Teaching World Languages For Social Justice: A Sourcebook Of Principles And Practices

Teaching World Languages for Social Justice A Sourcebook of Principles and Practices

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Teaching World Languages for Social Justice A Sourcebook of Principles and Practices

Terry A. Osborn

2006

LAWRENCE ERLBAUM ASSOCIATES, PUBLISHERS Mahwah, New Jersey London

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2008. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” Copyright Ó 2006 by Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by photostat, microform, retrieval system, or any other means, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc., Publishers 10 Industrial Avenue Mahwah, New Jersey 07430 www.erlbaum.com Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Osborn, Terry A., 1966– Teaching world languages for social justice : a sourcebook of principles and practices / Terry A. Osborn. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8058-5075-9 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Language and languages—Study and teaching. I. Title. P51.O83 2005 418¢.0071—dc22

ISBN 1-4106-1719-X Master e-book ISBN

2005047321 CIP

For my cherished wife, Dina, Whose love is inspirational.

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Contents Preface

ix

Acknowledgments

xiii

1

Leaving the Marketplace

2

Dialogical Classrooms: Foundations of a New Foundation

23

3

Teacher Preparation as the Basis for Praxis

39

4

The Politics of Grammar and Vocabulary

57

5

Canon Fire: Why Literature Still Has Its Place

71

6

Critical Discourse and Visual Analysis as Pedagogy

91

7

Crossing the Lines: Interdisciplinary Possibilities

113

8

A Small Virtual World After All: Communities in Cyberspace

133

Reconcile! Toward a Unified Discipline

151

9

Afterword Appendix:

1

167 Language Spoken at Home for the United States: 2000

169

References

177

Index

187 vii

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Preface

T

eaching World Language for Social Justice: A Sourcebook of Principles and Practices appears at an interesting time in the field. Having recognized structural barriers to equity that are prevalent in all educational settings, a number of scholars are exploring the relationship between their own fields and social justice. Some, for example, have reasoned that social justice in their field requires rectifying the resource deficits in urban areas (Barton, 2003). Barton (2003) concludes of her field that: Science, indeed, is a privileged place in which to begin this work. To know science—and to be deemed as one who knows science—is a uniquely powerful stance. Science education is political. It promotes particular images of power, knowledge, and values by rewarding particular forms of individual and institutional power. (p. 168)

Some use critical pedagogy as an orientation because of its concern for social justice, as others have explored the implications for drama (Doyle, 1993), English (Peim, 1993), art (Cary, 1998), second language (Norton & Toohey, 2003), mathematics (Burton, 2003), and social studies (Makler & Hubbard, 2000). At the same time, in the field of world language education, sometimes still referred to as foreign language education, a number of scholars are examining the foundations of our epistemology and theories that drive practice (see M. Johnson, 2004; Reagan & Osborn, 1998, 2002). J. K. Hall (2001) has produced an excellent methods text that focuses on community building as a primary driving force in teaching languages, rather than the cognitive-computational tradition identified by Johnson. Johnson, drawing on the works of Bakhtin and Vygotsky, has argued for dialogical approaches to understand second language acquisition (SLA), and within such approaches to unite the cognitive and social traditions in the field. In the field of world language education, which draws heavily on SLA, there are reconsiderations of epistemological frameworks in our understanding of the learner, the teacher, and the curriculum. This text is situated primarily within the third of these areas. It is intended for teachers, supervisors, and academics interested in transforming the curriculum of world language education in the United States. As we look to national standards for guidance in shaping curricula, we need also to examine the lenses we use to move from standards to local curricula. Given the insights gained in many contexts on social justice, the challenges are ix

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immense. A critically oriented redefinition of curriculum, toward social justice, cannot be situated entirely in theory and must, in my view, seek to incorporate the voices of experience. I have chosen the educational work of Myles Horton and Paulo Freire to begin the search. I must offer as a caveat, however, that as I have also stressed, no formulaic approach could be successful.

Overview In chapter 1, I argue that we must leave the “marketplace” behind us as we begin to reconceptualize world language education in the United States. I point out why the image of world language education continues to languish within the parameters of the market. Next, I suggest how the reader can use this book to begin the journey. I review some basic concepts in critical curricula, and finally, I point out some remaining issues in regard to needed further analysis. In chapter 2, I begin to envision the world language classroom of the future, engaged in meaningful discourse on social, cultural, and political issues in addition to the nuts and bolts of linguistic code. To do so, though, I must “practice what I preach” by problem posing. We have allowed positivism to reign in the field much too long without a significant and sustained challenge. The absence of a consideration of or, in large part, any discussion of “spirit” is evidence of our bias. I want to explore that theme not only to help the reader see how problem posing is confrontational, but because I also believe we have blinded ourselves to a real part of the language experience. In doing so, some foundational discussion of critical epistemological frames in comparison to existing practice is presented. Chapter 3 includes argument that the epistemological principles underlying the preparation of teachers (e.g., fragmentable phenomena of language acquisition/ learning, value-free techniques for teaching, and reductionist presentation of debates in the field) are in large part the greatest barrier to creating learning environments conducive to social justice. Teachers will not be able to effectively facilitate world language learning or teaching for social justice if they have not critically examined the assumptions underlying their own preparation for the field. At the same time, the chapter allows us to reflect on ways to work within existing constraints rather than merely waiting for the ideal opportunity to present itself. In chapter 4, I suggest that the choices of grammar and vocabulary presented in any language textbook are not based on impartial “scientific discovery” but reflect priorities grounded in a historical frame. Possible reasons for these choices are explored in regard to marketplace ideology prevalent in curricular development, and alternatives are offered. My purpose here is to ask the reader to rethink the very foundation of our approaches to language as we currently practice them. Whether we teach grammar and vocabulary and how we teach them are important questions. More important still is a consideration of the underlying assumption we have in making choices related to these questions.

PREFACE

xi

Literature in the world language classroom has an established role. When methodological approaches shifted from preparing students to read the great works of literature to a “communicative emphasis,” the role of literature became less clear. Chapter 5 seeks to reiterate the need for literature in understanding the social and cultural world we are shaped by, and that we shape, and to utilize literature toward the end of social justice. By concentrating on the aesthetic, students can begin to develop rudimentary skills that will be necessary to put a revolutionary language pedagogy in place. In chapter 6, I argue that media accounts related to language diversity are crucial to build an understanding of the role played by language and language struggles within any modern society. Building from the skills developed in the previous chapter, readers are encouraged to utilize approaches in media literacy and sophisticated research techniques to develop activities that will engage students in reading not only the word, but the world around them. In chapter 7, I extend my previous work on interdisciplinary units in the foreign language classroom by building on the insights students could develop through the study of literature and media accounts of sociocultural and sociolinguistic realities. Of particular importance is that we carefully consider how we present interdisciplinary work in addition to what we present. The role of interdisciplinarity in fostering social justice is explored. The World Wide Web, though subject to the power struggles inherent in any society, does provide a number of possibilities to the proposed project. Utilizing the Web’s vast resources in regard to language, in chapter 8 I explore how building Web sites based on both local and global communities of language speakers can become part of a critical repertoire in the world language classroom. To be sure, the World Wide Web is not a land of equal opportunity. However, educational institutions often do have access to the Web and can begin utilizing this platform to deconstruct, and reconstruct, their local realities. Finally, in chapter 9 I return to a meta-analytical view of the separate “disciplines” of English as a second language (ESL), bilingual, and world (foreign) language education. I contend that the relationship between a single language educational “discipline” and social justice cannot be overlooked or dismissed. Among other things, chapter 9 proposes that it is beyond the possibility of approaches that merely incorporate native speakers as “heritage language learners” to reach toward social justice through endeavors in language education. These approaches merely accommodate radical ideals within positivistic systems, thus eliminating any real threat to the status quo. Instead, only through meaningful dialogues among students, teachers, and community members can we see the ideals of social justice realized. I also conclude with a discussion of social justice not as a destination, but as a journey of process. At the same time, I have argued that we need to examine our professional context. How can we speak of social justice in a field that continues to tolerate arbitrary divisions, themselves prima facie evidence of the structural barriers to eq-

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uity? My concern that these divisions blunt efforts at building community or seeking social justice leads me, as well, to reverse the assumptions held by some that the urban areas are the sites of deficit or poverty. Do not misunderstand—as a former teacher in urban Tampa, Florida (the 12th-largest district in the nation), I recognize inequities in resources and systemic discrimination. When it comes to language diversity, though, it is the nonurban areas that should be seen as relatively impoverished. World language education has historically assumed a constituency of privilege (Watzke, 2003). To ameliorate the hegemonic structures that exist in the United States, the role of ideological formation for those with privilege must be addressed as well (see Osborn, 2000). It is that concern that provides the impetus for my work.

Acknowledgments

W

ithout question, there are a number of people who have contributed to this project by humoring me with my episodes of thinking out loud, arguing for the sake of exploration, and testing ideas that would eventually take their place in the text. I want to specifically thank Phil Anderson, Gerd Bräuer, Abe Deleon, Joan Kelly Hall, Stephen W. Kercel, Ryuko Kubota, Nancy A. Lauckner, Angel Lin, Amanda Lister, Beverly Moser, Cara Mulcahy, Daniel Mulcahy, Timothy Reagan, David Smith, Joceyln Tamborello, Robert Terry, Humphrey Tonkin, and the students in my doctoral seminars (especially fall of 2003) for their assistance offered in various forms along the way of this endeavor. I am especially grateful to Ryuko Kubota, Angel Lin, Timothy Reagan, and David Smith for their comments and critique of manuscript drafts. Naomi Silverman has been great to work with and is a real treasure in the publishing world. A number of the ideas presented in this text have been reflected in my earlier works, and thus were shaped by anonymous reviewers. To those who reviewed the following, I am also grateful: “Market Ideology, Critical Educational Studies, and the Image of Foreign Language Education,” NECTFL Review, 52, 41–46; “Providing Access: Foreign Language Learners and Genre Theory,” Foreign Language Annals, 31(1), 40–47; and “Making Connections and Comparisons: Integrating Foreign Language With Other Core Curricula,” NECTFL Review, 49(28), 30–33. I am also thankful to several people who kindly allowed me to reprint their work and assisted in securing material for purposes of illustration in this text: Robert Scheer and Creator’s Syndicate, the American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages, Daryl Cagle and Cari Dawson Bartley at Cagle Cartoons, Thomas Flynn and Ben Rand of the Democrat and Chronicle, Steve Greenberg, and Phil Haslanger at The Capital Times. Michael Seadle at Michigan State University Libraries helped in regard to the Sacco–Vanzetti editorial cartoons among their digital collections. Finally, I wish to thank my colleagues in the Neag School of Education and the Department of Curriculum and Instruction at the University of Connecticut. It is a pleasure to work with them.

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1 Leaving the Marketplace Overview In this chapter, you will read about:
Where we find ourselves now.
Language in the market.
Where can we go? Advocating a critical pedagogy of language education.
How do we start the journey?
A companion methodology.
Further issues for consideration.
How to use this book.

WHERE WE FIND OURSELVES NOW

A

number of language educators are growing increasingly dissatisfied with the status quo of our profession. The thrust of the “standards movement” does not resonate with them as advancing the cause of language education. Instead, it feels as though language curricula are being “sterilized” and packaged in a way that eliminates much of the creativity and passion that led many of us into this field in the first place. To be sure, nothing in the language standards, including the much heralded “five C’s” of foreign language circles, precludes creativity. The impression may stem from a remarkably stark contrast between the direction of curricula and the context in which language education takes place in the United States. To be frank, static curricula are poor shadows when compared to the growing vibrancy of linguistic diversity, which is enriching communities of the United States with increasing frequency. And, despite the normal round of xenophobia following the September 1

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11 attacks and the “freedom fries” retaliation to the French position on the Iraqi war, world language education in our context may remain relatively unscathed by current global events. And that should concern us most of all. “Why should it concern us?” a reader may inquire. If language education were to be affected by currently political events, one could reason we would indubitably be hurt. Certainly the anti-German hysteria almost a century ago in the United States affected German language enrollments and programs negatively. Granted. But a greater danger looms, I contend, in that the comparative silence serves as evidence of a much greater hazard; namely, that world language education in the United States has become largely extraneous to the national dialogue. Students who eventually become adult residents of the United States may see absolutely no connection between their world language–learning experiences and their daily lives. They spent a few years in language classrooms in high school or college, but “didn’t learn anything.” This apparent failure is far from a simple matter. A number of factors may explain the contemporary condition of foreign language education. The picture of the language teacher at the front of classroom, as depicted in the film Dead Poets Society, drilling students in the declension of Latin nouns serves to illustrate the perception of the foreign language teacher as taskmaster, afflicting his or her charges with the minutiae of unchanging particles of language information. Perhaps the legacy of the taskmaster has alienated us from our students. It may be helpful to remember the anti-German hysteria from the early 20th century that plagued the profession, but admittedly it is hard to imagine anyone suggesting that the information gap activities of contemporary language classrooms are somehow subversive propagandizing or espionage as was the accusation almost a hundred years ago delivered against language education in the United States (see Wiley, 1998). Though language education today is rarely seen as a threat to national security, language diversity often is. The elements that have shaped our image may be multifarious, as language education suffers from an identity crisis related to the broader context in which we function in the United States. One raison d’être of the image of foreign language education lies in our own acceptance of marketplace ideologies, commonplace in educational programming, and manifestly inappropriate to justify the study of languages in the contemporary United States. Between 1893 and 1895, the National Education Association’s (NEA) Committee of Ten identified classic and modern languages as central to the high school curriculum. In 1918, the NEA Commission on the Reorganization of Secondary Education published the influential Cardinal Principles of Secondary Education, further fine-tuning the curriculum to five essential subjects, including modern language. For the past century, and even much earlier at the postsecondary level, foreign language education has had an important role to play in educational institutions in the United States.

LEAVING THE MARKETPLACE

3

Educational conservatives1 often tout the value of studying languages by suggesting that languages are important in the well-rounded preparation of an educated person. As the philosopher of education, Peters (1975), explains in his influential work on the concept: Thus our concept of an educated person is of someone who is capable of delighting in a variety of pursuits and projects for their own sake and whose pursuit of them and general conduct of his life are transformed by some degree of all-round understanding and sensitivity. Pursuing the practical is not necessarily a disqualification for being educated; for the practical need not be pursued under a purely instrumental aspect. This does not mean, of course, that an educated man is oblivious to the instrumental value of pursuits—e.g. of science. It means only that he does not view them purely under this aspect. Neither does it mean that he has no specialized knowledge; it means only that he is not just a narrow-minded specialist. (pp. 9–10)

Foreign language educators have historically argued that foreign languages contributed measurably to education, and that abilities in languages were indispensable as a characteristic of an educated person (see Lado, 1964). Though perhaps such arguments are not articulated as often today, these ideas still hold a level of attraction for language educators, because we recognize the contributions our own language learning has made to our worldview(s). The educational conservatives, then, often argue, ironically, for what has been traditionally called a “liberal” education. A second trend, and perhaps the more contemporary justification of foreign language study in the curriculum, relates to the day-to-day value of such training. These arguments point out that language education benefits both the workplace and the multicultural world students will inhabit. As the framers of the Standards for Foreign Language Learning have suggested: To study another language and culture is to gain an especially rich preparation for the future. It is difficult to imagine a job, a profession, a career, or a leisure activity in the twenty-first century which will not be enhanced by the ability to communicate efficiently and sensitively with others. . . . Possession of the linguistic and cultural insights which come with foreign language study will be a requisite for life as a citizen in the worldwide neighborhood. (National Standards in Foreign Language Education Project, 1999, p. 12) 1

Terminology here is a difficult matter. I am endeavoring to explore generally recognized historical trends, but do not suggest a historiographic treatment, and this exercise will necessarily run the risk of overgeneralization. The reader should view the categories “educational conservative” and “educational progressive” as heuristic, not absolute. Such categorization is consistent with many introductory approaches to the foundations of education (see J. A. Johnson et al., 1999, or Schultz, 2001, as examples). My primary goal is to discuss the interplay of market ideology and historical trends in shaping our image. 1

