An experiment in student engagement

I presented an extra credit opportunity to my class today to try to entice their interest in the analysis of poetry. The assignment runs like this: they select from a list of songs that I provide them to prepare a presentation for the class in which they get to play the song and then give an analysis of one verse and chorus using the various poetic elements that we've been discussing in class. This isn't so out of the ordinary, I've heard of other instructors using this method in class, particularly for lower-level courses (mine is a freshman writing course with an emphasis on literature). To make this interesting for myself as well as my students, I've selected songs that I like and I want to hear in class. Here are the songs I've chosen:

"A New England," and "To Have and Have Not" by Billy Bragg,

"Career Opportunities" by the Clash,

"99 Problems" by Jay-Z,

"There is a Light that Never Goes Out" by the Smiths,

"I Hung My Head" by Johnny Cash,

"Don't Worry about the Government" by Talking Heads,

"A Fond Farewell" by Elliott Smith,

"Hang Down Your Head" by Tom Waits,

"She's Lost Control" by Joy Division, and

"Wave of Mutilation" by Pixies.

My criteria for choosing these was that they must have a distinct verse and chorus (to provide structural variation), could not be too repetitive (this alone ruled out much of Joy Division's catalogue and all of the Ramones), could not be too esoteric that the song could not be found free somewhere online, and, if possible, I went for better known songs by the band if it met other requirements. I wanted to include more hip hop, but was a little embarrassed by how dated my collection is, which is odd considering I have no problem at all including Bragg, the Clash, Joy Division, and the Smiths. I've already made a playlist of these songs and find that they hang together quite well.

My goal is that my students will gain an appreciation for the broader applicability of the analytic methods we've been practicing in class and be able to recognize the poetry that surrounds them. Maybe they'll find some new music they like as a bonus.

Story of Stuff

Every semester that I've taught at the college level, I teach my students the Proposal Paper. It's not a paper usually assigned by instructors; it's something that M. has been teaching for a while, too, and after I considered the assignment, I thought it was a much better option for my students than, say, writing a simple "Argument Paper." I think of the proposal as a type of argument (an argument in favor of acknowledging and resolving a problem), and it teaches my students valuable skills--after all, they'll most likely write proposals for a future employer, or for a graduate application. The proposal is also just good practice in getting others to listen to you--it teaches students how to appeal to an audience, how to be respectful, and how to accept a compromise in order to get something they want eventually. Here is how the beginning of the assignment goes:

For this paper, you will define a particular problem close to you (one here on campus, at work, or in your home community) and propose a specific solution. The action should be one for which you can provide ample reasoning and supporting argument. Keep in mind that not only is it important to present your proposal coherently and persuasively, but it should also be a proposal that has a realistic chance of success.

Aside from practicing how to write an argument, it is of course my goal to encourage students to effect change in their lives. Too often we ignore small problems and not make anything happen. I have students writing on a range of topics--from installing more recycling bins in their school to fixing potholes in their neighborhoods. Overall, the proposal is usually their most successful essay, not just because they write it late in the semester, but because they are invested in the issue. I always advise students to revise proposals after I have graded them, and to send them off to their intended audience--after all, they'd have nothing to lose, and their proposal would already be written. I suspect that not all my students actually send their proposals off, but even if it's just one or two from a class who take that initial action, I think it's worth me teaching for two weeks of the semester.

In addition to writing proposals, my classes also view and read a number of texts that propose action. We start of with "A Modest Proposal," read "My Amendment," and watch "The Story of Stuff." The latter is an ambitious, but very necessary project--and a proposal, too. I know that I have a soft spot for stick-figure animation (as in, Don Hertzfeldt's work), and I know that's part of the reason why I like "The Story of Stuff" so much. But of course, I also like Annie Leonard's explanations, thoroughness, and urgency. It turned out that this year I showed the video two days before Black Friday--in class discussion it was clear that even if some of my students don't plan to halt their holiday shopping completely, they were going to be more thoughtful about it.

And I, too, have been thinking about it more. I've seen "The Story of Stuff" at least six times (in preparation for class discussion, and once for every three of my sections of composition), and each time I get something new out of it. The last time around, I really zeroed in on "...recycling will never be enough..." And yes, Leonard urges, yes recycling is good, but it doesn't address the core of the problem. If you haven't seen the short video, I encourage that you do--and maybe you'll take something away from it, even if you're already aware of the state of the planet. Leonard is empowering, in a way, and although her proposal offers a very large problem, I think that she is effective in inciting her audience towards a solution.

Food, Inc. Student Reactions

Last week, I showed portions of Food, Inc. to the students in all three of my classes; because I teach composition and rhetorical analysis, I felt that the movie would be something that they could discuss both in terms of structure and content. What I wasn't expecting was the overwhelmingly positive reaction to the message: in all three of my classes, I had students who were asking about where they can watch the movie in its entirety (and they sounded earnest enough that I suspect they will actually seek it out). In all three of my classes, there was critical discussion of the kinds of ways our food choices affect everything else--our bodies, the environment, economy, etc.
One thing, in particular, seemed to be a catching point for them--it was something that was brought up in every class, and something that I had to address honestly: they were concerned that I was trying to convert them to veganism by showing them this film.

My students--whether it's just one in a given class, or a handful--know that I am a vegan. I wasn't ever particularly concealing the fact, and because I got to know some of them while waiting for the preceding class to vacate the classroom in which I teach, I would inevitably end up discussing food and food issues with them. I remember that one of my students, in what I like to think is a common knee-jerk response to veganism, said that my stance was an extreme one, one that he could never understand or support. There are others who are less shocked by veganism now, and are more curious and want to have conversations with me about it. After I showed the section of Food, Inc., and after a discussion was already progressing, someone asked if I had an interest in getting them to stop eating meat--if I was trying to influence them in a way that would support my position... To which I replied, "Actually, I am not trying to tell you how to eat; I am trying to inform you about what you are already eating, and about the hidden ways in which everyday food choices are implicated in the world." I told them that in a class that focuses on analytical skills and examines current issues, it would be an oversight to not talk about food/meat.

In one of my classes, a student spoke out against factory farming--his was, by far, the most urgent and concerned voice; he was also quite well-informed about factory farming. His family owns a vinyard and a farm, and they raise their own animals and consume them. He said that exactly the ways of food production criticized in Food, Inc. were the same ones his father stood so firmly against--and it was surprising to him to see me, a vegan, agree with the kind of values upheld by his family. I, as a vegan, was surprised to have him on my side as I was addressing some other concerns brought up by his peers. This does not mean that I was compromising my position, nor did I suddenly start questioning the foundation of my ethical veganism, but I think the event taught me a few different ways in which to approach the topic and introduce it to those unfamiliar with it. Because my student and I were on the same side of the argument against factory farming, others saw veganism not just as something extreme or ridiculous or limiting, but as another way to promote criticism of the present-day methods of food production. In all my classes, the students were eager to discuss possible solutions to the problems of animal agriculture, and I think that was my goal--to allow them to see that there are people surviving quite well outside of the manipulative and mystified network of factory farming. What I thought would be a difficult topic to discuss turned out to be not only a rewarding lesson for me, but a productive point of analysis for them. In the future, I will be less hesitant to teach not just this movie, but also other texts, such as Jonathan Safran Foer's Eating Animals.