I can speak to my engagements with her, and it seems to me that a false reward, or what Eva might see as a false reward, would serve mostly to separate her from the connection she has with the work she has done. (As I write this, it seems as if this borders on something as banal as “my reward is in the work.” How not very remarkable that a deeply philosophical tenet of Marxism could be boiled down to such a saying…)
In terms of curriculum/assessment and pedagogy, I often think of what it means to be connected to what we do, to what we produce and how we produce. I also consider those ways of being “rewarded” that dismiss, separate, or even discount what is taking place, versus those ways of being seen that not only validate the work/thinking I am doing, but facilitate a path to more working/thinking.
Eva’s comment on my first blog brings me the knowledge of having been heard; of being seen. I appreciate that she read my words, but it’s more than that. I know she has read my words and taken them further because in her comment she sees the possibility of repeated actions – indeed practices (behavioral objectives) that have been and are repeated in time – as the justification of choices. Because of her comment I am then reminded of the work of Butler (1977) and ritualized practices; behavioral objects as performative speech acts that produce consequences governed and sanctioned by the jurisdiction of the millennium. My thinking spins and spins, connections are made that had not been there before, all because of a brief comment, a thoughtful engagement.
What does it mean to be seen? How can we see each other and ourselves through curriculum? How is it that behavioral objects lead to a very particular way of “seeing,” one that feels patronizing, privileged, coerced, subjugated, not seen.
After one of my MayDay presentations, in which I was thinking through the words of Nietzsche in a way that ended up not really going where I had hoped—let’s just say it, the paper went nowhere – Eva came up to me and commented on my presentation and asked me if what I had been speaking about might also be reflected in Heidegger’s concept of eschatology. In that moment I had a choice. If I had been more clever I could have lied and said, absolutely, after all, Eva is a doctoral candidate and I ought to “know” more. But I do remember choosing; choosing to see her and her knowledge and this moment as one in which my thinking was indeed being validated because here was someone who made a connection in a way that turned out to be (after I went home and did my homework) profound and provocative.
Curriculum can be found in our relationships with each other. It is embedded in moments that often seem fleeting and insignificant, moments that serve to lead toward other moments, other ways of seeing and knowing. Perhaps my remarks are personal, but they serve to highlight ways of engaging that have the potential of shifting what it means to know, what it means to teach, what it means to assess, what it means to be, what it might mean to see ourselves and others differently.
Berger, J. (1972). Ways of seeing. New York, NY: Penguin Books.
Butler, J. (1997). Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative. New York, NY: Routledge.
Behavioral Objectives and the Good Life
I should not dabble with moral theology, but I really believe that one way to get a person to live the good life instructionally is to make it very easy for him.
(Popham, 1971, p. 80)
A few months ago I received an email that stated, “The point here is not to be philosophical, but rather, to get on with it.” I remember staring at those words, transfixed by the power of them. They were leveled with such perfunctory authority that the common sense message convinced me that indeed, this wasn’t a moment about philosophy, this was a moment about getting on with it.
And then, thankfully, the radical in me kicked in and roared, because this wasn’t a random decontextualized comment (these kinds of comments never are). This was a comment that was directly related to the department curriculum committee that I chair – the purpose of which is to read over proposed classes and their accompanying syllabi and vet each of these before they move on to the college committee. This was essentially a comment sent from above for which the underlying message was, “Buck up and write behavioral objectives, this isn’t the time to question the purpose.”
Being aware enough to recognize that this wasn’t a battle I needed to enter, but rather one that called for conversation, I tucked the comment away for this moment, for this forum. But this is a conversation that needs to happen on my own turf and finding the ‘right’ moment and a way to bring the conversation around is remarkably difficult and creating the time for such discussions, impossible. This isn’t an excuse. Well, maybe it is. Because just as words can be delivered as performative speech acts that essentially describe and enact particular sets of responses, this excuse of time seems similarly problematic and powerful.
What is the place of philosophy in curriculum? What is the power and authority, indeed performativity of words and how do these seemingly innocuous statements come to dominate, dictate, and indeed, stop time?
The general intent of this column is to provide a forum from which to address curricular issues and perspectives of relevance from within and without music education. As coordinator of this ecolumn I will be presenting topics that pique my interest, push my buttons and generally call to attention the multiple issues that inform curriculum and curricular decisions.
I am hopeful that as this column moves along you (the careful reader) will comment on the issues raised and make suggestions as to what needs to be addressed. Unlike Popham (May 1971), whose belief in behavioral objectives ran deeply:
Among memorabilia of my love affair with behavioral objectives are the bumper stickers I had prepared, saying, “HELP STAMP OUT NONBEHAVIORAL OBJECTIVES!” I gave these to my students and they put them on their cars (if they wanted an A). (p. 78)
I believe that the “good instructional life” ought not to be made “easy” for us. In fact, I believe that the moment we first suspect a “good life” IS being made easy for us we need very much to consider who stands to gain and what it is we are giving away, an issue, I would contend, that has everything to do with philosophy.
I would like to report back to you that I have broached the conversation of behavioral objectives with my colleagues and indeed I have, but not as a battle and not even as a “formal” conversation. Rather I (and others) have taken opportunity in small moments in which wording has been suggested that shifts, extends and grounds “learning goals” in theoretical concepts that provides something more than a “measurable shift” in student behavior. As such, these became moments in which all of us, as a consequence of the discussion, rather than the “instruction,” came to see the learning process as something more fluid and less uni-directional.
Ahhh, I suspect more on learning objectives is to come, but for now it seems enough to leave us with one final Popham (Sept 1997) quote that portends future conversations:
Then a small voice called out from the crowd, “But the emperor’s not wearing standards at all; he’s wearing old objectives! (p. 21)
Popham, J. (May, 1971). Practical Ways of Improving Curriculum Via Measurable Objectives. NASSP Bulletin, 55 (355), 76-90.
Popham, J. (Sept., 1997). The Standards Movement and the Emperor’s New Clothes. NASSP Bulletin, 81 (590), 21-25.