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Similar arguments offered along these lines tend to focus on issues of national security. Kurt Müller (1986), for example, argued during the latter days of the Cold War that “the study of the use of foreign languages by the U.S. armed forces has revealed that language competence is an important component of national defense” (p. 138). Though national defense may not constitute “day-to-day” concerns, the tragic events of September 11, 2001, have reminded a grieving country of our need for language knowledge as well, as we seek to understand or eliminate those who launched the attacks. Methodological changes preferred by educationally progressive camps, similarly, have shifted to communicative, “real world” emphases that infuse the curriculum with what is seen as everyday relevance for students. Often, progressive educators have attempted to tie language proficiency to gains in marketable skills or tourist pursuits. Indeed, foreign language education has seen a century of remarkable change in terms of methodological theory in the United States. Certainly, lack of curricular innovation has not been an issue on the theoretical level. Some could argue, however, that what happens in the classroom has not changed appreciably (see, e.g., Connor, 1995). A third trend seen historically in foreign language education in the United States can be called a legacy of nonsuccess.2 Supporters of foreign language education have mourned the loss of our nation’s language competence (P. Simon, 1980), including some, as in the case of the much celebrated President’s Commission on Foreign Language and International Studies of 1979, who have concluded that the situation in terms of our nation’s language ability was scandalous. Recently, the president of Drake University in Iowa, a former professor of Russian, disbanded the entire foreign language department in favor of study abroad programs designed to increase language abilities in students, citing departmental failures as his reason (A. Schneider, 2001). In terms of the resources committed to language study in the United States, there was and is substantial doubt as to its benefit as currently practiced in the marketplace of graduates. Our legacy of nonsuccess has been reflected in the waxing and waning of enrollments,3 numbers perhaps of themselves largely inconclusive in determining our overall significance. Some scholars have even questioned the necessity of foreign language education in numerous forms, perhaps most often in terms of specific fields of study (for English, see Patty, 1989; for speech and communication, see R. N. Hall, 1976; for biological sciences, see Janies, 1969). In 1987 one study 2

I am choosing to avoid the term failure here due to an important distinction. Nonsuccess implies that we have not reached certain product goals (e.g., proficiency). Yet, foreign language education has played a significant sociological role in the United States—one that we are only beginning to understand. It can be argued that in that vein, the field of foreign language education has been quite successful in providing the country with a symbolic nod to diverse linguistic heritage without actually threatening the status quo. 3 For public high school 3 enrollment figures over the past century, consult http://www.actfl.org and select “About the ACTFL,” then “Special Projects,” then “Foreign Language Enrollments.” 2

LEAVING THE MARKETPLACE

5

found that doctoral degree requirements nationwide included 45% that required two or more foreign languages, with 14% having no foreign language requirement (Moore & Sacchetti, 1988). In terms of graduate programs in education, the 2000 GRE Directory of Graduate Programs in Social Science and Education indicates a remarkable, combined total of only 23 institutions requiring foreign language study without options for substitution in the fields of educational administration, curriculum and instruction, early childhood education, elementary education, secondary education, and “other” education, including bilingual education, social foundations, and Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL). In terms of anecdotal reports, it is not uncommon to hear of university faculty senates or high school principals debating the removal of foreign languages from general education or core curriculum requirements. At the elementary school level in the past decade, Foreign Language in the Elementary School (FLES) programs have increased almost 10% with suburban private schools as the leader in this area (Rhodes & Branaman, 1999, p. 12). Secondary school foreign language offerings have, in fact, remained relatively steady. Spanish has shown significant gains at all preuniversity levels, at times replacing other languages in the offerings (see Rhodes & Branaman, 1999). Gains in FLES may be in part attributable to the benefits attributed to FLES and routinely given as the rationale for the study of foreign languages at that level: gains in basic skills, communication, creativity, self-concept, career development, curricular integration, and cultural enrichment (Curtain & Pesola, 1994, pp. 7–9). It is also likely that gains in foreign language instructional offerings, where they exist, have benefited from an increased attention to articulation efforts (see Lally, 2001). Could the gains in Spanish also reflect a growing interest in linguistic diversity within the United States? Is it possible that the increases are related as well to the instructional approaches necessitated by FLES, deemphasizing structural knowledge and oral proficiency in favor of a more holistic view of language and culture situated within our own individual contexts? Though these questions have not been answered, attempts to explain the trends may offer some insight into the potential power of a world language education tied not to worn out ideas of education past, but to the vibrant realities of a societal present.

LANGUAGES IN THE MARKET Marketplace ideology in American education is not a particularly recent phenomenon. Kerr, in a subsequent edition, reiterated a statement first made in 1963: The production, distribution, and consumption of “knowledge” in all its forms is said to account for 29% of gross national product . . . and “knowledge production” is growing at about twice the rate of the rest of the economy. Knowledge has certainly

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never in history been so central to the conduct of an entire society. . . . And the university is at the center of the knowledge process. (Kerr, 1982, p. 88)

As a result of market ideology, language educators may continue to find themselves justifying the existence of language requirements at all levels, especially at schools and colleges where the curricular modus operandi increasingly follows logic similar to Chaffee’s (1998): The only reason to create and maintain a formal organization like a business or university is to perform functions that someone—a customer—needs which cannot be done alone or in small groups. A primary definition of what is needed is what customers are willing to pay for, which is determined by their resources and priorities. Competing demands for both public and personal funds are rising rapidly; the costs of operating a university are rising rapidly; and the economy is reasonably steady. This is a recipe for disaster in any industry unless customer satisfaction is rising rapidly. (p. 18)

The conservative position, as discussed earlier, holds that foreign language education is beneficial in the formation of the “well-educated” person; but it becomes complicated by calls to give students more choice in their school programs, or in their “consumption” of the educational process. Students can merely argue that they do not want or need to take languages, and marketplace rationales would support dropping such requirements from the curriculum. Political conservatives (who may or may not be educationally conservative) in general are unlikely to support grand-scale multilingualism in the United States, arguing that such movements could result in the disuniting or Balkanization of the nation (see A. M. Schlesinger, 1992, as one example of such arguments). The resulting paradox is that educational conservatives may issue calls for language knowledge, but when the requirements are implemented in a way that is sensitive to market concerns, the courses take shape primarily as a form of cultural capital entrenched in the tradition of schooling. In other words, students are expected to take a foreign language because it is “good for them” and part of an “education,” but no level of language proficiency is required. These practices, in turn, reflect what Freire (1997) calls the banking model of education and set up what Reagan (2002) refers to as a political economy of languages in education: Some languages “count” as appropriate for serious study (such as French, German, and Spanish), whereas others do not (such as American Sign Language, depending on context, Haitian Creole, Ebonics, etc.), often based on sociopolitical distinctions of prestige to the “educated person.” In practice today, though, the tension between the ideal of the “educated person” and the corporatizing of curricular programmatic thought (e.g., making decisions about curricula filtered through the logic of the marketplace) leads to a situation in which schools, as “producers” of a knowledge commodity, require language courses as an obstacle, filter, or hurdle to completing a course of study, or increas-

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ingly not at all. How many students have taken foreign languages at the college or high school level simply because it was a “requirement” prerequisite to the awarding of a degree or diploma? The progressive position on the other hand, relying on “real world” applications for justification and the shaping of curricula, fares just as poorly within evaluative frameworks drawn from market ideology. The explosive growth of English (Skutnabb-Kangas, 2000) and the geopolitical power invested in the language (Pennycook, 1995), renders real-world applications of the skills and knowledge gained in contemporary foreign language education in the United States minimal at best, and claims to the contrary suggesting that foreign language education provides “marketable” skills consistently fail to resonate as convincing with most educators. Language professionals themselves reject many such claims, as demonstrated by the authors of Idaho’s curriculum guide when they assert that, “As for studying a foreign language for vocational purposes, within this country there is almost always a plethora of native speakers of any language needed in commerce” (Idaho State Department of Education, 1994, p. 21). Curricular reforms, which have included such activities as asking directions in a foreign country, discussion of school schedules with students abroad, and similar approaches, do not pass a similar test of market usefulness. It is likely that the vast majority of Americans will never enter into such exchanges and that what little proficiency they may develop in our classrooms involves situations just as “foreign” to them as were the literary readings in grammar-translation classrooms of the past. It is certainly ironic that movements in the field to provide more “useful” language education could have suffered the same fate as their literaryfocused predecessors—that is, being seen as out of touch with contemporary educational trends. Language classes of today could be largely seen as extraneous to the market-driven schooling experience, and thus the absence of discussion in the United States writ large in the wake of international conflict should be troubling. As both liberal and conservative language educators have accepted the supremacy of marketplace rationales for contemporary language educational practice, the market demand for contemporary foreign language education as practiced has seemingly grown significantly smaller. And ironically, even as scholars have rightfully critiqued the elitist perspective of some who call for the “educated person,” they have unwittingly refuted perhaps the most compelling reason for language education—that is, that well-educated people should have some experience learning a second language. However, the logic of the marketplace, with its emphasis on production and consumption metaphors, fails to provide compelling arguments for contemporary language study. It fails, furthermore, to provide effective guidance on structuring foreign language curricula. Consumerism and market ideologies should not be the primary sources guiding the determination of educational requirements or programs in language education. Education certainly involves a student constructing knowledge, and student involvement in the process is important. The student’s needs and desires should

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not be summarily dismissed, but we must acknowledge that students are also situated and defined in a larger sociopolitical setting. At the same time, therefore, one must recognize that students’ needs and desires, or subjectivities, are situated within a larger social context, itself subject to market discourses. Some students may be extremely oriented toward the marketplace ideology, and may benefit from problematizing their perceived needs. Other students may already embrace alternative needs and desires as paramount, such as social justice or human rights.

WHERE CAN WE GO? ADVOCATING A CRITICAL PEDAGOGY OF LANGUAGE EDUCATION Critical pedagogues espouse the need for critical awareness and social justice, but have largely failed to recognize the role language education can play in their endeavors. The power of foreign language learning, those of us in the field recognize, can be a significant component of education. Our endeavor can indeed provide benefits to students not found in other disciplines. The critical critique of education, however, reflects my thesis here. Foreign language educators need to examine the frames of reference within which we have constructed our professional activities. Our endeavors are not apolitical, and our decision making should not stem from the marketplace. I do not mean to suggest that all marketable skills should be banished from the curriculum. Rather, I want to argue that multiple goals are not only advisable, but necessary to maintain an educated democracy. In his text on the influence of corporate culture in U.S. society, including education, Henry Giroux (2000) has asserted that: The last few decades have been a time of general crisis in university life. Issues regarding the meaning and purpose of higher education, the changing nature of what counts as knowledge in a multicultural society . . . and intensifying struggles over the place of politics in teaching have exacerbated the traditional tensions both within the university community and between the university and the broader society. . . . I have argued elsewhere that the question of what educators teach is inseparable from what it means to invest in public life, to locate oneself and one’s students in a public dialogue. Implicit in this argument is the assumption that the educators’ responsibilities cannot be separated from the consequences of the knowledge they produce, the social relations they legitimate, and the ideologies they disseminate. (p. 25)

In foreign language education, therefore, the focus of professional discussion should not be centered on whether students need to study second languages, but on what kind of second language education students should have at all levels and the justification of that form and focus of language education beyond marketplace reasoning. In the pursuit of education, teachers and students have an ethical responsi-

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bility related to the production and expansion of human knowledge that can be addressed through a thoughtful approach to world language education fully considering the context in which we operate. World language educators will need to reform and expand language curricula and instruction along the lines of a critical approach to language education, pedagogically oriented toward an exploration of issues related to the role of language in discourses, in discrimination, and in ideology. One powerful justification for foreign language education lies in the power of the process of language learning, perhaps even more so than in any product of language proficiency. As one example, the fact that words embody concepts and culture in a way that does not always include a one-to-one correspondence with words in other languages is a lesson learned only in the study of a second language. If the worldviews of residents of our global village are embodied, at least in part, in their languages, then the study of foreign languages is central to an educational program among people committed to democracy. As the study of natural sciences is vital to those who would live in and seek to understand our natural world, so the study of languages is indispensable for those who live in our social world. The former may be oriented toward technicist control, the latter toward understanding and promoting social justice. We also need a reinvigoration of curriculum development geared at aggressively pursuing the ideals embodied in the latest national standards.4 Communities of “world” language speakers are at home in most, if not all, areas of the United States, and engaging these realities within our classroom will be an integral part of such a reform. Curricular reform related to such additions will aid us in realizing the potential of our field in contributing meaningfully to life in a pluralistic democracy. However, age-old formulas for rewriting curricula are unlikely to meet the challenges. Approaches to both developing and understanding curricula typically utilize a hierarchical view of the curriculum development process. Although these ap4 4 With this suggestion, I depart from the position of many critical theorists who see standards as an embodiment of various forms of cultural domination. It is the case that standards can be a tool for continuing unequal relations of power in society:

While the proponents of a national curriculum may see it as a means to create social cohesion and to give all of us the capacity to improve our schools by measuring them against “objective” criteria, the effects will be the opposite. The criteria may seem objective; but the results will not be, given existing differences in resources and in class and race segregation. Rather than leading to cultural and social cohesion, differences between “we” and the “others” will be socially produced even more strongly, and the attendant social antagonisms and cultural and economic destruction will worsen. (Apple, 1996, pp. 32–33) However, I am proposing a markedly differing approach to curriculum development that should ameliorate some of those effects. The Standards for Foreign Language Learning provide an exceptional starting point for these reforms. However, before we venture too far down the standards/standardized test path prevalent in education in the United States today, it would do us well to consider Apple’s analysis and Elana Shohamy’s (2001) critical research on language tests.

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proaches do emphasize the importance of the connections and recursiveness inherent in the curricular process, they also present an insurmountable challenge to understanding the development, implementation, and evaluation of democratic, and especially critical, approaches to curriculum. Martel (2000) illustrates this point on a broader scale when noting that: There is a sense today that ideas, institutions, and political structures resting on the vertical [hierarchical] axis represent a deficit model of human organisation. Largely products and constructs of the Western world and of its political culture, like the Nation-State, products exported with Western Europe’s historical world-wide displacement of its internal competitions and wars, they are not adapted to meet the budding axial shift [to collaborative/horizontal frames]. They are not structures based on peace and sharing. (p. 154)

The point can be applied to the issue of curricula and curriculum development in the broader sense, because a critical pedagogy of foreign language education will involve the decentralization of the curriculum and instructional reform process in a move to counter the hierarchical approaches. Kumaravadivelu (2001) refers to a similar idea in the call for a postmethod pedagogy as do discussions of macrocontextualization in the literature (see Osborn, 2000; Reagan & Osborn, 2002; Reyes, 2002). Macrocontextualization suggests that we plan educational programs in language by referencing the local, regional, national, and global contexts in which the programs are situated. The contexts include social, political, historical, and ethical considerations that may vary considerably from classroom to classroom. The days of a “one size fits all” approach to language education already have passed or soon will pass. Hopefully, language educators at all levels will offer a significant voice in a critical reformation of the field. A revolutionary pedagogy cannot comprise solely rhetoric, however. It must translate into beneficial action. In this work, it is my goal to begin the process of building just such a bridge.

