“Recognize and take
responsibility for the regular presence of second language writers in writing
classes…develop instructional and administrative practices that are sensitive
to their linguistic and cultural needs”
“instructors should
avoid topics that require substantial background knowledge that is related to a
specific culture or history that is not being covered in the course.”
“It make take more
time for an instructor to ‘hear’ what a second language writer is attempting to
communicate through a piece of writing”
“Only 5 of the 59
instructors reported having taken a graduate course related to teaching ESL” (Tardy
641)
“While 5 of 59
instructors indicated that they were [familiar with CCCC’s National Language
Policy], no one answered the survey question that asked for a summary of the
statement” (Tardy 650)
“a mere 8% of
instructors surveyed in my program, few of whom are CCCC members or regular
conference attendees, were aware of the organization’s statement on language” (Tardy
651)
The first three of the above statements are quotes taken
from the CCCC’s Second Language Statement. This statement, and the others that we read for today (as
well as the opinion article by Horner et al. that seeks to add translingualism to
the SRTOL statement), places a heavy, albeit noble, burden on individual
writing instructors (and on WPs themselves). They also come off to me as rather idealistic (perhaps a
feature of the “Statement” genre). They often make wide assumptions about broad
training for teachers can/will be made available, program ability to limit
class size to under 20 students, student interest in a multilingual writing
space, instructor ability to spend more time with some students, and instructor
ability to write assignments outside of their own cultural, historical
situatedness. They also spark a bunch of mind-boggling questions that make the
task of working with multilingual students seem impossible for someone without
very specific training:
How do we recognize the
regular presence of SL writers in our classes, without singling them out? What
does it mean to take responsibility for them? What are their linguistic and
cultural needs? How do we develop curriculum that meets these needs? How to we
avoid writing that does not require specific kinds of knowledges? How do we, as
beings embedded in cultural practices, histories, and ideologies, not write
assignments that are influenced by our situated knowledges? How do we,
overworked and underpaid as we are, find a way to make more time for SL students?
How do we become attuned to what students are trying to say?
Does this mean that the statements are bad or not worth
pursuing? No. Am I saying that these are not worthwhile questions to ask? No. However, the reality of the situation
for myself as a writing instructor, and I suspect for many others as exhibited
in the red quotations, illustrates just how far the CCCCs statement is from local
experiences. Tardy argues, “broader-level
policy statements may fail to reach classroom teachers” (652). She goes on to explain
that she believes that local program-wide statements would be more effective,
more important (562). I agree with
her that probably they would have more impact on instructors, especially if
they have the chance to help craft the policies. However, I guess I question the local-classroom-changing-ability
of one more idealistic statement.
I wonder what else might be useful on a local level? What
could our writing program do for us to make working with multilingual writers a
positive experience for all involved? How could it better support instructors?
How could it better support students?
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