When praxis bites

I have been involved with an art and cultural nonprofit org for many years. In fact, I am now the president of our board. The center is located in one of the poorest and oldest parts of town. We believe that the people of the neighborhood should have an outlet for creative expression. We hold afterschool art classes for kids and adults. We hold music and language classes. We employ juvenile offenders who learn landscape design and gardening in support of the neighborhood gardens that we sponsor. They learn to use tools and measurement (to build Day of the Dead altars, raised flower boxes, bird houses for gardens, speaker stands for our sound system, etc.).

Agencies and philanthropic groups blow in with grant money promising great things then leave after a year or two. We struggle from fundraiser to fundraiser trying to make sure our director gets paid and keep our programs afloat.

But this post isn’t about our programs or our resources; it’s about working with other members of the board. Like me, some are professionals working at a local university, two are attorneys with the city and others work at local businesses. All are passionate about the arts and about preserving, honoring and promoting our respective Latin@ heritages.

In many ways, the board reflects aspects of our ethnicity. No matter when a meeting time is posted, the meeting begins 30-40 minutes after that. It is more important to have warm tamales (even for a 9:00 a.m. meeting) than it is to have an agenda. One board member has his daughter-in-law on the board; there is another couple on the board, another member brings his wife to meetings, the director’s cousin is on the board, and another member is madrina to the director’s daughter. People remember who was mad at whom 15 years ago.

Everyone knows we need a strategic plan to get bigger grants, but it has taken a year to get one composed and approved. Some members still wink when they say “plan” because we all know we are going to improvise our way through as always.

Every time I enter this space, I keep hearing in my brain “collectivist culture,” “family oriented,” “present orientation.”  As someone who subscribes to the ideals of action research and dialogic communication, I let all of this play out. I struggle against imposing my standards or preferences. My approach is to let members drive our action and only take individual action when they turn to me to fix something or object on behalf of the board to some city interest. In fact, I am drawn to this org because it is so unlike the university where I work—everyone is warm and giving and we truly enjoy each other’s company. It’s like growing up with my primos.

I accept that our board work is highly social in nature. Yet the org could do much more for the community if it used its resources differently, if it used time efficiently and if it partnered with other arts orgs differently. We could remove so many obstacles to our progress if members returned emails and voicemail messages instead of waiting to see someone at the gas station or at zumba class.

I feel guilty for wanting us to be different and yet I am accepted and trusted because I am the same as everyone else. I want to intervene and create change and yet I want us to stay as we are. Even in this “safe” space, I feel torn by competing prescriptions and practices.

I don’t have the same comfort, like Anzaldúa, “to rebel and to rail at my culture.”  

Anyway, my point is this: Don’t worry that as an academic you will somehow abandon our hybrid/border sensibility—it will hunt you down and find you wherever you go.

ag 

Standardized Tests Shortchange Education: Concern for Minority Youth

I get why we need standardized tests. Teachers teach the objectives, students get tested on the objectives and state tests provide a standard, verifiable way to ensure that all students are where they need to be. But not all students are the same. They do not begin the same way and they certainly do not progress the same. They are each unique individuals who may not comfortably conform to a test that is so confining and narrow in format.

In a school that is 65% Hispanic, 28% Black, and 3% White as well as Asian, “the test” has come to dominate our curriculum at the expense of all else. 

People are always talking about how public school teachers only teach to the test but nobody really knows what this means. About a month ago, a story ran in the Houston Chronicle about “the war room,” an entire classroom paneled with white boards from ceiling to floor (never mind that I am still working with chalkboards). Every wall is covered in magnetic strips describing every student’s name, demographics, teacher, scores from the past and anticipated scores for the current year. Everything is color-coded so that each student can be known in a single glance from their at-risk status to their language proficiency. 

The students are reduced to numbers, lives are reduced to statistics and teachers are reduced to input variables. I recognize the need for data and I understand the necessity of “leaving no child left behind,” but the extremes of this type of analysis leave me sick to my stomach. I do not teach a standardized subject. I am an elective teacher for Communication Applications and my job is to “assist” the “core” areas in ensuring all I do is somehow, TAKS (now STAAR)- related. 

There are 4 tests: English, Math, Social Studies and Science. For each of these tests, schools will shut down for a half to a whole day in order for students to “practice” taking these tests in real, simulated conditions. Once all practice testing is complete, students who are not “on track” to receive the scores necessary to pass will be pulled from their elective courses (my class, along with Art, Theatre, and anything else un-tested) in order to attend testing tutorials. 