HOW DO WE START THE JOURNEY? Issues of language education are not merely academic—they are, in fact, fundamental to any stated or implicit goals of a just society (see Osborn, 2000, 2001, 2002; Reagan & Osborn, 2002; Shohamy, 2001; Skutnabb-Kangas, 2000; Tollefson, 2002). In Critical Reflection and the Foreign Language Classroom, I have suggested that: In effect, by assuming that all non-English languages are somehow related to that which is foreign, language educational endeavors serve to reinforce a language identity by default. Though challenges to English as an official language are often mounted, within the realm of commonsense, the national and official languages of

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the United States are both, and only, English. Non-dominant language speakers are thereby marginalized as the media of their expression take on a devalued position. A student who chooses to adopt the view of the dominant culture, therefore, is put in a position of assimilating linguistically. Further, those students who speak American English as a native language are firm in their beliefs that English is the language of the United States. (Osborn, 2000, p. 87)

In The Foreign Language Educator in Society: Toward a Critical Pedagogy, Timothy Reagan and I have argued that: We take as a given that foreign language education in American public schools is largely unsuccessful at producing individuals competent in second languages. We also take as a given that this lack of success is not due to any particular methodological or pedagogical failure on the part of foreign language teachers. . . . These factors alone do not, and cannot, however, explain the overwhelming nature of our failure to achieve our articulated goals. Rather, in order to explain why foreign language education is relatively unsuccessful in contemporary American society, we need to look more critically at the social, political, cultural, historical, and economic context in which foreign language education takes place. (Reagan & Osborn, 2002, p. 2)

Finally, in The Future of Foreign Language Education in the United States, I attempted to bring together a number of scholars, both within and outside the field, to share their input by asking them how the changing social and academic context of the field affects language education. I concluded that we have much work ahead of us in terms of exploring the social responsibility we hold as language educators, and pointed to macrocontextualization as one potent avenue of reform. Other language scholars, as well, have begun to examine our endeavors with a greater sociopolitical context. Eschewing a solely positivist understanding of language learning and teaching, the authors have issued calls for looking at the political, sociological, and historical frameworks within which students learn a language in addition to their own. Critical approaches to education have made significant inroads in language education. Notably, TESOL has seen a number of publications dedicated to these pedagogical positions (see, as an example, the autumn 1999 issue, v.33, n.3, of TESOL Quarterly, for a dedicated issue on critical approaches to TESOL). Within world language education, researchers have been applying critical educational studies with considerable growth in the number and kinds of research. Lourdes Ortega (1999), for example, explored ideological and structural constraints in foreign language education in the United States. Ana Roca (1999) described, in the case of Florida, attempts to articulate a foreign language policy in higher education, concluding: “The failure of foreign language education in the United States is often blamed on poor pedagogy and unqualified teachers, when in reality part of the problem is systemic, the result of politics, poor planning, and poor policies” (p. 304). Xaé Reye’s (2002) reflections on her own experiences as a speaker and

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teacher of Spanish, as well, have added to the literature, as she called for a reform of language curricula along the lines of authentic migratory experiences. Tollefson’s (2002) edited volume on language policy in education includes Wiley’s (2002) analysis of language rights in the U.S. context, significant facets in macrocontextualization. Guilherme (2002) has suggested that “the attempt to engage students and teachers in a critical pedagogy of foreign languages and cultures aims at bringing about their commitment to critical learning and the fulfillment of their roles as individuals and citizens” (p. 219). Ryuko Kubota (2003) has explored some specifics of how the Japanese are represented in foreign language textbooks from a similar perspective, noting, “the image of teacher-centered pedagogy and lack of critical thinking among Japanese students persists as a stereotype, influencing the thinking of not only the general public but also researchers in creating a dichotomy of US and THEM” (p. 82). Kubota, Austin, and Saito-Abbot (2003) noted: Teachers—as intellectuals and not mere technicians of learner-centeredness—have a responsibility to bring broader perspectives on critical issues to their students, rather than replicating past blindness to issues of difference and inequality. . . . Researchers and practitioners must shift their attention beyond apolitical appreciation and celebration of foreign culture, to critically explore issues of diversity and sociopolitical aspects of human communication, and to make foreign language education instrumental in creating greater equality. (p. 22)

Concerns remain. Most often stated anecdotally, the analysis offered by critical insights on language education are viewed with enthusiasm by scholars and teachers alike, yet the obstacles to translating these ideals into classroom practice are seen as insurmountable in a standards-crazed environment. Thus, many educators simply “wring their hands” and point out that the contemporary classroom implications of such theoretical standpoints are unclear, at best (for a particularly balanced criticism, see Johnston, 1999). As stated earlier, the goal of this text is to begin the process of building the bridges from theory to practice in teaching world languages for social justice. The theoretical background from which one could draw is immense. Critical theory, critical pedagogy, critical race theory, postcolonial studies, and postmodernism are just a few of the labels one may find in an attempt to begin the process of bridge building. However, I caution that this project must somehow disentangle itself from the “rhetoric of possibility,” which frustrates practitioners and students alike. At the same time, I cannot put forth here a “how-to guide” of teaching world languages for social justice. By definition, such an undertaking would be doomed to failure since the “how-to guide” based in a view of knowledge largely positivistic in nature is antithetical to the goals of social justice in education. I have therefore chosen to posit the text you are reading as a “companion methodology” that is grounded in experience.

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The experiences I draw from are those of educators who have already walked paths similar to the ones we dissatisfied language educators want to embark upon. The experiences and work of Paulo Freire and Myles Horton should prove inspirational as a starting point. I can, as well, draw on my own experiences as a public school foreign language teacher. But let it be clearly understood from the outset: Teaching world languages for social justice will be the result of the experiences of the teachers who read this text and employ practices similar to, but not necessarily identical to, the ones described here with their own students and communities in their own contexts. Teaching World Languages for Social Justice: A Sourcebook of Principles and Practices does not attempt to be a “how-to” or technicist guide for activity development. The intent is to promote your own skills in determining ways to incorporate local sociopolitical and cultural situations into the language classroom. Critical reflection coupled with a concern for social justice should be the guiding principles, not a formula or any exercise I have proposed for illustration.

A COMPANION METHODOLOGY To understand the nature of a companion methodology, we need to begin by considering the differences between the way we are taught to teach languages and the way languages are actually taught in the schools. As a single example, we may learn that students should be involved in communicative activities designed to increase their skills in reading, writing, listening, or speaking the language, and ideally in all four skill areas. Why then, can one find so many language teachers relying on textbooks, worksheets, and seatwork rather than, for example, cooperative learning arrangements or pairing students for information gap activities? In part, perhaps, one could attribute this dissonance between what we believe about language learning and our actions as teachers to poor pedagogy. Yet, it is also possible that another relevant consideration is important. Because schools function as institutions where socialization occurs and students are expected to exhibit certain behaviors in this setting, teachers are often judged based on their classroom management skills with subordinate concern given to the theoretical basis of their language pedagogy. In other words, we can accomplish certain behavioralmanagement objectives by utilizing seatwork that cannot be accomplished through pairing students for individual conversations. I am not suggesting that this practice is optimal, but it certainly functions as one way for teachers to balance competing demands on their classroom skills. The need for classroom management is an issue not only in classrooms where students are “unruly.” Certainly, where student resistance or opposition is an issue, the nonprogressive pedagogical practices are motivated by a desire to accomplish something in the classroom. However, in other cases, even with cooperative students, classroom management practices may reflect a teacher’s need to reflect

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authority and control in a setting where “control” is seen as a prerequisite to good teaching. A methodology is defined in Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language as, among other things, the “underlying principles of organization of a philosophical system or inquiry procedure.” Though this sense of the word methodology is often used in philosophical circles, it is useful as we look at the more general definition as “a set or system of methods, principles, and rules for regulating a given discipline.” Simply put, what I propose in this text is a set of underlying principles and rules for conducting inquiry into teaching world languages for social justice. This definition of methodology again underscores the point I made previously regarding the role of the reader/teacher in bringing this goal to fruition. As a companion methodology, I suggest that the principles contained within this text can be a good match for the existing methodological approaches within the field. Richards and Rodgers (1986) have provided a good summary of the methods and approaches, and for virtually any contemporary selection outlined, the principles herein can be used in tandem. This text may complement J. K. Hall’s (2001), Hadley’s (2001), Shrum and Glisan’s (2000), Ur’s (1996), or Lee and Van Patten’s (1995) introductions to methodology as well. In this way, companion methodologies are already practiced in language classrooms across the country. Whether stemming from a hidden curriculum or behaviorist holdovers, the image of students who are busily “on task” in their seats and quiet continues to provide new and experienced teachers alike with a picture of the ideally managed classroom, if one defines the concept in such a narrow, close-minded way. Yet, though we can easily enough dismiss the reasoning behind these impressions of a well-managed classroom, it is much more difficult to suggest that a teacher should ignore the social and cultural contexts within which she or he will often work. When a supervisor comes to observe, many teachers will choose activities and formats that are most conducive to the appearance of control, even if they are not the most beneficial pedagogically. The sociopolitical context of teaching in U.S. public schools often necessitates such a dissonant approach. There is obviously room in the language classrooms of the United States, then, for a number of organizing and regulating systems in place that influence curriculum, instruction, and evaluation. The dissatisfied language teachers I referred to at the outset may find solace in incorporating the companion methodology suggested here. In summary, we do not need to create a new methodology for world language education (indeed, “methodology” may be a concept that should go as well)—we need to work within existing political frameworks and methodological approaches to create space for dialogue related to advancing social justice. There is another compelling reason why I believe a companion methodology is the appropriate mechanism to use in understanding the focus of this book. A companion is one who accompanies. And teaching world languages for social justice

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is a journey, not a destination. The likelihood is that we will never achieve social justice in the world based solely on language teaching. Such an idealistic position would be understandably rejected. As a result, we cannot know what social justice in foreign language education will look like. To use the words associated with Myles Horton and Paulo Freire in their discussion (discussed in more detail in chap. 2), we do make the road by walking. A companion methodology can accompany us on this journey.

FURTHER ISSUES FOR CONSIDERATION In previous works, I have discussed the basic principles of a critical pedagogy, critical reflection, and the problems of “foreignness” as they reflect a form of othering in the language classrooms of the United States. The space limitations of the current work preclude laying out these issues in detail again, and I recommend additional suggested reading with subsequent chapters that can provide further background for the reader needing more detail or theoretical explanations. However, a few salient concepts deserve our attention at this point. Critical theorists argue that educational systems are replete with power relationships and that neutrality in knowledge production is largely a myth. Knowledge is produced in such a way that it reflects a process of mediation. In this process, some forms of knowledge are advanced whereas others are devalued. These forms of knowing, which are part of an individual group’s cultural capital, are subjected to marginalization due to their variance from that of the dominant cultural groups. Eye contact with the teacher is important in most classrooms for students who are to be academically rewarded through class participation credit. The music of Mozart and Beethoven is valued above that of rap and country by the institutions of education in the United States due to a variety of criteria that make some music more suitable for serious study. “Standard” English is considered much more socially valuable than Ebonics or southern dialect, and more appropriate for this society than any non-English language. This mediation is part of a larger process of hegemony, or controlling cultural groups without the use of force. Education is a primary player in the process, and specifically language education. As I have argued elsewhere: The schools fail to declare to their students the subjectivity and social, political, economic, and historical context of that which they teach as truth. The graduates are not taught to think in these terms because the schools’ function extends beyond (or, better said, not up to) the point of human enlightenment. Schools also serve to prepare the members of society of the next generation to function in that society. The plethora of ways beyond formal course content in which they do so, referred to as a hidden curriculum, however, tends to favor the reproduction of existing social or-

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ders. The hidden curriculum is that program of socialization in the schools which runs parallel to the explicit curriculum and inherently serves to benefit those whose cultural capital resembles that of the dominant culture, thus marginalizing others. It is the hidden curriculum which explains the preponderance of male success in math and science, the dearth of funding for the arts, and the failure of foreign language education to produce competent bilinguals in the United States. This social curriculum is not as hidden as the name implies. Expectations regarding behavior in schools in the United States are quite explicit in many instances. It is the power relationships underlying this school program that are primarily hidden. . . . By creating cultural referents of what is foreignness, voices can be marginalized that differ from those of the dominant culture. And the college-bound students of the United States are not even aware that such ideological frameworks, while seeming to be commonsense, are at least in part traceable to the educational context of the foreign language classroom. It is the ability to disguise the relationship as a label that is quite serious in terms of social justice. The curriculum, both in explicit and hidden forms, is complicit in the process. Language curricula, unavoidably, embody dominant cultural values that become elements of hegemony by perpetuating the normative “buy-in” of educated, dominant language-speakers. “Educated” members of a society believe that what they learned in foreign language classes, for example, was neutral, apolitical knowledge, when in actuality the curriculum served the interests of the dominant language group. This dominance is achieved by hindering the access to power of linguistic minorities through the creation of a commonsense assumption that non-English languages in the United States are a form of foreignness, and leaving in place an ideological tension between promoting foreign language education, but subsequently devaluing bilingualism. It is the case that the “failure” of foreign language instruction represents success in terms of hegemony. (Osborn, 2000, pp. 51–54)

An alternative goal for education, and one that is suggested through this text, is social justice. But what, exactly, is social justice? Humans crave order. In putting our social world in order, we often reduce quite complex issues to a word or phrase, and in so doing make decisions about which features to preserve and which to devalue. Language teachers encounter this on a daily basis with words that are somehow not translatable. The German word gemütlichkeit, for example, is often rendered “congenial,” but it encapsulates so much more than that word. The etymology (from Middle High German gemüetlich; from gemüete, spirit, feelings; from Old High German gimuoti; from muot, mind, spirit, joy) reveal some of those features that are missing from “congenial,” which is usually seen as “friendly and sociable.” As I write a text on teaching world languages for social justice, it makes sense to define social justice for the reader. But it is that assertion of authority that I must resist. How I define “social justice” may be a simple textbook phrase such as “members of a society sharing equitably in the benefits of that society.” But even as I craft a definition, I do so borrowing unconsciously from others in academe, as filtered through my own experiences and privilege, and subject to the influences of my own life. In my own human craving for order, I too have made choices to

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preserve certain features and devalue others. I may recognize some of those choices, but in all likelihood, I do not see most of them. Thus, for this text, I need to suggest that social justice in terms of language education will evolve as a concept beyond this work. It will evolve as the voices of those in the field begin to bring their own life experiences to the discussion, as we invite others to join us in the dialogue, and as we learn to listen to one another. Yet, I can suggest that the journey to social justice requires that we reject the supremacy of the marketplace, and with it the nation-state, as the primary force determining how curriculum are established and evaluated. I do not mean to suggest anarchy, and I am not advocating a particular form of government. I am, however, suggesting that the logic we have used to frame the parameters of the discussion in world language education are themselves inherently bound to the nation-state’s need to protect and progenerate itself, and will always be antithetical to any goals we may have of encouraging cross-national and cross-cultural understanding and acceptance. Spring (2004) explains: Nation-states and global institutions such as the World Bank share an interest in creating an industrial and consumerist paradigm in students’ minds for interpreting world events. When, in strong nation-states like Singapore and the United States, government officials refer to attacks on the nation’s “way of life,” they are usually referring to attacks on the ability of people to work for the consumption of goods. The industrial and consumerist paradigm results in students’ evaluating world events according to their effect on economic growth and the equal opportunity to consume. The hidden curriculum of schools is the imparting to students an industrial and consumerist paradigm. (p. 165)

Spring goes on to contrast this approach with human rights and environmental educators who advocate activist citizenship and the evaluation of world events in light of their effects on human rights or the biosphere, respectively. In this text, therefore, I assume a position on social justice that includes the evaluation of curricula based on their effects on promoting positive cross-national and cross-cultural understanding. The curricula are related to enhancing such understanding, and should be evaluated along those lines. There will understandably need to be a balance between the language skill and language understanding. I leave it to the profession to best determine that balance. At the same time, there is a significant need for further analysis related to issues of gender. Though many language teachers are female, there is little by way of examination of the role of gender in the world language classroom. Girls in adolescent education settings have been shown to experience a silent period related not to language learning, but to meeting contradicting demands of society. Maher and Ward (2002) point out: Whether we look at curricula, or children’s learning styles, or the value systems in classrooms and schools, the patterns of male dominance hold sway. Schools, like

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our larger society, are places where too often competition is the primary motivator for learning and where achievement is rewarded according to very limited and limiting standards. . . . Because the hard work of teaching is demeaned by being thought “natural” to women and not requiring much imagination and skill, predominantly male administrators and curriculum specialists take the power out of teachers’ hands and dictate what and how they will teach. (p. 93)

As a male scholar, I suspect these issues will be of critical importance in a successful transformation of the field, but cannot offer the perspective that will be needed. It is my hope that others will take up the cause.

