She suggests, then, that we ask students to “engage…in a form of discursive map-making” with which they “identify specific geographic locations they inhabit and map the various and competing power relations signified by differences in vocabularies, modes of communication, discursive forms, and so on” (64). Consequently, “[a]cademic discourses …become for students exactly what they are: the dominant discourse of this place (and perhaps other places within which they might wish to effectively dwell)” (64). This discursive map-making can also help students consider their authorship as students “identify those forces that are working for and against their authorship” (65).
Drew argues that we have often used a metaphor of time/history over a metaphor of space. “The traditional and consequential submergence of the spatial within the temporal for critical social theory, then, effectively helps to veil institutional power within politicized space such as classrooms” (59). She also argues that we have a tendency to think about pedagogy existing within the bounds of our classrooms and, thereby, imagine our students as “the novice, young as as yet un(in)formed” (60). She pushes us, instead, to think about the boundaries of the classroom as blurry, to acknowledge that pedagogy can exist in several spaces (not just the classroom), and to see our students as travelers. “By reimagining students as travelers we may construct a politics of place that is more likely to include students in the academic work of composition, and less likely to continue to identify and manage students as discursive novices…And, by including students in our research – not as objects of study, but rather as coinquirers – we stand a better change of locating and understanding the multiple pedagogies at work in both classroom and other spaces” (60).
She suggests, then, that we ask students to “engage…in a form of discursive map-making” with which they “identify specific geographic locations they inhabit and map the various and competing power relations signified by differences in vocabularies, modes of communication, discursive forms, and so on” (64). Consequently, “[a]cademic discourses …become for students exactly what they are: the dominant discourse of this place (and perhaps other places within which they might wish to effectively dwell)” (64). This discursive map-making can also help students consider their authorship as students “identify those forces that are working for and against their authorship” (65).
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Keller agrees with Dobrin and Drew that “we must divest ourselves of the notion that ecocomposition necessarily deals with nature” (194); though, ironically, he writes about a class in which he specifically deals with nature. His purpose is this chapter is to describe the course and “analyze a specific cultural and rhetorical situation that shall provide a new way of understanding – and hopefully teaching – the ecology of the writerly voice in the composition classroom” (194). Keller argues that “an individual’s voice/self is never entirely fixed and stable, determined completely by the will of the individual herself, but one’s voice/self is not, on the other hand, entirely subject to the effects of all its discursive encounters…This notion of voice/self also implies that people have recourse, at times, to agency – some ability, that is, to resist discourses that attempt to impose change and oppression” (200-1). Keller breaks voice down “into three interrelated components” (201):
He notes that “voice is also contingent upon other factors: namely, audience and place” (202). |
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