Electives are the reason many students bother to come to school at all, and since this process has begun, our school’s attendance has begun to drop. As an elective teacher, we are not allowed to mark these students absent, and we are responsible for ensuring these pre-selected students are caught up with all they miss in order to pass our classes. By the way, this is not just for students simply at-risk of scoring low on these standardized tests; tutorials are also being required of those very close to achieving  “commended” status in order to improve the school’s bottom line.

As a non-core, elective teacher, my course has been deemed as not nearly as important as core-tested subjects by my own administrators. As a Latina educator struggling with my own voice in a school whose teacher demographics (40% Black, 40% White, 15% Hispanic) are hardly reflective of the students, I urge future Latino/a educators to question the validity of such a limited focus.  The challenges our country and our world will face in the future will require problem-solving, innovation and imagination; qualities which are being stamped out as our public institutions systematically require that every thought be standardized.

~ A Latina high school teacher in Houston, Texas currently enrolled in a Masters program at UH

Reflections on NCA 2011: Justifying Diversity

As we embark upon another semester of teaching, research, and service, I would like to start our first post of 2012 with reflections from NCA 2011.

First, welcome to the new blog contributors stemming from ties forged at various NCA panels. Second, I would like to reiterate that this is meant to be a safe space for us as Latino/a academics to discuss issues pertaining to the big three of academic life: research, teaching, service.

The panels I participated on this past NCA in New Orleans were productive. I came away feeling energized to make the next move on my projects, and relieved to be in contact with other like-minded scholars. On the other hand, I heard about others' experiences in not-so-productive, even hostile panel sessions. Of course interpersonally we are all diverse and approach life from specific standpoints --- that's a given, academically and otherwise.

However, does that mean that we can't foster an academically free environment of respect and disagreement? Do the two have to be irreconcilable?

As Bernadette noted of her own experience with the late Nacho Cordova (R.I.P.), though we might not always agree theoretically (or methodologically) we can certainly still respect each others' work. I would say this is something worthy of striving towards - always be respectful but able to critique others (and accept such criticism yourself). I personally believe that criticism provides ample room for improving or clarifying one's own arguments. In fact, I regularly encourage my students to debate hot topic issues with the preface that they should not necessarily shy away from bringing forth a position that goes against the grain. After all, I can't imagine a better way to effectively argue than to be familiar with the opposition's take on your position!

Still, when one hears comments about others' work that are utterly disrespectful, though they may be made with *critical and scholarly* intentions, what is the best response? Where is such a fine line drawn? We all know that academia involves a good amount of rejection and criticism so perhaps the easiest response is to get over it and continue the conversation. However, what I'm more digging at is an underlying theme of disregard or disrespect for marginal minority work. For example, others who genuinely do not see the value in promoting diverse voices might easily disregard some body of work with even such a label of "diversity" or hint of the topic without the explicit label. What about when working on a controversial topic? A student of color recently told me he felt the best way to rid the world of racism is to just stop talking about it. Perhaps communication scholars feel the same way and this might account for shying away from touchy subjects.

The work of justifying minority (though not always controversial) scholarship can be a heavy, taxing burden. It's a fight worth fighting, in my eyes. I'm especially curious to hear what the more seasoned scholars have to say about this and strategies that are used to navigate these tensions at conferences and in routine academic life.

~ Amanda R. Martinez, Ph.D.

On the Importance of Mentors and Friends

For years now I have been reflecting on the importance of mentors, those who are both formally and informally matched with us. In the past I have written about the topic, particularly in my essay, "Mentoring and Love: An Open Letter." But most recently, I have revisited the topic because of the loss of three colleagues in the field: John Warren, Ray Puchot, and Nacho Cordova. I had the privilege of knowing all of these men to varying degrees, but they were all folks I looked forward to running into every year at our national convention, NCA. I have already written a bit about these losses on my own blog, but in the context of this space reflecting on critical pedagogy I think of them again. Each was a mentor. John Warren spend his career writing and mentoring in the field, particularly in Critical Communication Pedagogy, an area he helped pioneer. Ray and Nacho were pioneers and advocates in the field of Latina/o Communication Studies, but also in the formation of the discipline organizationally. Both were active in creating a space for our voices as Latinos in structure of NCA; something we might remember was not always there and we still fight for.  Ray was the Parliamentarian of the group and could always be counted on to be at meetings to inform the structure and hope his usual, "Hola amigo!" followed by a big hug. He was always professional and always wanting to make connections across caucuses. I do not remember an NCA without him. Likewise, Nacho was one of the central members of the LCSD and La Raza Caucus who had also served as Vice-Chair and Chair, which included program planning (a thankless job indeed). Nacho's work in rhetoric was central in creating a space for Latina/o Communication Studies. Nacho was also one of the few Puerto Rican scholars in the field I have met. Though he and I did not always agree theoretically, I always respected him and his work. I was intrigued by the photography he had been doing. From what I hear he was a much loved teacher and mentor at Williamette.