HOW TO USE THIS BOOK The overriding purpose of the book is to suggest to the reader that the profession is ours to shape. Thus, the book should generate discussion, further research, experimentation, and reports on a number of advances. By all means, don’t just sit there. Try something! This book may be best described as a “postmodern textbook” in that it shares many of the commitments offered by such a work, as described by Silverman (1991): First, the goal of the text is not only to disseminate objective data and information, but also to stimulate the student to think critically and analytically. . . . Second, the author does not claim that the content of the textbook is comprehensive or all-inclusive, or that he/she is presenting a body of knowledge that is universally accepted or the unchallenged truth. . . . Third, the text is conceived as a work of original scholarship, not as an encyclopedic compendium of objective information. . . . Fourth, the author contextualizes the content of the text, in two ways: (a) The author speaks in his/her own voice (which is clearly identified as such), and may describe his/her own relationship to the material in the book. . . . (b) the text refers to the history of ideas, to intellectual traditions and schools of thought that inform current thinking on the subject. (pp. 180–181)

Spring (1991) offers a similar, but slightly differing, viewpoint: The postmodern textbook, as I conceive of it, retains the modern textbook writer’s concern with pedagogical methods but attempts to develop critical thinking, to present material in an interesting literary style, and to make a scholarly contribution. What I think can be learned from the modern textbook is that textbook writers must be consciously pedagogical. They must develop strategies for teaching the reader while avoiding the worst features of modern textbooks. The postmodern textbook should not present knowledge in an authoritative fashion, but should recognize

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scholarly debates over knowledge and the political influences that shape the knowledge of a field. (p. 186)

With these goals in mind, in each subsequent chapter I offer a balance between the theoretical and the practical, at the same time moving toward more sophisticated activities. In chapter 1, I suggest a companion methodology as a way of concretely taking critical pedagogical concepts and putting them into practice. In chapter 2, I lay out specific tenets that guide the formation of a critical companion methodology. These tenets add to the initial concept of companion methodology. In chapter 3, I advance specific concerns in the preparation of teachers that are part of moving toward a reformation of the field, describing the program I work in and its strengths and weaknesses. I am attempting to use the first sections of the book to set the stage for the later sections by dealing with broader concerns. In chapter 4, I offer a specific list of themes and then pillars as alternatives to the ones used today (weather, hobbies, etc.). I go on to mention specific verb forms and so on that could be covered. I offer a discussion of applying the theory and questions that students could explore related to Italian-Americans. In chapter 5, I offer a specific poem from German, and suggestions for how to incorporate the literary theories/critical theories in regard to a Spanish short story. In chapter 6, I give specific examples of discourse analysis, and work toward a longer, complicated example related to migrant (in)justice as an interdisciplinary unit in chapter 7. In chapter 8 I give the specific examples of building Web sites as a form of public journalism—a way students can apply what they have learned in terms of the model/approach I am suggesting. Chapters 4–8 are, I hope, progressive in that they move from simple themes and grammar topics up to much more complex units. I recognize, however, that some readers will bemoan the fact that their students may not be able to handle such sophistication. One of the greatest challenges teachers may face is how to motivate students to engage in the activities described in this book. Though I suspect almost anything would be more motivational than the inventory of language skills we seem to have used to design contemporary courses, it is an important challenge to address at the outset. I am often struck at how we spend so much energy trying to establish relevance for what we are teaching—in either curriculum design, instructional delivery, or even pleas for students to pay attention—yet we seem to have confused intellectual curiosity and motivation. I would submit that my students are not motivated by intellectual curiosity, but are intellectually curious once they are motivated. I suspect that it is what students find motivational is what they care about. Simon (2001), for example, argues: I have found that curriculum planning and implementation too often focus on teaching inventories of facts rather than on the deep questions that matter to human beings and that animate the disciplines. This finding suggests that, if we want schools

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to be vibrant places of learning, it is necessary to redefine the school subjects as explorations of perennial moral and existential questions and to redefine the role of schoolteacher as one who engages in and facilitates the engagement of others in such explorations. (p. 222)

The vibrancy would stem from students engaging in learning that they care about. It may or may not include intellectual curiosity. From another perspective, the goal of students in any classroom is related to an exploration of the social and cultural worlds in which they live. Students are probably not motivated to learn science because the formulas are “cool”—unless they have determined that knowing “cool formulas” is something they care about. Two decades ago, Lightfoot (1983) captured this facet quite appropriately, noting: For many students, high school stands uncomfortably between intellectual play and real work, and the no man’s land stretching between them tends not to be very appealing. Adolescents are inspired by the immediacy and practicality of work and the adventure and intrigue of intellectual play. One requires tenacity and responsibility; the other invites imagination, analysis and fantasy. Both reward different aspects of their being. Good high schools try to respond to the inevitable tensions that these adolescent needs produce and seek to create environments that will connect their students to the wider world and protect them from it. (p. 368)

Inspiration is indispensable for successful language study. Therein lies perhaps our biggest failure as a profession. We seem, at least collectively, to have lost our inspiration in an ill-advised search for technicist precision. Thus, I stress that teachers need to engage students in all aspects of the process, letting them take ownership, express interest, and shape the focus of activities. Such techniques are certainly not new to the progressive classroom, but do involve allowing for a shift in thinking. Ultimately, sharing successes with one another in this regard will advance the profession. As noted, in chapters 2–7, I include ideas for teachers to employ in language courses, and point to examples in English, French, German, and Spanish settings. Though, I do not think that these languages alone should comprise our language offerings in the United States, they are the most prevalent. My own area of expertise is German. If teachers develop activities for these or any additional languages, I would welcome them being sent to me via e-mail and I will include those that seem fitting in any subsequent edition of this book. This journey, without a doubt, will be one requiring the company of others. Let us begin. Questions for Discussion 1. The author discusses historical trends in education writ large and suggests that trends in language education should be considered in the light of broader trends. How have methods for teaching foreign languages reflected

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broader trends in education and society? Can you find the influences of behaviorism, humanism, and “accountability” in methods or curricula? 2. The author argues that language education should not be evaluated primarily based on market demands. Are there other industries or endeavors that cannot be evaluated based on their market value? Why do U.S. educators often defer to a market reasoning in decision making? Could reform in terms of funding education affect such reasoning? 3. How would macrocontextualization relate to a critical pedagogy? What limitations could be anticipated in terms of the effectiveness of either? 4. The text proposes a companion methodology and suggests that many “methodologies” exist in the schools today. Based on this claim, how do you think the author conceptualizes a methodology? Compare and contrast this definition with your own. Suggested Reading I have heard it said that the only difference in you 10 years from now and you today is the people you will meet and the books you will read. At the end of each chapter, therefore, I offer language educators some suggestions of texts that they may not have read. I do not agree, of course, with all that is written in those selections, nor would the authors likely agree with me. However, the selections should serve, along with those in the References, quite well in the purpose of expanding the parameters of our professional discourse. Apple, M. W. (1979). Ideology and curriculum. Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Delgado, R., & Stefancic, J. (2001). Critical race theory: An introduction. New York: New York University Press. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Continuum. Giroux, H. A. (1981). Ideology, culture, and the process of schooling. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Giroux, H. A. (1983). Theory and resistance in education: A pedagogy for the opposition. South Hadley, MA: Bergin & Garvey. Gore, J. (1993). The struggle for pedagogies: Critical and feminist discourses on regimes of truth. New York: Routledge. Herman, D. M. (2002). “Our patriotic duty”: Insights from professional history, 1890–1920. In T. A. Osborn (Ed.), The future of foreign language education in the United States (pp. 1–30). Westport, CT: Bergin & Garvey. Ilich, I. (1971). Deschooling society. New York: Harper & Row. Kramsch, C. (1993). Context and culture in language teaching. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press. Lewelling, V. (1992, December). Linguistic diversity in the United States: English Plus and Official English. Eric Digest. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. EDOLE9208) Moore, Z. (1996). Culture: How do teachers teach it? In Z. Moore (Ed.), Foreign language teacher education: Multiple perspectives (pp. 269–288). Lanham, MD: University Press of America. National Center for Effective Schools. (1994). Language, culture and identity. Focus in Change, 14, 1–2.

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National Center for Research on Cultural Diversity and Second Language Learning. (1992). Myths and misconceptions about second language learning. Washington, DC: Center for Applied Linguistics. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. EDOFL9210) Polio, C. G., & Duff, P. A. (1994). Teachers’ language use in university foreign language classrooms: A qualitative analysis of English and target language alternation. Modern Language Journal, 78(3), 313–326. Renner, C. (1993, November). Multicultural language learning: Applications in EFL curriculum development. Paper presented at the meeting of Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages, Italy. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED375611) Said, E. (1978). Orientalism. London: Routledge. Shanahan, D. (1998). Culture, culture and “culture” in foreign language teaching. Foreign Language Annals, 31(3), 451–458. Shor, I. (1996). When students have power: Negotiating authority in a critical pedagogy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Vygotsky, L. (1986). Thought and language (Alex Kozulin, Ed.). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

2 Dialogical Classrooms: Foundations of a New Foundation Overview In this chapter, you will read about:
Curricular bankruptcy.
Sprit and language.
Freire, Horton, and Grundtvig.
Process features.
Conflict.

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añuela sits back, stifling a yawn, and attempts to complete her part of the information gap activity or “Wechselspiel” as her teacher called it. Looking over at “Marlene”—her real name is Pía— Mañuela composes her response. “Nein, ich sehe zwei Kissen auf dem Sofa.” She remembers that Pía cannot see the pillows on her version of their worksheet. “Auf das Sofa?” Pía/Marlene queries? “Sí” she replies, quietly, realizing that Pía does not recognize the declension error. The bell rings and Mañuela heads for home on Schurz Avenue in the Bronx. She waves to the elderly Mrs. Nussbaum, a German immigrant, as she takes the key out of her pocket to enter her family’s apartment. Three thousand miles away, in California, Peter, or “Pedro” as he is known in class, watches a DVD on the “Day of the Dead” in his fifth-grade Spanish class. Just wait till my mom finds out that they were showing me a video about such evil things, he muses. She will hit the roof. Pedro glances out of the window to the playground and quickly waves to his friend José. They are planning to play soccer 23

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at the park around the corner from their house after school. He wishes he could go over to his friend’s house afterward, but José’s parents do not speak English and he feels uncomfortable there. These scenes could take place in any schools in the United States without stretching credibility. They also could illustrate the dire straits in which foreign language education in this country finds itself. At one level, the classrooms seem to be enriched and wealthy with DVDs and the latest pedagogical approaches. At another level, the context in which they take place reveals something completely different. Wealth, it turns out, is always constructed based on specific contexts. If I have 1 million U.S. dollars and live in Europe in 1055, I have no wealth. If I have two tons of salt and live in St. Louis now, its value is relatively worthless. Turkish lire at an all-night gas station when my tire is flat and I have no spare in Tallahassee are likewise of little use. The same can be said of education. For education to be worth something, it must be measured against the context in which it takes place, not simply based on content or method. And because all across the United States, the Mañuelas are neither learning about Carl Schurz nor speaking to Mrs. Nusselbaum and the Peters/Pedros are having their own religious convictions ignored and their friendship with Josés limited by their abilities to communicate with his parents, it is clear that we cannot claim any significant wealth in world (or foreign) language education. We worry about the political correctness of either the term world or foreign, rush to join the crowd in implementing our standards, and simultaneously fail to see the larger problem plaguing the profession. In terms of curriculum, we are bankrupt. There are entangled issues related to what I am calling curricular bankruptcy in foreign language education. The context in which we teach involves both social interaction and educational foundations. The former was discussed briefly in the introductory chapter and in more detail in other works. The latter is the focus of this chapter. These ideas must be discussed in more detail before we can proceed to exploring what teaching for social justice in world language education entails. The first step is an exploration of what I am calling “spirit” and its relationship to language education. By my exploration, I hope to provide an example of problem posing, a key feature of the dialogic world language classroom. Problem posing often includes controversial issues, conflict, and confrontation. These are not valuable in and of themselves, perhaps, but they do hold pedagogical value. Also note that I do not attempt to reach universal truths in the presentation of my arguments. I do intend to investigate power relationships within my own area of scholarship.

SPIRIT AND LANGUAGE Let us imagine for a moment that at a given point in time, all scholars in the field of art were color-blind. It is reasonable to assume that given such a premise, scholarship in the art field would be constructed in such a way as to reflect the

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predisposition of the scholars. Now let us assume that a few junior scholars come forward who want to publish work on color and its impact in the art world. The parameters of discussion that, at least in recent history, had been defined so as to circumscribe evidence and reason in the field would likely preclude the arguments and evidence presented by those who were not color-blind. The exclusion would not be intentional or malicious perhaps, but the discrimination taking place in scholarship would be real nonetheless. The analogy can be compared to the issue of spirit and language. In essence, the most significant damage done by positivism to the language-teaching and -learning enterprise may lie in its failure to understand the complexity of humanness. Whether we approach it from the basis of “faith,” “spirituality,” “holism,” or any other related construct, there is more to the human being than a physiological, or even rational, organism. It is not my point in this text to proselytize or to enter into finer points of metaphysical claims, debate, and scholarly repartee. I simply wish to argue that we should take it for a given, as many humans assert, that we and they are more than a sum of their physiological parts. At least in terms of the belief systems of Animists, Baha’i, Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, Native American beliefs, and others, there is a perceived incorporeal or metaphysical aspect to language, which may extend its impact(s) to language learning and teaching as well. And whether we as scholars give credence to Babel, Saraswati, or a “creator” as a source of linguistic diversity, this does impact inquiry in the field. What does it suggest, therefore, that positivistic limitations within the field, whether framed in quantitative or qualitative iterations of research, have stifled or even excluded inquiry into the relationship between language learning, teaching, and spirit based on the false neutrality of so-called “scientific evidence”? One may also consider that a relatively small handful of academics, without using force, have been part of the system that has de facto excluded the perceptions of countless millions of native language speakers who also hold beliefs related to their spirituality and language (see Cook, 2000, for an example of broadening the horizon of contemporary language scholarship). Is this scenario not a “textbook example” of the definition of hegemony? The power enjoyed by the academics in defining proper inquiry, their claim to authority, and the marginalization of the disenfranchised seems at least to lend the charge some credibility. Moreover, because we as a collective entity have failed to provide ample opportunity for the voices of those who see spirit and language as interrelated, we are at a loss to understand their implications or even begin the dialogue because our parameters of discourse function to exclude such inquiry. Consider Johnston’s (2003) daring struggle in this regard: The third facet of teacher identity I wish to examine is also one of the hardest to write about: the place of religious beliefs and beliefs about religious practices in what it means to be a teacher. . . . the issue suggests an important focus for future re-

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search. . . . Ultimately, our rejection of [a teacher’s pedagogical practices related to religious beliefs] . . . can only be based either in legal arguments (which are only indirectly related to moral judgments) or in our own beliefs, themselves rooted in faith, like the teacher’s, not in logical argument. (pp. 110–114, emphasis added)

Johnston’s acknowledgment of our lack of comfort in entering this discussion, though suggesting that argument following the rules of logic would be acceptable, highlights how arguments rooted in faith or spirit are excluded by the parameters of acceptable discourse within the field of language education. Could this argument be extended to critical scholarship as a whole? Social justice can be described as sharing social power and benefits equitably. But does social justice also include a component of the spirit as well? A universal, external, fragmentable, and controllable conception of social justice will, in the end, prove incompatible with the underlying principles of social justice because of the epistemological underpinnings associated with it. A framework based on harnessing reality for control (e.g., positivism) cannot incorporate, but it would accommodate, without any real threat to the status quo, an attempt to wrest control from the socially powerful within educational settings. Social justice, like language itself, is not something to be reduced to measurement and control, but involves elements beyond our current public level of scholarly ontological perception. Consider the positions or “quotable quotes” offered by some outside of traditional critical scholarship in language education.1 I have added emphasis in each case. Martin Luther King Jr. noted, “Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power. We have guided missiles and misguided men.” Earl Warren pointed out, “It is the spirit and not the form of law that keeps justice alive.” Harry Truman suggested, “Democracy is, first and foremost, a spiritual force, it is built upon a spiritual basis. . . .” The perception of Richard Bach is that “Humanity is not a gift of nature, it is a spiritual achievement to be earned.” And John F. Kennedy argued, “This country cannot afford to be materially rich and spiritually poor.” Have we, as critical scholars, realistically considered such insights or considered such referents potentially valid, logical, or otherwise? Can we realistically incorporate them into our scholarship without a reductionist impact? Where, then, does this leave the language educator interested in social justice? It suggests to me a sequence of claims. Positivists assume reality is absolute, external, fragmentable, and controllable. They may be correct as far as the natural world is concerned, and in fact as far as the physiological nature of human beings is concerned. But humans, perhaps unlike any other earthly creation, possess, in their makeup and among other things, a spiritual nature in addition to a physical one. Because spiritual understanding cannot be confirmed by reason or observation, it creates problems for the positivist and even more problems for the lan1

Quotes are retrieved from http://www.quotationspage.com. My purpose in doing so is to tap into the discourse examples available outside the (limited) parameters of scholarly evidence, though the Web is certainly subject to its own social and economic contexts. 1

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guage educator. Moreover, drawing on another common religious theme, because the will has been introduced into the human being, it creates the possibility that humans do not respond to predictable, controllable, natural laws, but are influenced by the spiritual nature of their being. In order to reject such a claim and thus avoid any complicity in negative outcomes, the positivist relies on objectivity or “objectivism” as a way of expressing neutrality while seeking to maintain or gain control. Bias is not the only thing to be avoided, but so is a morality based on anything other than reason. Such a morality may suggest an acknowledgment of the spiritual nature, and this would undermine the epistemological principles on which positivism is founded. “Science,” to the true positivist, has to by definition be morally neutral and only its applications are connected to morality. Why not simply frame this discussion as many in multicultural education have done (see Best, 2000, as an intriguing alternative example)? Why not simply discuss “spirit” in terms of common values or moral relativism? My aversion to these approaches in this text stems from the fact that in practice all three fall victim to the same assumed absolute, external, and measurable reality. Moral relativism in its extreme forms, for example, suggests that determinations of morality or right and wrong are all relative. But that is, in itself, an absolute claim and is all too readily accommodated into positivistic educational practice. Therefore, these approaches to understanding spirit would be accommodated with no real challenge to the status quo (consider “Black history month” as an example—its positive effect has been minimal in terms of educational reform). The positivistic position on spirit in education can be compared to a mathematician who rejects the concept of zero. Eventually, calculations suffer. Human beings do have a spiritual nature and thus when they interact with one another as, for example, speakers of different language varieties or language “teacher” and “learner,” they are not acting based solely on a reality that is absolute, external, fragmentable, and controllable (at least as humans understand such things). Perhaps it is possible that some great spiritual laws exist in regard to human nature, but if so and perhaps for the time being, they are beyond the reach of human understanding or at least control. Therefore, we cannot invent or discover a “formula” for the pedagogy of particularities (Kumaravadivelu, 2001), macrocontextualization (Osborn, 2000), teaching world languages for social justice, or any other language pedagogy that strives to take into account the whole of humanness. I would go so far as to claim that until critical understanding of education begins to entertain the possibility that humans possess and express this spiritual nature, they will continue to find the advancement of knowledge and their cause(s) blunted. Michael Apple (2001) taps into this truth when he asserts: If religious studies had a more central place within the curriculum, is it less likely that people who find in religion the ultimate answers to why they are here would be less mistrustful of the state, lass apt to be attracted to a position that public is bad and private is good? I am uncertain that this would be the case. But I strongly believe we

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need to entertain this possibility. . . . Our failure to provide a clear place for the study of religion in the curriculum makes us “illiberal.” (p. 221)

Apple’s point can be expanded even further using his earlier arguments presented in Education and Power (Apple, 1995). When fundamentalists of any faith reject the overt curricula of the public schools in the United States, they are in effect rejecting the hidden curricula embedded within positivistic approaches to education itself (though admittedly few would articulate it as such, instead attributing their objections to such concepts as “secular humanism”). Feeling marginalized, they then are drawn to the rhetoric from the Right that attempts to point the blame to the “liberal” degradation of morality. The damnable hypocrisy is that these political manipulators are the very ones who have championed the removal of “morality” from teaching in their zeal for hyperpositivist educational reform through standards and accountability testing. My point here is not to suggest that language classrooms become merely sites of religious exploration. I do stress, however, that the U.S. preoccupation with attempting to “sanitize” the classroom from discussions of controversial issues such as religion, however, is counterproductive in teaching for social justice. The fallout is both sociopolitical (in terms of those who feel justified in rejecting the validity of both such “sanitized” study and the perspectives of those who hold religious beliefs) and epistemological (by, in effect, color-blinding the field). Thus, the foreign language educator needs to concern her or himself with a number of tenets of teaching for social justice: 1. Positivist aspects of teaching must be identified through critical reflection and resisted. I have proposed curricular nullification in my earlier work (Osborn, 2000; Reagan & Osborn, 2002) as one venue of this resistance. 2. In education settings where faith and spirituality are embraced, foreign language pedagogy should aggressively strive to incorporate these aspects into the curriculum (see D. I. Smith & Carvill, 2000, as one provocative example).2 3. In educational settings where a supposed separation of church and state is “enforced,” foreign language pedagogy should strive to include descriptive (not prescriptive) examples of the moral or value-normative facets of language and culture, including religion when appropriate. 4. Teaching world languages for social justice begins with a teacher who is concerned about social justice and holds a belief in the students’ humanity.

