I would like to share with you an experience that I have found to be deeply rewarding. For the last two years I have participated in the GLSEN’s Day of Silence. I started participating last minute and on a whim two years ago when I was offered a “Day of Silence Participant” button by a member of our school’s Gay-Straight Alliance.
The stated purpose of the day is to call attention to hate speech and its silencing effects on GLBT students. In this sense, the day is an activist event. For me, this is a noble cause taking the admirable form of self-sacrifice. Even if this was the only reason to participate, I would gladly do so.
The Day of Silence is founded on the premise that the ability for GLBT students to express themselves is restricted by hate speech. And so, we voluntarily restrict our own ability to express ourselves to symbolize this silencing. However, the Day of Silence isn’t just an opportunity for activism, it is an exercise in understanding for the participants.
There are some experiences that are simply eye-opening and I count participating in the Day of Silence among one of those experiences. Before participating, I had no idea how incredibly frustrating it is to not be able to express oneself. I had taken my ability to interject through speech for granted and giving up that ability made me see the value that it holds. We, quite simply, do not fully appreciate the value of verbal expression.
While I can’t vouch for the accuracy of the reproduction of hateful oppression found in participating in the day of silence, I can say that it is simply an indescribably educational experience. I learned something that cannot be expressed in words and cannot be taught, I learned something intimate about my relationship with the world around me.
A Day of Silence is something I wish everyone would experience, regardless of the cause. It is an opportunity for learning experientially that I feel no one can afford to miss.
We should always be on the lookout for opportunities where students can learn by experiencing: not only by doing, but by feeling.
Sparked by an inspirational post from Clay Burell, an incredibly thought-provoking comment thread ensued which challenged many of us to think about the importance of communication. In all its varied forms, communication is the most important skill in a new century where it is, generally, instant. The new tools and ideas challenge us to think and reevaluate how students are assessed and writing’s importance in this “brave new world.” The seed which grew this wide, 75-comment tall plant was, of itself, an interesting and engaging post about Muhammad Ali. In school, Ali got his share of D’s for his poor written skills. Yet, as the following quote from him shows, he had an intrinsic grasp of the English language, which he readily expressed through oral communication.
I went into a restaurant downtown - you couldn’t do that back then, because things weren’t integrated yet - and I sat down with my [Olympic] gold medal around my neck, and the waitress came up, and I said, ‘Yes, I’d like, uh, a cup of coffee, and a hot dog.’ And she said, ‘I’m sorry, we don’t serve negroes here.’ And I got so angry, I said, ‘And I don’t eat them, either. Now bring me a hot dog!’
Is this the kind of word play, humor, and fundamental grasp of language which you expect from a D- student?
Being only 15, I really did not know much about Muhammad Ali. I researched to discover the man behind these words that could “float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.” As I read (and watch) more of his oratorical genius, the breadth and depth of his ability to manipulate the English language for success has not ceased to amaze me. (How many D- students end up being honored by giving the graduation speech at Harvard?)
I think we can all agree that Ali understood how to use English, but his grade report would beg to differ: Cassius Clay does not have passable English. This discrepancy can be attributed to the overwhelming emphasis upon writing throughout school curriculum. Honestly, as I look at the string of recent exams and assignments I fail to see how I would be able to pass or show any true talent without strong writing skills:
English: journalistic essay analysis of Romeo and Juliet
Science exam: write a paragraph upon various science concepts
Math exam: (along with other problems) explain a problem in paragraph format
Health: essay upon the elements of health
History: 1,000 word paper upon the background of Iranian nuclear weaponry
As you can see, in almost any subject, particularly English, strong writing is integral to achieving success. Is this really fair to those who, like Ali, do not have excellent command of the written language but can speak words with wings?
With so much fodder for discussion, a fertile comment thread developed, centrally around the question of should all communication mediums be weighted equally, or should writing be given greater weight?
To even begin to delve into that question, the arena for debate must be built around English and Language Arts, including the difference between the two:
...the difference between “language arts” and “English” is paramount in my opinion: English deals with the language of English. Language arts deal with the art of language. Language Arts can deal with multiple languages. Graphics are a language. Symbols are a language. There’s no reason they shouldn’t be stressed just as much written English.
If (practically) anything is a language, what separates Language Arts from other courses? I think the answer to that question lies in that LA should focus around how language can be written and spoken to craft meaning, while other courses focus upon the specific applications of the theory of language. Though Benjamin held a divergent opinion, the continual weighting of writing is shown in what courses are required:
Okay, let’s give graphic communication its own course. (Some might call it art) I’m 99% positive it won’t be a required course. In most schools, “art” isn’t.