I reflect on these men because they have reminded me of the ways people come into our lives, impact us, and in some ways serve as mentors whether we know it or not. I was inspired by Ray's pride in La Raza and his determination to fight for us at the national organization. John's work ethic and work inspired me and continues to do as. The same with Nacho. Nacho was also a bit of a veterano in the area and he was someone that I looked to as a leader in the area both in regards to research and professional service. He was committed to mentoring a new generation of scholars in Latina/o Communication Studies as he had been organizing a panel for them this past year at NCA. He wanted to remind us all of the importance of being mentors. We will honor each of these men at NCA, but I wonder if we as critical educators might continue to honor them by embodying the spirit of reciprocity each one lived.

To Be or Not to Be Latina

The following essay was written in a moment of crisis, in a moment of painful identity struggle, from when I first moved to the United States. That is how I felt back then. Thanks to a lot of great readings and the support of amazing people, I am slowly finding my own place in this country.

To Be or Not to Be Latina

           

When I moved to the US three months ago, I was not sure how people here would read me in terms of race/ethnicity. Having lived in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil for my whole life, race/ethnicity was not one of my biggest concerns while living there. In fact, I have always seen myself as a privileged person in a lot of ways. In Brazil, social class is still seen as the hardest struggle to overcome: “If you are poor”, people say, “It does not matter if you are White, Brown, or Black. It will be just as hard”.  Even though I have serious doubts regarding this type of statement (I do think it can become harder if you are poor, African descendent, and a woman). I believe I embraced this idea, considering my traditional leftist political and ideological perspectives. Therefore, race, color, or cultural background were elements which I rarely thought about while living in Brazil.

            Now, living in the US, I am facing issues such as being read as a woman of color. I first realized that was my reality here when I received, weeks ago, an invitation to a student of color meeting at the university. I still do not know exactly what that means. The consequences of being framed in this category remain obscure to me so far. Do I have to fight for something? Do I have to work harder than Whites? Am I going to suffer any type of prejudice for looking darker than Whites? Am I going to be more likely to be subjugated for being a woman of color? Am I ready to fight back?

I come from Latin America,I also a woman of color. Notice I did not say “I am a Latina.” I am still negotiating whether I want to be identified as such, or “Brazilian” will be how I will categorize myself. Do I control these things? Can I choose to be a Latina, or a Brazilian? I did not choose to be a woman of color; this is just the way people read me. What makes me think I will be the one deciding this matter?

Reading “La conciencia de la Mestiza,” from Glória Anzaldúa, I identified with her writings. But at the same time, I had the impression Anzaldúa was not including Portuguese-speaking people in the category “Mestiza,” or to state “somos de una gente.” Some people do not include Brazilians in the Latina/o category, including Brazilians. Where do I fit, then?

The fact that people know nothing about where I come from or what language I speak is sometimes frustrating, but also gives me the chance to reinvent myself, at least to a limited extent. Sometimes I refuse to be categorized as a Latina. Sometimes I identify myself as a Latina. Does that mean I am reinventing myself or is it just a demonstration of my identity struggle? Or perhaps both? What are the implications of being a Latina that speaks Portuguese? Does that make any difference? Am I going to be considered a fraud? Am I Latina enough?

The truth is that no matter what I state, to be or not to be Latina is definitely my biggest struggle right now. Being a Latina encompasses a lot of oppressive elements. Am I oppressed enough to claim this identity? Am I having a diasporic crisis? Is living in “la frontera” the best choice to heal my internal conflicts? Right now, I see myself as my own worst enemy. I cannot decide what I want or where I belong. On the other hand, I do not know how much choice I have in this struggle of identity. I am still fighting to transform my small “I” into my total Self.

Raquel Portilho

The margin as central

Welcome to AcademicZ!

Like many people who come to realize their membership in minority groups, I have found myself at various points in life with an intense desire to learn more. Of course I’m sure all academics share a love of knowledge, literature, enlightening conversations, and good debates. However, being in a marginalized position, my identity plays a role in guiding interactions, particularly in the classroom as I assume a position of power to teach content. First, I would like to situate my perspective by sharing some personal instances in which I felt particularly driven to pursue an academic profession. I think this will be a good starting point to consider how and why people enter and/or metaphorically *fight* to be in academia and contribute to what are all too often considered “alternative” voices. Then, I pose some pedagogical questions.

