Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Center of Gravity

I was just reviewing my notes from Andrea Lunsford’s opening speech at the WPA-Denver.  There are many good bits there, and I look forward to writing more responses to individual ideas and thoughts that arose from the speech.  Let me explain what I am doing.  I am basically taking a thought or idea that Dr. Lunsford voiced and then seeing how it could be applied in my own experience.  By no means do I think that what I am writing is what Lunsford intended to say.  Instead, I am reflecting on her text.

At one point in her speech, Lunsford made the point that the field is growing quickly, and that numerous writing programs under different monikers and titles are appearing everywhere.  There are tracks and majors both in and out of the English department.  And here’s the point, while we should be delighted at the rapid growth and expansion, the new programs, she said, seem to lack a center of gravity.

A center of gravity implies that you know where you are and that you have chosen to remain there.  If you know how you got where you are, then it is easier to maintain your ethical and moral standards, and it provides an excellent means for measuring your own growth and development in your field.

These are two important traits—having roots and being centered—and I have little doubt that they need to be developed more in our field as a general practice.  I would much rather have my students be able to write and then they can examine the tasks needed to be done and adapt to those tasks, than having competent five paragraph, technical writers.  The ability to write in these different ways offers a means to be grounded and centered in text.  If we are to instruct and guide our students in a meaningful way, then we need to know how to write in these various ways ourselves.  It is not enough to just know theory.  Without a center of gravity, we will not be able to operate well in our classes and provide our writing students with the skills they need.

A center of gravity is essential, too, in our identity as adjuncts.  Without a sense of history, we do not really grasp the nature of our current reality.  We cannot fathom the ideologies that shape the job market and the minds and theories of our colleagues.

I am neither praising or condemning these ideologies or historical forces.  They are what they are.  Good or bad, judgment is based upon perspective.  If we look at adjuncts’ current situation from the perspective of the administration, the process has been very productive and successful.  From most adjuncts’ point of view, however, the process has been abusive and insulting.  The administration, in many ways, knows exactly what they are doing.  While a number of adjuncts have taken the time to work toward understanding their status and field, many more have not.  Without that work—or even the desire to understand your own position and history—you are at a disadvantage.

No self-awareness as adjuncts, no sense of history as subordinates, and we have little center of gravity.  It is no surprise adjuncts have difficulty organizing when our jobs, our identities, and our affiliations are scattered all over the place.  Still, in spite of our commuting, teaching, and family obligations, we owe it to ourselves to teach ourselves.  We need to know our roots, we need to be centered, and only then will our actions—teaching writing and seeking parity in pay and benefits—have a significant impact.

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