2

I do not intend to marginalize these approaches to only the “faith-based” settings. However, in keeping with the continuing theme of working within existing constraints, my theory of macrocontextualization, and a longer range view of the transformation of language education, this recommendation becomes a first step in a more involved process.

2

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These first four tenets relate to the knowledge basis (or more precisely the paradigmatic epistemological underpinnings) that have formed much of foreign language practice in the last century. Even the interpretivist strands in the field remain wedded, to use Pennycook’s (2001) analogy, to a modernist application of findings. In other words, holistic truth is viewed as valuable in the national discourse only to the extent we can transfer the finding and extrapolate measurable, controllable “principles” of foreign language practice, despite any claims to the contrary regarding the principles of naturalistic research. How does this differ from my own endeavor in this text? In this work I want to suggest a framework for inquiry, not a pedagogical end in itself. This framework must be connected to broader social movements related to education as teachers seize back control of the classroom from those who would make teachers technicians of knowledge. In other words, this book is a discussion of process and does not yield of itself a curriculum. Second, the applications will of necessity vary depending on institutional, cultural, and other constraints. Teaching world languages for social justice will look different in rural southern Georgia, in an Islamic school in New Jersey, and in a Christian school in Grand Rapids. That difference should be taken as fundamental to the endeavor, even as context is fundamental to wealth. The key to transforming language education, therefore, will involve teachers employing strategies to teach for social justice within their own contexts and then sharing their experiences with one another. I discuss this facet in the final chapter of the text—for now let it suffice to say I am not proposing professional anarchy or chaos. Inquiry will be, of necessity, a grassroots effort. For the remaining tenets of teaching world languages for social justice that I suggest in this work, I turn to examples of education programs that acknowledged the class and conflict nature of social interaction without attempting to divorce themselves unnecessarily and artificially from the subjective, spiritual experiences of the participants. Perhaps the best two examples of this in recent history are Freire’s work in combating illiteracy and Horton’s work through the Highlander Folk School. As we look back further, Grundtvig’s approach to the development of the Folk High School (a source of inspiration for Horton’s work) is likewise illuminating.

FREIRE, HORTON, AND GRUNDTVIG Paulo Freire’s work, documented in Pedagogy of the Oppressed, is well known to many educators. Freire was a lawyer by training who, as head of the National Literacy Program in the Brazilian Ministry of Education and Culture, was instrumental in teaching peasants to both read the word and develop a critical literacy, or read the world. His work both influenced and was influenced by radical Catholic groups in Brazil and liberation theology.

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Myles Horton attended graduate school at the University of Chicago before traveling to Denmark to learn about the Danish Folk High School, itself the product of a movement associated with the educational ideas of Bishop Grundtvig. The Folk High School sought to move education beyond the stifling influence of government control (M. Horton & Freire, 1990). The experience and insights Horton gained were to be influential in the founding of the Highlander Folk School in Monteagle, Tennessee, in 1932. Highlander was instrumental in training a number of social activists associated with the civil rights movement in the American Southeast. These three men were men of education and men of spirit. They may have had differing or similar religious convictions, but more important for our discussion here, they recognized that any attempt at education involved recognition of the human spirit. Their educational philosophies and approaches reflected this fact. Freire (1993), in his discussion of the transformative educator, argues: It happens, however, that as they cease to be exploiters or indifferent spectators or simply the heirs of exploitation and move to the side of the exploited, they almost always bring with them the marks of their origin: their prejudices and their deformations, which include a lack of confidence in the people’s ability to think, to want, and to know. Accordingly, these adherents to the people’s cause constantly run the risk of falling into a type of generosity as malefic as that of the oppressors. . . . They talk about the people, but they do not trust them, and trusting the people is the indispensable precondition for revolutionary change. (p. 42)

Prejudice, trust, and adherence to a cause or loyalty are not matters of external reality. They are matters of spirit. And if trust in the people is an indispensable precondition, then in fact no revolutionary change can be spurred by academics without an acknowledgment and engagement of the spiritual side of humanness, as the people perceive it. Any attempt to debunk the spiritual perspectives out of a wellintentioned position of academic sophistication undermines the very basis of any transformational approach. Adams (1975) brings out a similar cornerstone of Highlander’s approach: [Highlander] is deliberately vague about its governing concepts, letting the people it serves and the times in which they live define precisely what brotherhood, democracy, mutuality, and united social action mean. These ideals change as people change. Highlander changes with them and avoids learning dictated from specific theory, learning that, by nature, would curtail freedom. (p. 206)

Note that Adams points to brotherhood, democracy, mutuality, and united social action as being ideals that change. They are not external realities that can be measured; they are defined in an evolutionary way. They do not exist statically. Freire (1985) likewise echoes this sentiment: “From the linguistic point of view, if an illiterate is one who does not know how to read and write, a political illiterate . . . has a naïve outlook on social reality, which for this one is a given, that is, social

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reality is a fait accompli rather than something that’s still in the making” (p. 103). H. Koch (1952) points to Grundtvig’s ideas in this vein: Here emerges for the first time the idea of an actual high-school for the whole people, a school for practical life, built on experience. . . . It was to adapt itself in each place to local conditions and specific needs. Just so long as it was everywhere a living school whose aim was not dead communication of knowledge but awakening and an increased zest for life. These schools must neither convey any set view of life nor give instruction in skills directly intended for use in practical [occupationrelated] life. (p. 146)

The adaptation of the educational system Grundtvig prescribes should not be accommodated in a positivistically filtered reading that reduces this prerequisite to “connecting to the learner’s world.” The suggested avoidance of “skills directly intended for use in practical life” should prima facie confirm my point that Grundtvig’s criterion is beyond such a reduction. Grundtvig’s educational goal of awakening was motivated by his belief that he was “first a man, then a Christian.”3 E. L. Allen (1949) expands on this theme in regard to Grundtvig, pointing out that the function of the Folk High School would let a person acquire a “spiritual view of life, an attachment to his fellows and his country, and a new understanding of his daily work as the means of serving them” (p. 79). Teaching world languages for social justice is not, therefore, about a fixed, hypothetical reality to which we wish to journey. Teaching world languages for social justice is about transforming our existing reality. Two additional tenets emerge: 5. Teaching world languages for social justice is not the end (in the sense of a goal) of education; it is the beginning. The world is changed by teaching world languages for social justice—that becoming the goal of teaching and learning. 6. Teaching world languages for social justice is not linear, it is recursive. Up to this point, I have looked at educational paradigmatic foundations and greater goals and objectives of teaching world languages. I turn now to process.

PROCESS FEATURES A. I. Horton (1989) points out that Highlander’s program had specific features of interest to this current endeavor: 3 3 I am aware of the connections between Grundtvig’s theory and the theories of Rousseau and Fichte and that he was criticized by Kierkegaard for his positions on the possible interrelationships of democracy, human rights, and the Christian faith. My purpose for bringing up his contributions here is that he provides us, and evidently Horton, with a basis for beginning the process. There is nothing in his theories that should be accepted, per se, as indispensable to the broader endeavor.

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There were two kinds of pre-conditions, the School believed, to developing an educational program which could basically influence community life. First, there was the relationship between the school and the community. The school and its teachers, it was emphasized, needed to be “a natural part of community life.” . . . The other necessary pre-condition had to originate within the community: some generally perceived crisis situation which could rouse people to want to do something. . . . The community program was to include, henceforth, not only discussion of subjects of concern and social and recreational activities, but direct participation in achieving an improved (if not a new) local social order. (p. 47)

Horton points to other salient features as well:
Activities included functioning together as a group to analyze situations (p.






50). Members of the communities learned to work together to bring about social change (p. 52). Music and drama were part of the social movement (p. 117). Stories of the workers in the labor movement were part of the history. Personal accounts are an important component (p. 121). The problems of local communities provided the basic content and focus for the educational activities (p. 205). For the program to be effective, it needed to be part of a larger social movement (p. 258).

In interesting parallelisms, Greene (1998) speaks of an approach to teaching for social justice that imposes differing orders on student experiences, including orders that defamiliarize, clarify, render problematic, or highlight. Perhaps similar to problem posing, process components of teaching world language for social justice do include inquiry. Ayers (1998) concurs: Teaching for social justice demands a dialectical stance: one eye firmly fixed on the students—Who are they? What are their hopes, dreams, and aspirations? Their passions and commitments? What skills, abilities, and capacities, does each one bring to the classroom?—and the other eye looking unblinkingly at the concentric circles of context—historical flow, cultural surround, economic reality. Teaching for social justice is teaching that arouses students, engages them in a quest to identify obstacles to their full humanity, to their freedom, and then to drive, to move against these obstacles. And so the fundamental message of the teacher for social justice is: You can change the world. (p. xvii)

Gross (1997), highlights a similar feature in collaborative curriculum design: Joint curriculum design questions predetermined topics and emphases. . . . [S]tudents and teachers need to study course outlines to establish essentials, suggest

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options, and find areas of common and individual interest. Students and teachers need to be able to associate course concepts with prior frames of reference and move beyond them into new explorations. When probed, knowledge and the quest for knowledge do not stagnate; they thrive. (p. 66)

Therefore, the process of teaching language for social justice includes a number of process tenets as well: 7. Teaching world languages for social justice involves inquiry with (not about or on) the students and the community, which may be focused on problems. 8. Teaching world languages for social justice does not elevate action above listening. Learning to hear those around us is not a passive skill, it is activism. 9. Teaching world languages for social justice is connected to other, broader social movements. The process of inquiry can follow what I have proposed elsewhere as the critical inquiry cycle (CIC) (J. Davis & Osborn, 2003; Osborn, 2003a, 2003b). The CIC does not presuppose an overly specific research question or a predictable outcome. It is a process of exploration that can be entered into by students, community members, and teacher as learners together, in their individual contexts. It consists of four phases, as illustrated in Fig. 2.1.

FIG. 2.1.

The critical inquiry cycle (CIC).

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Informed Investigation. The investigation begins or continues the cycle. It presupposes that some understanding of a socially relevant problem precedes the gathering of additional information. For a beginner’s language class, it may involve a simple question to start the process: “How do languages vary?” Students then begin to explore the possible variations of language as seen in their own communities. They can expand that lens from a town to a state or region or country using the Internet and other resources. In the Appendix, information from the U.S. Census indicates the number of speakers of non-English languages by county, grouped as Spanish or Spanish Creole, Indo-European languages, Asian, or Pacific Island languages. This information can be utilized to gauge in a specific locale how broad or narrow the lens will need to be, but it is helpful to note that in every state in the United States there are non-native speakers of English. As the cycle progresses through multiple iterations, this cycle will include action as part of the process. In the chapters that follow, I suggest a number of activities that can function as either the process or result of the informed investigation: literary study, critical discourse and visual analysis, interdisciplinary study, and public journalism. The overriding question becomes, “How can we change our world?” Once enough data have been gathered sufficient to proceed to the next level, students and teachers begin the phase of inductive analysis. Inductive Analysis. The process of inductive analysis is described by Erlandson, Harris, Skipper, and S. D. Allen (1993): A newborn has an amazing capacity for gathering and analyzing an array of data. He or she comes into the world knowing virtually nothing and is bombarded by tastes, smells, sights, and sounds. Conclusions emerge as he or she begins to understand and relate to the immediate world. For instance, a smile or chuckle is an appropriate response to an adult making an absurd face or repeating nonsensical phrases. A cry will get dinner or a diaper change. As time goes on the young child begins to use language to classify the unstructured experiences that surround him or her. Words, phrases, and gestures help in communicating with others and in reinforcing the conclusions drawn about the environment. This natural inductive analysis—or constructing meaning from a multitude of heterogeneous, specific data—is often stifled in the formal educational process and must be relearned for most adults. (p. 80)

Inductive analysis is a process whereby one attempts to make sense of phenomena in themes, categories, trends, or similar related patterns. Returning to our example of language variation, students may find that languages do come in variations. Perhaps they will see the patterns as “correct” and “incorrect” language varieties. Though linguists would reject such categorizations of rule-governed language varieties, such issues can be explored in subsequent phases. Tentative Conclusions. The tentative conclusions phase would involve articulating the patterns in such a way that we can then examine them for the biases

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or perception we each hold. Returning to the language varieties example, perhaps the conclusions would be: Some speakers of the second language (L2) in our community speak following the rules we learn in class. Some speakers of the L2 speak in ways not following the rules we learn in class. The articulated tentative conclusions then are examined and discussed in terms of critical insights. Specifically, one seeks to deconstruct the meanings we attribute to various concepts and seeks to illuminate ideological influences in the conclusions through the process of mutual critical reflection, while recognizing how socially relevant problems can be ameliorated. Mutual Critical Reflection. Mutual critical reflection (MCR) in the CIC begins with the acknowledgment that the tentative conclusions reached are not objective, but value-laden. MCR begins with a teacher–student–community member dialogues exploring our own privilege, our power, and powerlessness. In the example at hand, teacher and students may discuss the role of the school in defining what is “correct” language use versus “incorrect” language use. This phase then proceeds to a classroom–community dialogue, in which students and teachers explore the subjective nature of our endeavors in education, the importance of understanding that there is a relationship among our position of power and the knowledge we learn and produce in the schools of the United States. In terms of the language variety exercise, students and teachers could explore the differences between correct/incorrect and rule-governed/rule-violating examples of language. The process should end with a recognition of the limitation of the inquiry cycle, articulation and acceptance of contradictions, and an avoidance of meta-theories or all-inclusive conclusions. The results of the MCR phase become the “informed” part of the next “informed investigation” and the cycle continues, with teachers and students identifying the information they wish to explore next. The CIC could function as a starting mechanism and learners should revise, challenge, and confront the process as part of teaching languages for social justice. From process tenets, then, I move now to elements of conflict.