My interest in minority identity issues stems from two influences: my love for history, and my consciousness as a Latina feminist.

I enjoy history because it stirs up thoughts, challenges assumptions, and angers me at times. As I tell my intercultural communication students, people who write history for the textbooks we read are highly privileged because they tell the stories about past events that are overwhelmingly accepted as hard facts. There rests inherent privilege in storytelling. For example, as a young person, I started to question why Native American extermination and land occupation by colonizers were so often sanitized in presentation. Why not call it what it was? Dehumanization, genocide, and stealing. I was even more baffled as to why everyone of Latin descent could be reasonably lumped into one large (but largely heterogeneous!) group as Hispanics - this really short changes the complexity of identities included.

Considering my own regional identity with family from northern New Mexico, it is perfectly normal for me that we proudly hold our own traditions, customs, food, and ways of thinking that constitute a blend of cultures ---> Chican@ = being Latin@/Hispanic (more specifically, of Mexican descent) AND U.S.-born. American but not white, American and culturally diverse. These identities co-exist. Reality is often sanitized.

Much of the history I learned excluded my group identities and it wasn't until much later that I acquired a more well-rounded view. This made me mad. I felt robbed. Like someone was keeping my own history from me. So I asked questions. I asked my history teacher in high school why some things were hardly mentioned, while others were elaborated upon for many pages. I asked my parents about their upbringing. I asked my grandparents about their life experiences. I searched for literature to provide me access to this information from those voices on the margins that I was so sure existed. Surely I wasn’t the first and I wouldn’t be the last to note this exclusion and identity tensions and become curious. Sure enough I was right and I have since expanded my personal library to include these histories considered “on the margin” but that are so central in understanding my societal position(s). I have also had many conversations with friends and colleagues who share these sentiments and similar pivotal life moments. I am satisfied to know this knowledge exists; but I am saddened more often than not that when I’m teaching I find I have to integrate mini-history lessons to catch students up on different ways of thinking that are perhaps unconventional. I love teaching mini-history lessons within my communication courses; I hate that my history (and that of many “others”) is marginal in the first place.

Another pivotal life moment occurred shortly after my confrontation with history. I was automatically drawn to a Chicana feminist class to count towards my Women’s Studies Certificate. I enrolled and it blew my mind. I already knew I was a feminist, especially once I realized the man-hating bra-burners were only a sensational media stereotype and NOT representative of the majority of feminists. Again, I recognized diversity within a broad umbrella term on its face, much like the diversity the Hispanic/Latino category encompasses. I first heard of the “double jeopardy” concept when I was in junior high – a woman AND a minority group member.

Well, it was at this point in my graduate education that I was finishing up my thesis and getting ready to graduate. I was also being strongly persuaded by my advisor to consider pursuing a Ph.D. It was this Chicana feminist class that gave me that final push I needed. It disturbed me to learn of the meager percentages of higher education degrees awarded annually to Hispanic females. I couldn’t believe how groups are differentially affected by poverty and systematically disadvantaged, or have experiences hitting glass walls and ceilings within organizations, though perhaps some would never admit to experience with institutional discrimination. I felt like I owed it to myself and my entire cultural and gender group to obtain a Ph.D. Of course, my collectivist-oriented family members are extremely proud of my accomplishments and my working towards a Ph.D. is a group credit.

“Dr. Martinez (one day soon), wow!”

But for me, my teaching and research can be pretty personal, exciting, fun, yet sometimes conflicting and difficult. The more I teach, the more I learn. The more I research, the more questions I come up with.

So, these two pivotal life experiences inform questions I have that are not easily answered:

1) How can we navigate multiple cultures at once as uniquely layered individuals and teach effectively to groups of students who are not similar? Where is the fine balance between living marginalization and teaching to the majority?

2) Is it possible to divorce ourselves from our personal identities and perspectives to teach and conduct research neutrally? Should this be something that is desirable? Is it fair to be asked to keep personal perspective out of our academic lives?

My colleague Kevin and I have pondered and discussed such questions and have come together on some shared experiences. On the one hand, it is a relief to know our experiences are not easily chalked up to personality. Kevin and I are effective teachers. We enjoy teaching greatly, take our responsibilities to students seriously, and strive to become better constantly. On the other hand, it is perplexing to teach as the “other” to the in-group.

We are both eager to engage discussions surrounding these identity tensions as Latin@ communication scholars.