Yet, English is. Taking my own school, for example, graduation requires 4 years of English (more than any other subject) and only ½ year of “fine art” (which includes both oral communication and visual artistry). Anyone see the discrepancy?
Ignoring the tangents into computers‘ place in the writing process, the continual emphasis upon writing is attempted to be justified by the good ol’ workplace argument that “it’s what employers want.” Looking at the changing landscape of the workplace, that argument continually holds less and less ground. In many of this century’s jobs, reporting is just as likely to be done through quick Skype calls, IM chats, and emails than through TPS reports. So long as applicants have the ability to communicate (whether through writing, speech, or graphics), employers can utilize their talents in diverse fields.
Of course, most of the world’s information is still stored in the written word. Walking into a library, it would be hard to imagine communicating any other way. Even the digital revolution has failed to change this substantially. For the most part, this lengthy debate was battled by masters of the written typed word. Still, digital tools give us the ability to communicate easily and efficiently using other mediums, such as speech:
In fact, I would even go so far as to say that being able to communicate using other mediums makes you stand out from the crowd. As I attempted to communicate, those rare gems shine out in a sea of stones.
Of course, the looming stresses of writing-based SATs and important exams continues to put pressure upon teachers to focus on writing. Though you may not have much room to maneuver, I challenge you: think about how you, as a teacher of any subject, can help to recognize the other mediums of communication and those who have mastered them.
Even after 75 comments, the debate is not yet resolved. For this, I turn to your additional voices and ideas. In a world filled with words, how can equal weight be given to all the forms those words may take?
I recently gave a talk to my high school titled “Three Lessons from High School”. As a senior who will be graduating, I took the opportunity to share with my school the things I learned during my journey from a freshmen struggling to stay in school to the reasonably successful senior I am today. I hope that you might enjoy my video of the presentation (9 minutes) below.
As a student at an international school, I’m used to seeing technology proliferate everywhere it can within the classroom. Every day I use computer labs, SmartBoards, online classrooms, and a plethora of other high-tech applications. It’s hard not to take the miracle of technology for granted; after all, we are in the Information Age, aren’t we?
True. But who exactly are “we”? As it turns out, not everyone is as lucky.
This past Thursday, I brought a few other members of my school’s tech club to a local school on the outskirts of Shanghai. Our school had assigned us the task of buying, building, and setting up a network of basic desktop computers for the local school. However, when we walked into their computer lab, we decided that this wasn’t going to be easy. The school already had several decade-old computers, but only five still worked. A couple of them had been opened for the students to take a look at its innards; one computer lay, smashed, in the corner of the room. Even a few of the power outlets were clogged with dirt. On the walls, above the blackboards, were written two sentences in Chinese: “Computers help us learn” and “The Internet makes the world a smaller place.”
I was told by the parents who organized the project that the students here learned about computers from mere drawings on the chalkboard, and the occasional use of one of the functional desktops. The local teachers we talked with refused to accept laptops, which was what we planned to buy. They said that laptops would very likely be stolen by students—they couldn’t blame them, they said; these children are in a desperate situation, and the money they could make from selling a stolen laptop would be like a fortune.
The visit to the local school was a shocking removal from our wireless networks and Facebook conversations and live streams of soccer matches. The stark contrast between a school filled with technology in every corner and a classroom with 2-dimensional chalk computers made me wonder: Why do we use so much technology in our classrooms? Where did it all come from?
Though we’re high school students now, we’ve probably been in contact with all sorts of digital technology since we were toddlers. I remember the first time I used a computer. I was only 4 years old, and a couple days later I double clicked the “Internet Explorer” sign and discovered the astonishing (but also, undoubtedly, dangerous) Internet. True, it may have simply been Pokemon websites and Magic School Bus games at first, but there are cases even where children learn MS-DOS at the age of 5. There is no denying it—we have been in touch with computers for our whole lives, and the only idea we have of life before the PC is from our parents’ dated anecdotes.
But stop and think for a moment: Why? Why does technology progress and proliferate so quickly? Why are we so dependent on it? What is the reason behind its profound ubiquity? The answer is short, but sweet. You could find it in a dictionary.
[Technology is] the specific methods, materials, and devices used to solve practical problems.
There it is. We use technology because we need it. We need Facebook and MSN Messenger because they help us communicate; we need SmartBoards because whiteboards can’t display information at the speed we demand; we need online classrooms because one hour lessons just don’t cut it anymore.