CONFLICT Conflict, for its own sake, is rarely helpful. But not all conflict is negative. Conflict as an inherent component of teaching world languages for social justice can be understood on two levels. First, conflict in “truth” is not intrinsically antithetical to social justice. Such a claim would likely be rooted in positivism, because

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paradoxes blunt attempts at control. Perhaps more important for this discussion is the realization that teaching world languages for social justice will lead to conflict, both internal and external to the teacher. Power (1998) explains: I learned that whenever you are in the classroom—and especially when you a white, middle-class teacher teaching a multiracial, multilevel group—you must think through the meanings of democracy, authority, and control. The contradictions inherent in the ideals of equality and liberty, respect for individual differences and the ethos of the group, the need for leadership and the need to share power pose as serious a challenge within a classroom as they do in the larger society. (pp. 106–107)

But the issues of conflict and contradictions are not confined only to teacher and student relationships. Freire (1993) contends: The radical, committed to human liberation, does not become a prisoner of a “circle of certainty” within which reality is also imprisoned. On the contrary, the more radical the person is, the more fully he or she can better transform it. This individual is not afraid to confront, to listen, to see the world unveiled. This person is not afraid to meet the people or to enter into dialogue with them. This person does not consider himself or herself the proprietor of history or of all people, or the liberator of the oppressed; but he or she does commit himself or herself, within history, to fight at their side. (p. 21, emphasis added)

Confrontation and conflict are by-products of challenging the status quo. Confrontation and conflict are part and parcel of entering into dialogue with people. And dialogic classrooms will inevitably be a site of conflict, thus the final tenet: 10. Teaching world languages for social justice is not conforming; it is confrontational. And in the confrontation, there will likely be conflict. Some learners may even express a sense of discomfort. As Lin et al. (2004) suggest, members of dominant groups may see themselves as lacking privilege merely because they lack the same economic resources as celebrity billionaires. There will likely be a need to explore the discourses we utilize in discussing the issues of social justice in language classrooms, and with one another. Indeed, there may be more than one uncomfortable moment as we embark on changing the discipline. That possibility should not dissuade us, however. Grundtvig himself had just such an experience in language classrooms: He was never able to forget the two years spent at Aarhaus in the grammar school— the endless memorizings, the dull grind at a dead language, and the strait-jacket of the examination system. Books, books—were there no other sources of wisdom than these? Did one learn a language, then, for the sake of its grammar and not for the new window opening out upon life that one might hope to find it its literature? And

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why the Latin language, with its pedantry and legalism, all so alien to the free spirit of the northern peoples? (E. L. Allen, 1949, p. 77)

Mañuela and Peter could likely sympathize.

CONCLUSION In this chapter, I have sought to begin the process of walking the road or sailing the ocean of teaching world languages for social justice. As a part of that process, I have levied accusations and critiqued the field in which I and we live and work. I have suggested that language education, because of its marriage to positivism, has largely failed to incorporate matters of spirit into our parameters of discussion. In so doing, I have not attempted to rework any pedagogy by simply replacing one set of universal truths for another. Instead, I have desired that we enter into dialogue—a conversation marked by humility, critical consciousness, and with an eye toward activism. The activism I am proposing here is the implementation of a critical inquiry cycle. This cycle will be informed by the work of Freire, Grundtvig, and Horton, but must of necessity become our own. Language educators not only should employ critical inquiry in their own classrooms, but must engage in critical inquiry about the process itself. We should draw tentative conclusions about the process of learning language in this way and engage in mutual critical reflection as well. Though the model I propose is certainly open to critique, change, and even outright rejection, I am firmly convinced there will be no other route to teaching world languages for social justice than that which we shall embark upon through the vehicle of inquiry. Questions for Discussion 1. The author argues that world language education has become bankrupt in terms of curriculum. How does the author propose that wealth or value be measured? How have other subjects, such as science or social studies, responded to changing social and cultural contexts? 2. When the author poses the problem of ignoring “spirit” in language education, he stops short of suggesting possible ways to incorporate such themes in public school language education. What possibilities could you imagine? What are the likely objections or limitations your suggestions might encounter? 3. The text draws on the work of educators who have employed approaches for social justice in their programs. How can their experiences inform our own attempts? How might their approaches limit our potential?

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4. How can students from differing religious backgrounds enter into a dialogue in the classroom? What can teachers do to create an open forum where it is safe to express conflicting beliefs and retain mutual respect? 5. The chapter outlines a number of tenets of teaching world languages for social justice? Which one do you find the least compelling? What tenet might you add in its place? 6. Is conflict inherently a good or bad thing in a democracy? Explain your position. Suggested Reading Adam, F. (1975). Unearthing seeds of fire: The idea of Highlander. New York: John Blair. Ayers, W., Hunt, J. A., & Quinn, T. (Eds.). (1998). Teaching for social justice: A democracy and education reader. New York: The New Press and Teachers College Press. Hodge, R., & Kress, G. (1993). Language as ideology (2nd ed.). London: Routledge. hooks, b. (1994). Teaching to transgress: Education as the practice of freedom. New York: Routledge. Horton, M., & Freire, P. (1990). We make the road by walking: Conversations on education and social change. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Kuhn, T. S. (1970). The structure of scientific revolutions (2nd ed.). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Shor, I. (Ed.). (1987). Freire in the classroom: A sourcebook for liberatory teaching. Portsmouth, NH: Boynton/Cook. Tannen, D. (1998). The argument culture. New York: Random House.

3 Teacher Preparation as the Basis for Praxis Overview In this chapter, you will read about:
Assumptions in language teacher education.
Preparing language teachers to teach for social justice.
The University of Connecticut program.
Credentialing reform.
Professional organizations and accountability.
Shall we be a field divided?
Standards and assessment.

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n his presidential address at the first meeting of the International Society for Language Studies held in St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, Timothy Reagan noted the epistemological lenses from which we proceed in language studies, with specific reference to the limitations and inequities their underpinnings force upon us. Henry Giroux (1997), in his landmark treatment of the “culture of positivism” in education, noted the far-reaching effects of this form of rationality in the curriculum field: Guided by the search for reliability, consistency, and quantitative predictions, positivist educational practice excludes the role of values, feelings, and subjectively defined meanings in its paradigm. Normative criteria are dismissed either as forms of

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bias or are seen as subjective data that contribute little to the goals of schooling. Criticism of this sort is often couched in calls for more precise methods of pedagogy. (p. 19)

Denzin (2001) pointed out a number of characteristics of the positivistic approach to education that can be illuminating in terms of our current approaches to language education. Drawing from these sources, I begin by arguing that contemporary language teacher education is based, in part, on the following assumptions: 1. Language can be presented as an “objective” reality. 2. The language user can be meaningfully separated from the language. 3. Generalizations and observations regarding language teaching can be presented free from situational and temporal constraints. 4. Learning to teach a language is or can be a value-free (technicist) process. It is important to point out that I am arguing for a continuum related to these four claims, not for a binary absolute. In other words, we have chosen in the profession to assume that truths about language teaching are closer to these four claims than their counterparts at the opposite end of any individual continuum. In this chapter, I want to argue that the opposite assumptions are more appropriate, but recognize that neither extreme is fully embraced within the profession. These assumptions are both accepted, and resisted, within the field. What follows, then, is a brief synopsis of the basic rationale and implications of my challenging these positions. Language can be presented as an “objective” reality. Language, as a social phenomenon, is particularized. It is used in a multiplicity of individualized forms, known as idiolects. What we teach as the “language” is in fact a consensus form of similarities among numerous idiolects. There is no neutral and natural definition of “German” or “French” or any other language. Thus, teaching language by presenting it devoid of the social constellations that birthed it, including differential power relationships, is both inaccurate and a reflection of the “culture of positivism” within our own domain. The culture of positivism is explained by Henry Giroux (1997): “The central assumption by which the culture of positivism rationalizes its position on theory and knowledge is the notion of objectivity, the separation of values from knowledge and methodological inquiry alike” (p. 11). Thus, in foreign language education we assume that we are transmitting a knowledge base (i.e., the target language) that is an objectively derived construct, when this is demonstrably not the case. The language user can be meaningfully separated from the language. The second point follows the first in that having objectified the language by stripping it of the social context of its genesis, we reintroduce the social nature of language by “adding” the speakers of the language as part of the content. They are separated from the languages that they created and are viewed as a fragmentable sector of the language phenomenon.

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Generalizations and observations regarding language teaching can be presented free from situational and temporal constraints. Because language is, at its heart, fundamentally a social activity, then it follows that language teaching must be so as well. “Methodology” courses that present principles of language teaching devoid of the myriad of social contexts in which language teaching takes place and methodologies are designed (even if also taught with a concurrent, but separate, field experience or course in social and cultural aspects of teaching) thus perpetuate an illusion of the “scientific” neutrality of methodological theory and pedagogical practice. Furthermore, though educational movements embracing “standards” are approaching a decade of influence in our field, several arguments in critical educational studies depict standards when they function as national curricula as an embodiment of cultural hegemonic practice. Learning (inquiry) to teach a language is a value-free (technicist) process. Language learning and language teaching become reified as value-free endeavors through the elements that have been presented previously. Because the teacher preparation programs mask the value-laden decisions inherent in what constitutes language through the logic of positivistic discourse, the language teacher fails to grasp the most fundamental of assumptions necessary for theory-informed praxis—namely that the social context of language teaching is inseparable from its other aspects. As a result, reflection in praxis and particularly any form of critical reflection is at least stymied, and at worst, precluded. Critical reflection in the foreign language classroom focuses on the ethical and moral dimensions of teaching and learning (Reagan, Case, & Brubacher, 2000). In the case of the U.S. foreign language classrooms, critical reflection would of necessity take into account that teaching languages is historically and fundamentally a political activity (Reagan & Osborn, 2002). Thus, the context of the language teaching (including the school, the community, etc.) is intrinsic, and our values related to issues of language and cultural diversity are not separable in the process. To be sure, language educators have addressed the role of contextualization in the classroom (see, e.g., Shrum & Glisan, 2000). This approach, however, focuses almost exclusively on the actual linguistic code itself being presented in context and not on language teaching as being a contextualized endeavor as well. As Kumaravadivelu (2001) explains in regard to a postmethod pedagogy: As a pedagogy of particularity, a postmethod pedagogy rejects the advocacy of a predetermined set of generic principles and procedures aimed at realizing a predetermined set of generic aims and objectives. Instead, it seeks to facilitate the advancement of a context-sensitive, location specific pedagogy that is based on a true understanding of local linguistic, sociocultural, and political particularities. (p. 544)

In my earlier work, I referred to this shift in curricular emphasis as “macrocontextualization”: Macrocontextualization is the process of planning and implementing language instruction by incorporating the local political, economic, and cultural factors relating

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to linguistic diversity with the intent of developing students’ skills in understanding the role that language plays in society. Beyond current goals of simply developing marginal skills in the language, students acquire an awareness of how language issues function in their society to both empower and discriminate against various segments of people. (Osborn, 2000, p. 114)

As Denzin (2001) clarifies in regard to the way we approach educational research, “This [current] standpoint presumes a universal sociological subject, the white male. It presumes a view outside society and argues that society can be written about from the position of an objective observer” (p. 45). I (Osborn, 2000) have explored this phenomenon as “foreignness” and Reagan and Osborn (2002) have argued that a critical pedagogy of language education would include a treatment of metalinguistic concepts leading to a critical language awareness. The sum impact of these factors, I contend, is that language teacher preparation that prepares language educators to have a technicist view of standards does not adequately allow for space in which initiatives related to social justice can emerge. Though arguments against standards from critical circles tend to focus on either the positivistic epistemological underpinnings or the connection between standards and national testing, I contend that in our unique field, a meaningful bridge between the Standards for Foreign Language Learning and a critical pedagogy of foreign language education is entirely possible. To accomplish this aim, however, teachers will need to forge critical applications of the standards. The Standards for Foreign Language Learning posits an agenda for foreign language education within the U.S. setting that is potentially less transmissionist and more process oriented in the categories of the five C’s (communication, communities, connections, comparisons, and cultures) (see National Standards in Foreign Language Education Project, 1999). The philosophical statement used to frame the documents specifically points to proficiency in a language other than English as prerequisite for those students who would be “equipped linguistically and culturally to communicate successfully in a pluralistic American society” (National Standards in Foreign Language Education Project, 1999, p. 7). If we accept this statement as indicative of an overarching goal for standards in foreign language learning, rather than simply asserting that we need standards to keep pace with the other “core” subject areas, then we begin to see how a critical pedagogy of foreign language can emerge in the context of the standards-based classroom. To do so, however, we must think of “successful” communication as involving more than a mere transfer of information. It is illustrative to consider a brief exploration of potential connections among the idea of a critical approach to language education, concerned with unmasking the discourse inherent in our use of languages both first and subsequent, and the positions articulated in the standards document. Standard 3.1 suggests that students “reinforce and further their knowledge of other disciplines through the foreign language” (National Standards in Foreign Language Education Project, 1999, p. 9); the cultures standards refer to relationships between products, prac-

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tices, and perspectives of the culture studied; and the comparisons standards suggest that students develop insight into the nature of language and culture. Let’s examine each of these in terms of critical approaches to language education. A critical approach to language would provide reinforcement to critical thinking that is encouraged in courses in history, as an example. Not only is history written by the victors; language (or at least “proper” or “correct” language) is determined by the powerful (see Reagan, 1997). One need only see the rhetorical battles being waged in the contemporary media by politicians over terms like terrorist and freedom. The Iraqi regime was accused of using “terrorist tactics” in the way they fought war—in complete indifference to the rules for such combat. Yet, one would be hard-pressed in the U.S. setting to convince many that the colonists used “terrorist tactics” as they hid to attack the British who marched in the customary practice of plain view. Language struggles are as real as wars, and the fallout can be as significant. A critical approach to language education can also shed light on the linguistic products and practices as they reflect the perspectives of multiple cultures. It is not necessary that such treatments be laden with the difficult concepts of hegemony or ideology to be taught. Students can encounter the concepts inductively, with an articulated progression through the levels of language education. As the critical approach to language education becomes integrated into all that we do, a student is afforded a richer and deeper insight into the nature of language and culture, as the comparisons standards suggest. To this point, I have argued that despite a technicist approach to language education, supported by the positivistic facets in the manner that teachers are prepared in the U.S. setting, a critical approach to language education could be applied utilizing the national standards. A point that is perhaps more important relates to the values underlying the discussion: Bluntly, should a critical language educator attempt to work within existing standards structures or should she or he reject the standards completely based on their positivistic, educationally conservative, and political premises? The first question, logically, may be whether a critical pedagogy of language education is possible within the existing order. To illustrate, Freire (2000) contends that: No oppressive order could permit the oppressed to begin to question: Why? While only a revolutionary society can carry out this education in systematic terms, the revolutionary leaders need not take full power before they can employ the method. In the revolutionary process, the leaders cannot utilize the banking method as an interim measure, justified on grounds of expediency, with the intention of later behaving in a genuinely revolutionary fashion. They must be revolutionary—that is to say dialogical—from the outset. (p. 198)

Freire’s position would tend, perhaps, to preclude utilizing standards, which are arguably based largely on a banking model of education, as a springboard to the

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ends I suggest. Yet note that Freire’s statement identifies revolutionary leaders who need not take full power, but must also not utilize banking methods. It is at this point, I contend, that teacher education becomes the catalyst for social and pedagogical change in our field. Language teachers can learn to teach language in a revolutionary, or dialogical, fashion even as they utilize the standards. Topics related to power and social justice, as I have shown, fall fully within the parameters of the standards. Indeed, as I progress through this work, I often refer to the standards and thus assessment implications of the ideas and themes presented here. If we can begin to revolutionize teacher education, away from the positivistic facets outlined at the beginning of the chapter, such curricular changes are well within our grasp. To do so, however, will require building language teacher education with attention to countering the assumptions as follows: 1. Language cannot be presented as an “objective” reality; language is a cultural product played out in cultural practices reflecting multiple perspectives. 2. The language user cannot be meaningfully separated from the language; indeed she or he becomes the “perceiver” whose perspectives were mentioned earlier. 3. Generalizations and observations regarding language teaching cannot be presented free from situational and temporal constraints; though in “methods” we can discuss common theories and practices, any discussion of those theories and practices must be contextualized within the power structures that reify them. 4. Learning to teach a language is a value-laden process—it involves examining one’s own privilege and position in terms of language and culture in the global context. Beginning a revolutionary pedagogy in the sense articulated by critical pedagogues is possible within the standards-crazed classrooms of the United States, and such changes can work within existing constraints to create space for dialectic, and ultimately change. We have come a long way in terms of being on par with the “core.” It can be the common aim of language educators to facilitate and celebrate diverse languages, both at home and abroad. For those of us who work in language education and are concerned about social justice, accomplishing these objectives must certainly become our new standard.

PREPARING LANGUAGE TEACHERS TO TEACH FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE Now that I have outlined some of the structural barriers in teacher education, it is important to discuss fundamental changes in teacher education programming re-

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lated to overcoming these barriers. Bearing in mind the tenets presented in chapter 1, the following recommendations can be put forward: 1. Language teacher education should include critical reflection on the preservice teacher’s own language learning experiences, both native and second language. 2. Language teachers should be prepared to function as intellectual and cultural workers, not as representatives of a foreign language or culture, but as facilitators of multicultural dialogue. 3. Language teacher education should be highly integrated in terms of curriculum and assessment to include language instruction and pedagogical instruction. 4. Language teacher education should be community based as well as schools based. 5. Experience living abroad (for an extended period of time) should be indispensable in language teacher preparation. 6. Language teachers should be charged with the obligation to continue the development of critical reform of the field. 7. Sweeping credentialing reform is needed to include many more native speakers in the United States in the teacher corps. 8. Major initiatives in extending sequences into the elementary level and articulating among levels should be continued. 9. The role of professional organizations should be critically examined by teacher educators, preservice teachers, and in-service teachers. I now expand on several of these issues.

