Walled Women

I find it very interesting that, in regards to voice in education, we've read two pieces by women who have backgrounds in film. Ellsworth's work, Teaching Positions, brought to light the true organic nature of teaching in that it is impossible to know what will arise from the act of giving a lesson. Thinking back on classes I've taken with Anne and Jody, I've realized that I rarely left the classroom having learnt what I expected to learn at the beginning. Teaching and learning, it seems, are not necessarily directly related. Teachers have no guarantee of knowing what will be learnt by the students they teach, and that is because each learner has different experiences which allow them to learn and process the classroom curriculum differently – deciding for themselves what is important. Instead, Ellsworth notes, it is perhaps the gap in what is being taught and what has been "learned" ("a surprising 'return of difference'") that points to true learning. This student-centric view reaffirms the idea that what the student takes from a lesson is perhaps more important than the lesson itself. This, for me, harkens back to Deveare-Smith's idea of the informative nature of the "gaps" while performing others.

After reading Elizabeth Ellsworth's introduction, I got stuck on how much the word and concept of movement seems to be a recurring theme in the readings we've been doing.  

To bring up the comparison between Smith and Ellsworth, Smith's Fires in the Mirror argues that identities and people have the propensity and should be encouraged to move.  Doing so can give people the change to make tensions productive by allowing the opposing sides to experience the other in some form and to, perhaps, "[build] bridges between places." (xxxix).  What's more, Ellsworth, borrowing terms commonly used within film studies, often speaks of how 'fixed' the education system is in one particular way of understanding learning.  Instead, she tries to "...make possible and thinkable questions that I believe can set into motion ways of thinking and teaching that have otherwise become rigis, solidified, stuck, and sloganized.  What both then advocate for is to understand individuals as dynamic, not static beings, and if this is the case, we must engage them in a way that complies and takes advantage of this facet of human beings, and by extension, we must choose to view them in a variety of lenses and modes of address.  

Where does knowledge exist in classrooms? As I read through the articles I became increasingly aware of the ways in which the education system in the US places all of the knowledge in the hands of the teacher, a system of education in which teachers fill their students with knowledge to prepare them for standardized tests. The readings, however, pointed to another way to think about knowledge in the classroom. As Freire put it "The object of the known is put on the table between the two subjects of knowing. They meet around it and through it for mutual inquiry" (pg. 99). Ellsworth put it in other words when she said, "pedagogy is a performance that is suspended (as in interrupted, never completed) in the space between self and other" (pg. 17).

In thinking about this idea of knowledge being something that stands not only between students and teachers, but also between students themselves, I think a lot about the idea of learning as a process, rather than a definitive answer. Learning as a collective journey, in which students and teachers feel a sense of responsibility to share and listen. In my mind, this is definitely a utopian ideal of what schooling is, one that is scarce, but precious. At the same time, however, I question how this is possible within an education system that is based on grading and standardized testing. How can a teacher seek this kind of collaborative knowledge and how can students feel inclined to explore when they must receive " a good grade" at the end of the year?

Thought you guys might find this interesting.

            I was very struck by Anne’s idea that speaking up in class is akin to sharing, while staying quiet is selfish – somehow keeping brilliance under lock and key, and not giving the rest of the class access.  I’ve never had a problem with talking in class, especially since coming to Bryn Mawr, but I often wish I could edit myself more and filter the ideas in my head slightly better before blurting them out.  As much as I recognize that silencing oneself is not always a good thing, especially if it is out of censorship or fear or anxiety, I often find it helpful to just shut up and listen.  When I silence myself in the classroom at any given moment, I notice that it tends to give someone else the opportunity to speak and share an idea.  So is the converse true?  Can my voice silence others?

I chose this photograph because it speaks also to the silence imposed upon one’s self, the limitations we may feel in forming the opinions we do

or do not voice. This past week I have had several realizations leading ultimately into an epiphany about the way silence plays a role in my life, and how it will continue to affect my interactions with classmates in this 360.

I recently come to restructure how I believe epiphanies form, in that I no longer see an epiphany as a sudden realization. Instead I recognize it as a gradual process, one that takes into account multiple realizations and experiences. Often I will discover a piece of an epiphany through my surroundings, or an experience, or another person. Eventually, those small pieces accumulation into a full actualization; into a moment of clarity generally categorized as the epiphany. However, the pieces leading into that moment are crucial and inseparable from the mean

In questioning who has the power to silence whom, I often reflect on my experience based on my role within my family. I grew up in a very traditional family unit, one that maintains and defends the rules of patriarchy and reinforces the subordinate role of the women and children that exist in it. As a result of these ideals, the silencing of women has never been a foreign concept to me; on the contrary it is what has held the values of my family together. It was the silencing of my mother’s wishes to remain close to her brothers and sisters that resulted in us having to leave the Dominican Republic to pursue the economic opportunities my father wanted. It was the silencing of my aunt that led her to seek government assistance despite the fact that she had graduated from medical school because her husband was uncomfortable with the idea that his wife could be economically independent. It is my own silencing that prevents me from showing my family the opportunities I’ve taken advantage of at Bryn Mawr because they don’t believe that a woman is capable of such success.