A million years ago, cavemen would probably have been pondering the same question (although “technology” would have been replaced with “the wheel”), and come to the same conclusion on their cave-blogs. Two hundred years ago, the same question would have been asked of the Industrial Revolution.
No matter from what angle you look at technology, whether it comes in the form of the Internet or the steam engine, the old adage comes to mind: “Necessity is the mother of invention.” And in the case of the local school, their necessity is about to “give birth,” courtesy of our school’s tech club.
A couple months ago, this exchange occurred between me and one of my parents’ co-workers, whom I shall call “J”.
“So, what do you want to do in college?” J asked me, right after we were introduced.
“Well,” I hedged, “I plan to sleep in, hang out with friends, and watch shadows elongate.” Pause. There was no flicker of recognition in J’s eyes; my sarcasm went over his head. “Um, basically—not much.”
J looked at me in askance. “I mean, what do you want to do?”
And this was when the College/What Are You Going To Do With the Rest Of Your Life? Interrogation started. Believe me, after going through this numerous times—it deserves its All Caps status. (My most sincere apologies to Strunk Jr and White, may you guys R.I.P. and not, you know, haunt me from the grave or anything.)
There’s something about one’s last two years of high school that dictates that any conversation you have with an adult, may it be your relatives or a near-perfect stranger in the supermarket, has to revolve around college. Once they know that you’re a senior or a junior in high school, the interrogation begins.
It’s a rite of passage.
It’s also a nuisance.
By November, I’ve mastered the art of listing all my ten colleges in one breath in order of preference. From Bryn Mawr and NYU to the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor.*
Which is not to say that I haven’t been guilty of using college as a convenient conversation starter because “So, how about ‘em Yankees?” is too overdone and cliché. Even so, this doesn’t make it any less annoying to 16-18 year olds everywhere.
“I’ll probably major in Anthropology and maybe minor in East Asian Studies–Japanese or Chinese.”
“Ah, Anthropology, huh? Like Indiana Jones!”
“… Uh, no.”
For most, this also involves a lot of nodding and glazed expressions when I try to explain the difference between Anthropology and Archeology. Occasionally, someone will ask what I will do career-wise, and I’ve learned by now that there’s really no good way to say “not a clue” without sounding like an idiot.
Because I honestly don’t know what I want to do for the rest of my life after college and grad school.
I envy my friends who know exactly what they want to do, because I still haven’t got the slightest idea. My plan is to take a lot of different classes in college and pretty much wing it, for lack of a better word. I’ll figure out where I want to go from there. Currently, I plan to major in Anthropology and minor in East Asian Languages (Mandarin Chinese). What I end up doing after college? No idea—even if I stick with Anthropology and Chinese for the next four years. I’m a fickle person and I’m interested in many things—creative writing, political science, international relations, history, languages, etc. The sky’s the limit.
It still amazes me though, how as students we’re expected to know what we want to do with the rest of our lives. Every time someone asks, I always have to smother a mad giggle—I’m so indecisive that it takes me fifteen minutes to decide what flavor of ice cream I want from Ben & Jerry’s—and they want me to tell them what I’ve decided to do for the rest of my life? It’s laughable. I can’t pretend I know what I want to do when most of my college friends have changed majors at least once during their time in Academia Land and knowing that there is a reason behind why many adults go back to school so they can change careers.
Maybe it’s a generational thing: in the past, there weren’t as many options for high school graduates but with more and more students going to college, there’s more of a disconnection. Yet there’s still the expectation from adults for us to know what we’re going to do with our lives by th time we’re 16-18.
For students who know exactly what their future profession is and are dead-set on pursuing their dreams, I want to say that envy them more than words can say.
However, for students like me who are still trying to figure things out, I wonder if this expectation will ever become less of an issue and burden as more students choose to pursue education beyond high school.
*I didn’t end up applying to all those colleges. After a certain point, all the paperwork just made me want to hide under my desk for all of eternity. As of March 21st 2007, however, I’m now a Bryn Mawryter so all’s well that ends well (theoretically-speaking).
We are students: the ones who come to school every day, raise our hands with safe questions, and keep our heads down. Except, now we have a voice—a strong voice—to share our ideas through a global network.
Experiential Learning: The Day of Silence
Language Transcending Ink
The Necessity Family Tree
Should an 18 Year Old Really Know What They’re Going to Do For the Rest of Their Life?
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