THE UNIVERSITY OF CONNECTICUT PROGRAM Approximately 15 years ago, the Neag School of Education at the University of Connecticut developed extensive reforms to its teacher education program. Originally a typically modeled program, the teacher education program instituted these changes in a 5-year integrated bachelor’s/master’s program (IB/M). The IB/ M program has since received national and international attention, in part through our participation in the Holmes Partnership, a national group of research-oriented universities committed to the reform and improvement of teacher education. We are also part of the National Network for Educational Renewal, associated with John Goodlad’s Center for Educational Renewal. Students are admitted to our program as a cohort. They are selected through a rigorous screening process, and are expected, prior to admission, to have an extended study abroad experience or near-native command of the language, to pass

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the Oral Proficiency Interview and Written Proficiency Test (WPT) at the level required for state certification (Intermediate High) prior to admission, to have volunteer experience working with children, and to have an exceptionally high grade point average. Students must satisfactorily complete a group interview, where we pay careful attention to their interactions with others and their awareness of issues in education. The IB/M program shares among subject and grade levels a number of commitments as well, including:
A broad liberal arts background, with a specific subject matter major, is part

of each preprofessional student’s university program.
A common core of pedagogical knowledge is required of all students in the





IB/M program, regardless of their area of specialization. Subject- and grade-specific pedagogical knowledge is tailored to the certification area toward which the student is working. Teaching competence is built across six semesters of progressively challenging clinical experiences. Every student must participate in at least one clinical placement in an urban setting. Students should engage in analysis of and reflection on the interplay among student characteristics, teacher practices, and the broader issues and concerns of parents and society, an essential process in preparing educators to be decision makers, leaders, and innovators for the 21st century.

Some may question the need for such stringent requirements in a field that is a “critical shortage area.” We recognize the concern and have taken steps to increase the number of students we graduate through innovative postbaccalaureate programs modeled after the IB/M. However, students in the program are expected to assume roles in schools not merely as “technicians” of curriculum content, but as transformational leaders. We incorporate a number of assumptions in the foreign/second language program design, including:
Language educators should have a strong academic preparation in the lan-

guage or languages that they intend to teach, as well as in appropriate related fields of study.
All preservice teachers should have a wide variety of different kinds of clinical and field experiences, including school-based experiences in and out of certification area, at different grade levels, in urban settings, and in both special and “regular” education settings.
Language educators should have opportunities to engage in reflective inquiry in the classroom setting, and should be encouraged to study and test their ideas in the foreign language classroom.

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Language teachers should be prepared to assume leadership roles in the

transformation of foreign language education to the core of the educational experiences of all school children. As the students progress through the program, these assumptions are clearly visible throughout their courses and clinical experiences. Philosophically, the Foreign Language Education program at the University of Connecticut reflects a strong commitment to communicative and contextualization approaches to language learning and language teaching leading to language competence and proficiency along with critical reflective practice in second/foreign language teaching, and to constructivist views of language learning. We believe, in accord with the “K-12 Student Standards Task Force” of the American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages (ACTFL), that: Language and communication are at the heart of the human experience. The United States must educate students who are equipped linguistically and culturally to communicate successfully in a pluralistic American society and abroad. This imperative envisions a future in which ALL students will develop and maintain proficiency in English and at least one other language, modern or classical. Children who come to school from non-English-speaking backgrounds should also have opportunities to develop further proficiencies in their first language. (National Standards in Foreign Language Education Project, 1996, p. 7)

As part of the final year of their program, students participate in inquiry projects, often modeled after qualitative, critical, or action research approaches, and in internships designed to further their development as instructional leaders. Though we are pleased with our efforts to date, we recognize that there is more to do. The Foreign Language Education program in the Neag School of Education emerged from and involves close alliances among the School of Education, the Department of Modern and Classical Languages in the College of Liberal Arts, and several Connecticut public school systems. The disciplinary strengths of the liberal arts departments are thus combined with the research capacity of a major, nationally recognized School of Education, as well as with the experience and insights of outstanding public school educators. This has resulted in substantive efforts to improve both the preparation of new teachers and the experiences of public school students.1 In 2003, the Neag School of Education was recognized in a study commissioned by the Carnegie Foundation as one of the leaders in teacher education in the United States. As a result of a “Teachers for a New Era” grant of $5 million, the Neag School of Education will redouble its efforts in working with our colleagues in the arts and sciences, with schools, and particularly with assessment as we learn to incorporate assessment and evidence-driven components in our ongo1

1

I am indebted to Timothy Reagan for his assistance in preparation of our program description.

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ing reform efforts in teacher education. Indubitably, such attention will become mandatory for all teacher education programs. How to balance the increasing demands of technicist approaches to education with approaches related to social justice will certainly become a paramount challenge for programs in the United States.

CREDENTIALING REFORM Though our rigorous teacher preparation program has provided a number of excellent teachers for the classroom, virtually all of the states are experiencing significant crises as language teacher positions go unfilled, though the shortages vary by language and geographical region. Public school teachers, who are subject to state licensing, often are required to have specialized training in the “discipline” of language in addition to language proficiency. I would argue that such a requirement is indeed reasonable. Of course, as a professor in a School of Education, I also support pedagogical instruction from those who have specialization similar to mine as a prerequisite to licensure. However, I have been privy to a number of somewhat Kafka-esque discussions based on credentialing structure where I have been unable to recommend admission to a teacher education program to a highly qualified, native speaker of language because of the way “credits” are interpreted. One would-be teacher who held a Ph.D. in English from a university in Paris was not qualified to be a French teacher (though she was a native speaker), because she did not have enough credits in “French.” Ironically, she would qualify to be an English teacher. I am not suggesting that we should remove the college graduation requirement nor abandon an expectation that some academic preparation in the language is important. However, if a native speaker student takes a history course in their own non-English language, perhaps we could recognize that course for the “credit” needed to be a language teacher, not a history teacher. Certainly, courses offered in a second language at universities outside the United States that focus on history, political science, sociology, literature, philosophy, religion, fine arts, and many other “cultural” topics have a positive impact on the teaching in the field. And because native speakers should have a significant voice in the reformation of the field, their inclusion among the world language teachers striving for social justice is desirable. It would seem that such approaches would be preferable to the lengths some states have been willing to go to as a measure for dealing with crisis situations, including the Texas reform requiring merely a bachelor’s degree and a passing test score (J. Hasegawa & R. Schwab, personal communication, November 12, 2003).

PROFESSIONAL ORGANIZATIONS AND ACCOUNTABILITY ACTFL has been an invaluable resource for language educators. As noted on the organization’s Web site:

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Join the team that will lead the foreign language profession into the 21st century, and gain access to . . .
the latest in methodology and pedagogical research
nationally recognized leaders in the field
a network of colleagues across the country and around the world
the tools you need to prepare your students to participate successfully in today’s multilingual world and global economy. (http://www.actfl.org, retrieved July 28, 2004)

One resource developed under the guidance of the organization was the oral proficiency testing program known as the Oral Proficiency Interview (OPI). As described in a recent statement on the Web site: The ACTFL OPI is currently used worldwide by academic institutions, government agencies, and private corporations for purposes such as: academic placement, student assessment, program evaluation, professional certification, hiring and promotional qualification. The ACTFL OPI is recognized by the American Council on Education (ACE) for the awarding of college credit. (http://www.actfl.org, retrieved July 28, 2004, emphasis added)

In my own state of Connecticut, the Praxis II exam for foreign language teacher certification has been replaced for foreign language educators by the OPI and WPT, in addition to the writing proficiency test. However, because Praxis is administered by Educational Testing Service (ETS), an educational and testing organization, rather than ACTFL, the shift has created a paradoxical situation for preservice teachers. Specifically, they potentially see ACTFL not as a network of supportive colleagues and resources, but as an evaluative body that can “make or break” a person’s entry into the profession. This development may certainly resemble the role of board examinations in medicine, but it should be noted that the initial licensing of physicians is separate from board certification. Yet, the OPI may well be an appropriate vehicle for ensuring the level of language ability desired in the nation’s teachers, and we use it in our own program, as described earlier. The National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE), similarly, has developed standards that serve an important role in the improvement of teacher education programs. In the past and currently, NCATE accreditation was and is considered by some as the mark of a truly excellent teacher education program. In the state of New York recently, regulations were passed that required every teacher certification program in the state to be NCATE accredited or to seek an alternative accreditation in cooperation with the state. Programs that are not accredited within the given time frame will no longer be allowed to prepare teachers for state certification, in effect making the standards and the review process a litmus test of accountability. Because NCATE has accepted ACTFL’s proposed guide-

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lines for language teacher education programs (including the OPI as a required program component), it seems reasonable to question if this relationship continues to the point of imperiling or at least radically redefining professional unity. There is a tendency demonstrated in the stories of the OPI and NCATE accreditation of benchmarks and standards set by members of the profession being utilized by the state for purposes of its own. Some colleagues have even indicated to me privately that one of the reasons they feel compelled to participate in developing these documents is that the government (or state) will, if we do not. Certainly a discussion for purposes of improving our practice is not inherently negative. In fact, in my own Neag School of Education, we found the process of NCATE accreditation professionally invigorating. Within a given political context, however, the very same process that was meant to be dialogic and supportive can become stifling and threatening. It is this shift that potentially threatens to tear the membership of the profession apart.

SHALL WE BE A FIELD DIVIDED? Let us consider the possibility that current movements in education continue along their political trajectory, and that accountability of teachers continues to be a buzzword. Because accountability can quite easily be linked with student performance, perhaps the various standards including Standards for Foreign Language Learning, which have already been further articulated in terms of benchmarks, can begin to be used to determine who should continue in the profession.2 After all, if a teacher’s or professor’s students have not achieved the benchmarks recognized by the profession, perhaps the instructor is to blame. And our own dialogic instrument could be used as the justification. There would need to be an arbiter appointed, of course. Some entity would need to serve as the agency making the determination as to whether students achieved the benchmarks. That entity would need to include those with expertise in the field, of course. Logically, any number of professional foreign/world language organizations could serve that role. And given the role that both NCATE and ACTFL have taken on at the state’s (from here forward I mean in the sense of a nation-state) behest, such a possibility is not beyond reason. However, in so doing, that organization moves into the paradoxical position described previously in terms of my preservice teachers and the OPI. The language teacher’s relationship to a professional organization could be as constituent or as a subordinate. And it is the current political context of standards movements in education that could drive such a wedge in our profession. 2 2 Though I have not discussed exhaustively the standards documents that affect foreign language education, the Standards for Foreign Language Learning and NCATE standards are likely the most influential.

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As we approach changes in teacher education, there is no doubt that language educators are the best parties to proclaim how our endeavors should proceed. It is also important that we reach toward a common goal, but to do so without stifling the individuality inherent in the art and science of teaching. It seems that doing so would involve seeing language teaching first and foremost as inquiry. If language teaching is seen as inquiry, then the idea of language teaching as transmitting knowledge into students’ measurable “banks” is nonsensical. If language teaching is seen as facilitating group inquiry, then it cannot be easily reduced to technicist (or postivistically “engineered”) methods. Instead, it will by necessity shift toward assumptions of reality that are holistic, because instructors will proceed from assumptions of reality that see the native speakers/users as indivisible from the phenomenon of language. As a result, the social aspects of language as it is used in individual communities throughout the country become paramount. Attempting to evaluate student or teacher success based solely on fragmented pictures of “language” we use within the profession to promote dialogue and progress (such as the standards) can be more effectively challenged, if we recognize and act upon the political nature of language education. Second, we need to guard carefully the role of professional organization as collaborative network. Our power emanates from our professional unity, in both the current and future membership. Utilizing standards in ways I have discussed based in positivist assumptions of reality may have a disproportionately negative effect on segments of society whose culture is dissimilar to those who currently hold power. We can certainly play an advisory role to the state, but if the state seeks to utilize standards in creating a cadre of teachers who are viewed as technical implementers of a curriculum, we certainly can stand in opposition to this political movement by insisting that language teaching is much more. To manifest this resistance, we need to emphatically reaffirm the role that standards should play in the profession. And that will require united courage to do what is right for the future of our field.

STANDARDS AND ASSESSMENT The most significant standards for the evaluation of teacher preparation are the ACTFL Program Standards for the preparation of foreign language teachers (Initial Level—Undergraduate & Graduate) (for K–12 and Secondary Certification Programs), approved by the Specialty Area Studies Board of the National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education on October 19, 2002, and available on the Web at http://www.actfl.org, choosing “special projects.” These standards represent the most widely recognized and accepted reference for the evaluation of programs such as the ones discussed in this chapter. The standards are currently being implemented in programs nationwide and though some of these programs may be technically “in transition,” most of the recommendations and requirements embodied by

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the standards have been considered good practice in teacher education for a number of years. Indeed, the standards should already be extant in teacher education programs nationwide. In the section that follows, I explore how the approach presented in this companion methodology relates to the teacher education standards.

Standard 1.a. Demonstrating Language Proficiency. Candidates demonstrate a high level of proficiency in the target language, and they seek opportunities to strengthen their proficiency. Standard 1.b. Understanding Linguistics. Candidates know the linguistic elements of the target language system, recognize the changing nature of language, and accommodate for gaps in their own knowledge of the target language system by learning on their own. Standard 1.c. Identifying Language Comparisons. Candidates know the similarities and differences between the target language and other languages, identify the key differences in varieties of the target language, and seek opportunities to learn about varieties of the target language on their own.

As teachers begin to realize their roles in working for social justice by facilitating multicultural dialogue, they will as a matter of course encounter differences in varieties of the target languages and will learn about these varieties, as required in 1.c. The teachers will also be able to see the changing nature of language, see their own gaps in knowledge, and strengthen their own proficiency, both in teacher preparation programs and thereafter.

Standard 2.a. Demonstrating Cultural Understandings. Candidates demonstrate that they understand the connections among the perspectives of a culture and its practices and products, and they integrate the cultural framework for foreign language standards into their instructional practices. Standard 2.b. Demonstrating Understanding of Literary and Cultural Texts and Traditions. Candidates recognize the value and role of literary and cultural texts and use them to interpret and reflect upon the perspectives of the target cultures over time. Standard 2.c. Integrating Other Disciplines in Instruction. Candidates integrate knowledge of other disciplines into foreign language instruction and identify distinctive viewpoints accessible only through the target language.

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In their roles as facilitators of multicultural dialogue, teachers will enhance their awareness of connections among perspectives, practices, and products. As demonstrated in the chapters that follow in this text, literary and cultural texts as well as interdisciplinary knowledge can be a vital part of teaching world languages for social justice.

Standard 3.a. Understanding Language Acquisition and Creating a Supportive Classroom. Candidates demonstrate an understanding of language acquisition at various developmental levels and use this knowledge to create a supportive classroom learning environment that includes target language input and opportunities for negotiation of meaning and meaningful interaction. Standard 3.b. Developing Instructional Practices That Reflect Language Outcomes and Learner Diversity. Candidates develop a variety of instructional practices that reflect language outcomes and articulated program models and address the needs of diverse language learners.

Language teachers demonstrate an understanding of the role of motivation in language acquisition as well as the relevance of constructivism as they employ the principles and practices suggested within this work. The roles of students with learning disabilities, in fact, can become better defined in a world language classroom for social justice, which may positively impact student achievement as well.

Standard 4.a. Understanding and Integrating Standards in Planning. Candidates demonstrate an understanding of the goal areas and standards of the Standards for Foreign Language Learning and their state standards, and they integrate these frameworks into curricular planning. Standard 4.b. Integrating Standards in Instruction. Candidates integrate the Standards for Foreign Language Learning and their state standards into language instruction. Standard 4.c. Selecting and Designing Instructional Materials. Candidates use standards and curricular goals to evaluate, select, design, and adapt instructional resources.

As is demonstrated in the next chapters, integrating the goal areas and standards as articulated in the Standards for Foreign Language Learning is com-

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pletely compatible with the companion methodology proposed here. Teachers are expected to select and design instructional materials with reference to their own local contexts, which may reflect a more sophisticated level of ability when compared to merely adapting mass-prepared worksheets, and the like.

Standard 5.a. Knowing assessment models and using them appropriately. Candidates believe that assessment is ongoing, and they demonstrate knowledge of multiple ways of assessment that are age- and levelappropriate by implementing purposeful measures. Standard 5.b. Reflecting on assessment. Candidates reflect on the results of student assessments, adjust instruction accordingly, analyze the results of assessments, and use success and failure to determine the direction of instruction. Standard 5.c. Reporting assessment results. Candidates interpret and report the results of student performances to all stakeholders and provide opportunity for discussion. Standard 6.a. Engaging in Professional Development. Candidates engage in professional development opportunities that strengthen their own linguistic and cultural competence and promote reflection on practice. Standard 6.b. Knowing the Value of Foreign Language Learning. Candidates know the value of foreign language learning to the overall success of all students and understand that they will need to become advocates with students, colleagues, and members of the community to promote the field.

