My teaching philosophy is founded in my belief that education is both a practice of critical consciousness and a mechanism of social liberation. I see writing, ultimately, as a social practice—one that forces an individual to be critically self-reflexive in the context of a larger group. As an act of social liberation—specifically, an act based in communication—writing is inherently political. Students possess a variety of discourses, literacies, and cultural backgrounds that cannot be separated from their academic identities. Writing will never be politically neutral and it will never exist within a vacuum.

I want to push students to engage texts critically—to see them as more than just forms to “analyze” or “evaluate”, but rather as meaningful conversations. I want them to engage a text in a way that has them consider rhetorical choice and audience; how a text is organized; what modes are involved and why; design features and accessibility; cultural and historical context. These conversations place students at the center of their own learning process, a central tenant of liberation teaching. Paulo Freire states, “No pedagogy which is truly liberating can remain distant from the oppressed by treating them as unfortunates.” Students must take responsibility for their learning process and, as a teacher, I am there to help enable them in this process.

With technologies changing the way we communicate, it also changes the way we write or, perhaps more accurately, compose. Whether it’s incorporating multi-modal forms in a digital setting, or organizing an argument for a video-interview, students work more and more in digital spaces. I strongly believe that any course, though especially one rooted in communication, should acknowledge and incorporate technology and digital composition in a way that reflects how we make meaning.

These immensely pervasive forms should be dissected, both so that students can understand the composition choices of digital media, but so students can see what cultural/social aspects are being textually relayed. These exercises push students to engage a text in a critical conversation as an individual within a larger group (a social setting). In critically evaluating an ad or a blog post, context (cultural/historical/social) is everything; students must break down and converse with the text in order to form opinions, an argument, and a defense of this stance. This conversation works on a metacognitive level, asking students to begin viewing texts in such a way that sheds light on why they think a certain way, or why they engaged it a certain way.

Metacognitive learning, in short, is one of the major keys to liberation education. To be critical thinkers and liberated individuals, students must not only engage a text, but engage themselves and the way they approach texts. Genuine inquiry begins by asking themselves: Why am I this way? Why do I think what I think? My assignments are designed to get students to begin orienting themselves in a metacognitive way—something that takes practice, but will help them as learners through the rest of their academic careers. This, I believe, is a major difference between high school and college, which, as FYW instructors, is a transition we have to facilitate. In a world of continuous technological evolution, assignments that use multimodal texts like This American Life help students expand their concept of composition. Using digital texts is not about “catching up” or “getting ahead” of technology—an impossible feat, certainly. Rather, it is about acknowledging that technology can alter the way we communicate, the way we compose, and the way we interact as social creatures.

It is our job, while granting all modes of composition value and criticism, to begin transitioning students to the next level of thinking, engaging, and learning—of being self-aware individuals who can not only critically engage a text, but critically engage themselves.

The emphasis on viewing literacy as a multifaceted concept that utilizes all forms of composition demands a mental adjustment: one that accounts for all forms of composition and acknowledges the benefits of teaching multimodal forms in a continually expanding digital world.

How do I continue to engage these forms and how do I integrate them into a cohesive course structure? And, the most challenging, how do these forms influence not only the content of the course, but the way in which I teach it?

For me, it’s about balancing these two facets: including digital material (in form) while also acknowledging the larger “realm” of multimodal/digital technologies in how we approach all texts— as in, how we teach. I include assignments that deal directly with multimodal composition, for instance, an audio essay, while supplementing the course with other non-text based writing like image and video. Conceptually, or philosophically, I want to teach in a way that accepts all forms—that gives credence to all literacies, and all compositions. Yes, Facebook exists. Yes, we can share information instantly through Twitter. But also, how can we remain critical of new technologies and new forms of composition; what are their strengths and weaknesses? How can we exploit them for rhetorical purposes? This, I hope, is positioned at the center of my course.

While it may be stressful at times to constantly reevaluate my beliefs and thought processes in regards to multimodal and digital technologies, it remains immensely relevant to our emergence as writing instructors in a digital world.

My philosophy on teaching composition is ever-evolving, and I doubt—and hope—that will never change. But, after a few years as an instructor, I have come to realize something fairly simple and pedestrian. There are two things I want for any student in my class: that they learn something—just one thing, at any point—a new thought, some mild revelation, or a shift in perspective, that perhaps they might say, “Oh, I never thought about it like that before.” And, secondly, that they have some fun. Really, just a bit of fun. I know it’s odd to champion students having “more fun”—we often think they have too much fun, too little guidance, and not enough structure. But as I look around the world—and this is a larger belief—I think people too often forget how to have fun. We see papers as a chore, discussions as boring, attendance as mandatory. The class is just one big requirement in a series of requirements before you get a degree and head out the door to the ‘real world’ where, I promise, you’ll find a whole lot more requirements. So, even if it’s a small goal, and one that seems unimaginative, I hope I create a classroom my students can view as enjoyable, a place where, despite the overwhelming tide of tests, grades, and hoops to jump through, we can have—at least once—some real fun.

 

Alex Jaros