In each activity-based chapter that follows, assessment is briefly discussed related to proposed activities and the national standards. Teachers should reflect, report, and adjust lessons as a result of these assessments, utilizing varied models, and should explore the relationships of assessment among activities, social justice, and the standards. The teachers engage in professional development as they strengthen linguistic and cultural competence by interacting with local and regional speakers of their languages, or even as they engage in reading or writing about issues of sociopolitical importance. Perhaps most effectively, teachers can begin to address the issue of curricular bankruptcy as they advocate the value of foreign language learning in a U.S. democracy and in striving for social justice. Questions for Discussion 1. The assumptions about language teaching listed at the beginning of the chapter are likely more pronounced in some institutions than others. In your

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2.

3.

4. 5.

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own teacher education, how would you rank the influence of those assumptions? Are there other assumptions you would add? Would they be more or less influential? As the field moves from transmissionist (the teacher transmits knowledge of language) to critical (language teachers and students construct language knowledge related to their own contexts) approaches, what potential impacts do you see in world language education? In teacher education? What should be the function of the state in credentialing language teachers? What should be the function of a professional association supported by member dues? What similar or differing roles should the state and professional organizations play? Based on what skills or dispositions should language teachers be assessed before they enter the classroom? As employed teachers? What are the underlying politics of prerequisites that exclude native speakers from positions as language teachers based on educational preparation recognized by states? What can we do with challenges for hiring non-U.S. citizens in schools? What are the politics of OPI or other professional assessments in terms of linguistic and cultural norms?

Suggested Reading Kagan, D. (1993). Laura and Jim and what they taught me about the gap between education theory and practice. Albany: State University of New York Press. Reagan, T. G., Case, C. W., & Brubacher, J. W. (2000). Becoming a reflective educator: How to build a culture of inquiry in the schools (2nd ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press. Reagan, T., & Osborn, T. A. (2002). The foreign language educator in society: Toward a critical pedagogy. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Watzke, J. (2003). Lasting change in foreign language education: A historical case for change in national policy. Westport, CT: Praeger. Wells, G. (1999). Dialogic inquiry: Towards a sociocultural practice and theory of education. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press. Wells, G., & Chang-Wells, G. L. (1992). Constructing knowledge together: Classrooms as centers of inquiry and literacy. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.

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4 The Politics of Grammar and Vocabulary Overview In this chapter, you will read about:
Activity development.
Textbooks as choices.
Applying the theory.
Standards and assessment.
A thematic transition approach as alternative.

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uch emphasis can be placed on activity development in teaching world languages for social justice. In the next few chapters, therefore, I attempt to draw a thread through a number of activities that could support the effort. However, these activities function as suggestions, as regulative ideals perhaps, but in no way should they be viewed as prescriptive. Instead, by walking through the principles that drive the practices, I wish to set up a mechanism by which teachers themselves can explore their own ideas. Activity design may involve lesson planning and connecting to standards, as is the case currently. It may also involve adapting existing activities or approaches in a way that facilitates inquiry. These examples, therefore, may be illustrative of a process. Eventually, I suspect that others may wish to expand on these ideas either in books of their own, or in conversations in faculty workrooms. Either venue is ap57

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propriate. Curricular change at all levels should be engaged with the same critical eye I have directed toward other aspects of our profession. Regarding language proficiency, I am certainly aware that some of the activities I present require a great deal of expertise. Yet, the examples could be modified such that they can be done with little or no proficiency in a second language, and an articulated plan of increasing the requisite level of language skill could be developed. However, it seems not only defeatist, but contrary to the best interests of the profession to take the position that we cannot employ strategies to teach for social justice because our students do not have the language skills to do so. Such a claim becomes a circular paradox if one accepts that until students begin to see what they do in a language class as relevant for something more than getting course credit, they will be less motivated to learn. Instead, I submit, we can build both motivation and language proficiency concurrently, if we are willing to move outside of our time-honored comfort zones. Indeed, our approaches to date reflect socioeconomic and political realities we may not have fully appreciated, as is likely the case regarding textbooks.

TEXTBOOKS AS CHOICES A cursory review of language textbooks in terms of their choices regarding vocabulary and themes would likely lead one to conclude that an attempt has been made to connect language learning with the world of the students. That assumption could be based on the fact that chapters discussing weather, family, school, sports, hobbies, and similar topics tend to be typical of the mass-produced textbooks in the United States. Textbooks themselves, however, exist within a context. In the case of the United States, that context is a market that is national in scope. Michael Apple (1996) has commented on the role of textbooks in a broader political spectrum, citing an example of Texas: Texas . . . mandates texts that stress patriotism, authority, and the discouragement of “deviance.” Since most textbook publishers aim the content and organization of their texts at what will be approved in a small number of populous states that in essence approve and purchase their texts, statewide, this gives Texas (and California) immense power in determining what will count as legitimate knowledge throughout the entire country. (p. 48)

The market forces include an audience that has been largely constructed in the national discourse of language teachers as monolithic and fixed. Texas and California are interesting states to have this power in our field, because they are sites of significant language diversity and cross-cultural conflict. It could even be argued that the market consisting of powerful influences in Texas and California politics has incredible sway in regard to choices of vocabulary, themes, and gram-

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mar in world language classrooms, though the image of these people exercising that control as brute power seems somehow contrived. In any case, the depictions of “American” teens, their interests, and their worlds have largely become a matter accepted based on the idealized and reductionist perceptions of adults in political, academic, or publishing settings. Little, if any, research has been completed as to how the “world” of the student is or is not commensurate with the assumed world referenced to create language textbooks. And given the convincing failure of world language education to be seen as relevant in society at large, one might conclude that the distance between what textbook authors and producers assume to be the interests of students today and the students’ actual interests has become larger than the oceans we presume to separate us from “our friends” or the “new friends” so often caricatured in the texts as a rather unimpressive pedagogical contrivance. In other words, the languages of Spanish, French, and German are not necessarily foreign to U.S. students, but the absurd, essentialized world of those who speak the language as depicted in textbooks most definitely is. Who cares what my school schedule would look like in Germany?—U.S. students do not go to school there! They do not receive daily weather briefings in French, and they do not normally inquire of their Spanish-speaking classmates as to what hobbies they have. Novelty may have a limited pedagogical value, but we have seemingly constructed entire textbooks, and thus instructional approaches, out of a world that is predominantly alien to our students. The result, understandably, may have included a lack of interest in the subject and a need to focus on the basics of language such as grammar. Grammar has been a subject of much controversy over the years in languageteaching circles. Should we or shouldn’t we, how much and how, when and why should we teach students about grammar? Although teachers have learned about theories including a natural order to language acquisition, very few students would likely be motivated to learn grammar in a particular order merely because the language teacher asserts that it reflects their natural acquisition order. Pennington (2002) suggests that there are at least four approaches to grammar in the classroom: minimalism, incremental grammar, action grammar, and relevance theory. Minimalism reflects the Chomskian approach to providing the simplest Universal Grammar, based on the hierarchical and economy of structure. Incremental grammar is based on work out of the University of Birmingham and rejects the hierarchical view in favor of a chaining or seeing grammatical utterances as increments toward a communicative goal. Action grammar is Pennington’s classification of Clark’s (1996) work suggesting that grammars are interactive in nature and related to specific language communities in specific settings. Finally, relevance theory is related to the work of Sperber and Wilson (1995) and is highlighted as follows: In using language, speakers provide some signals for hearers as to their thoughts or intentions, and hearers seek to interpret these, based on their knowledge of language

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and other things. Communication involves a process of inferencing in which a hearer seeks to interpret the speaker’s intentions based on prior knowledge, a view of the current communicative situation, and perceptions of signals provided by the speaker, some of which are linguistic. (Pennington, 2002, p. 89)

Pennington goes on to argue that one of the central features of many of the “New Grammars” is a stress on the relevance of context. Context, in these views, should be an integral part of the pedagogy that is also tied to action and speaker–hearer interactions. Grammar is therefore a dynamic element of language use, not merely an unchanging, external reality. Any communicative emphases, furthermore, would lead a teacher to see grammar as a tool or means to a greater end, in any event. And such a practical consideration is consistent with the role grammar and vocabulary should play in a language classroom geared toward the ideals of social justice. The vocabulary and grammar could be employed for the greater ends outlined here. In the dialogic classroom, we would want to focus on grammar and vocabulary in a way that enables us to resist positivism, talk about values, continue the inquiry with students and community, learn to listen to the stories in the community and classroom, connect to social movements, and move into conflict. Certainly, such grammar is not foreign to what we do now. Imperatives, subjunctive mood, and register choices are, and would continue to be, germane. Grammar and vocabulary become a necessary prerequisite or corequisite to the activities described in other chapters. As students develop language skills, the activities presented in this book involving discourse analysis, literature, interdisciplinary work, and Web site development as public journalism, likewise, become possible. Though the points I have made to date have largely been related to the development of vocabulary and grammatical syllabi that facilitate specific types of activities discussed elsewhere in the text, it is helpful at this point to consider how the teacher who wishes to implement a course that primarily emphasizes sociopolitical awareness and critical reflection could determine the vocabulary and grammatical themes appropriate for study. To this end, Kubota’s (2003) discussion of critical approaches to teaching culture is helpful in shaping the curriculum of the foreign language classroom. She argues that one needs descriptive rather than prescriptive understandings of culture, acknowledgment of diversity within culture, a view of culture as dynamic rather than permanent, and an exploration of the discursive elements in our construction of cultural selves and others. These elements (called the four D’s) create a heuristic, not formulaic, backdrop for a discussion of vocabulary themes. Descriptive understandings of culture and an acknowledgment of diversity within culture lead students to critically examine the depiction of any culture as monovocal (both in the United States and abroad). Vocabulary useful for such topics would be related to identity, affiliation, law, rights, struggle, discrimination, conflict, socioeconomic class, and historical perspective. Furthermore, polit-

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ical or power relations inherent in choices of register and the concept of hybridity would be important to discuss. A view of culture as dynamic would likely involve the discussion of elements within society that either reflect or affect social change. Media accounts and political speeches are often textual representations of these cultural changes. As a result, language teachers could explore vocabulary related to journalism and public-speaking conventions. Discursive practices reflect social relations within the context in which they are practiced. As Kubota (2003) asserts, “the notions of discourse and discursive constructions of knowledge further reveal the politics behind certain knowledge about culture and cultural difference, providing an understanding that such knowledge is often used strategically for pursuing certain political and ideological purposes” (p. 80). For students to explore the production of knowledge in relation to its power underpinnings is an ultimate goal of language education in pursuit of social justice. In this vein, the vocabulary of critical pedagogy including hegemony, ideology, marginalization, hidden curricula, and resistance would be helpful. Learning these rather complex concepts as single word-for-word translations would likely be reductionist, however. Instead, it is preferable to use these concepts as organizing themes for broader studies. Thus, using Kubota’s “Four D’s” in shaping a course content, one could identify minimally 15 themes for the world language classroom: Identity Affiliation Conflict, struggle, and discrimination Socioeconomic class What we believe: Ideology Historical perspectives: To the victors Schools and languages: Hidden curricula Media: Entertainment Beyond manners: Register and political or power relations Whose culture is whose? Hybridity Media: Journalism and politicians Who is in control? Hegemony Law Rights Resistance and marginalization With further refinement, the list can be organized as four thematic pillars of world language education for social justice: identity, social architecture, language

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choices, and activism. These pillars would then have themes as related (but not mutually exclusive): IDENTITY: Identity (Who am I, who are we?); affiliation (Who are we? Who are they?); conflict, struggle, and discrimination; and socioeconomic class. SOCIAL ARCHITECTURE: What we believe: ideology; historical perspectives: to the victors . . . ; schools and languages: hidden curricula; and media: entertainment. LANGUAGE CHOICES: Beyond manners: Register and political or power relations; Whose culture is whose? Hybridity; media: journalism and politicians; who is in control? hegemony. ACTIVISM: Law, rights, resistance, and marginalization. As I have reiterated already many times in the text, these pillars should be seen as a source for beginning, not an end to themselves. The teachers and students who embark as learners together may well reject all four of these in favor of pillars more applicable to their own context, and thus their own learning experiences. However, in developing these themes, we can now look to outlining possible grammatical features that would relate to the themes. Identity, it would seem, would be similar to much of introductory language coursework as currently practiced. Personal pronouns, present-tense verbs, direct and indirect objects, and similar forms might predominate. Oral forms of language could predominate at this point, though certainly identity issues are not restricted to the oral dimension of language use. Social architecture would likely rely on past-tense verbs (especially for historical perspectives, etc.). Helping verbs such as should and must would be relevant, as would passive voice and agency. Entertainment and educational settings would often include communicative styles that are reflective of social relations such as the familiar and formal forms of address. Language choices explore sociolinguistic issues of competence in terms of traditional language educational thinking, and include register, politeness, and etiquette. However, a significant emphasis must also be placed on epistemological issues such as reality and alternative “realties,” thus the subjunctive and direct/indirect discourse distinctions would be relevant. At this point, reading and writing would probably be stressed to a greater extent because journalistic and political speeches lend themselves well to these skill sets. Finally, activism could stress speaking and writing elements predominantly. The specifics of composition, the mechanics of connected discourse, and letter writing, as examples, would be appropriate. At the same time, grammatical forms such as the imperative would be important for exploring activist stances. In relation to activism, the language skills of persuasion and structures used for argument and debate would be important.

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In this section, I have attempted to explore how teachers for social justice can rethink the curricular structure of the world language classroom related to vocabulary and grammatical arrangement of the syllabus. See Table 4.1 for a summary of potential connections. It has been my goal to demonstrate that there is nothing “natural” about the choices we are currently presented in textbooks. Instead, I have investigated the feasibility of reorganizing the themes and structures around a set of pillars related to social justice. My approach has not been prescriptive, but should be viewed as illustrative.

APPLYING THE THEORY The teacher and students who wish to explore issues related to social justice in the classroom can start with an analysis of themes appropriate for discussion. These themes should relate to local realities of linguistic diversity, but may include foundational aspects such as identity. Identity could be integrated into the CIC as teachers, students, and those in the community explore the nature of how we define ourselves and others. Perhaps social movements could be related, such as the political activism of immigrant groups and the antidefamatory efforts of heritage groups such as the Order Sons of Italy in America (www.osia.org) and their Commision for Social Justice. Consider a recent report released by that organization and available on their Web site, as summarized in the following release from the organization: The average Italian American is 34 years old, married with one child and has a median annual income of $61,300, according to a new report from the Order Sons of Italy in America (OSIA). “A Profile of Today’s Italian Americans” is based on data and statistics from the U.S. Census Bureau’s year 2000 census. It contains tables of statistics on the number and percentages of Italian Americans in all 50 states as well as the 50 cities and 50 metropolitan areas with the most Italian Americans. The Sons of Italy report includes a detailed demographic chart that compares Italian Americans to the total U.S. population with regard to marital status, divorce rate, education, employment and other demographics. Highlights from the report reveal that:
15.7 million people in the United States identified themselves as Italian Americans in the latest census; 1,000,000 more than in the 1990 census.
Italian is the fourth European language most spoken in U.S. homes.
Italian Americans’ level of education is above the national average: 48% of Italian Americans have either a high school or college diploma compared to 44% of the general population.
Most Italian Americans in the workforce are in white collar positions (66%).

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Vocabulary related to social and personal markers of identity and affiliation; conflict, expressing opinions, struggle, and discrimination; and socioeconomic class. What we believe: ideology; historical perspectives; schools and languages: hidden curricula; and media: entertainment. Manners, rhetoric, political or power relations; cultural products and practices, hybridity; media: journalism and politicians; who is in control? hegemony. Law, rights, resistance, unity, social change and marginalization.

Identity

Activism

Language Choices

Social Architecture

Vocabulary Themes

Pillar

Learning to question one’s own perspectives critically is a prerequisite to positioning oneself to make a difference. Language serves to reflect, resist, and re-create social realities.

Activism brings the learning to a point having personal meaning and social impact—creating a more socially just society.

Reading and listening

Reading and writing

Writing

Past-tense verbs Helping verb, passive voice, and agency. Familiar and formal forms of address. Register, politeness, and etiquette. Subjunctive and direct/indirect discourse.

The specifics of composition, the mechanics of connected discourse, and letter writing. The imperative, persuasion, argument, and debate would be important.

The language choices related to self and other impact issues of social justice significantly.

Speaking and listening

Personal pronouns, present-tense verbs, direct and indirect objects and similar forms.

Relationship to Social Justice

Dominant Language Skill(s)

Sample Structural or Grammar Topics

TABLE 4.1 Scope and Relationships of Pillars to Course Components

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“This report, based on solid census statistics, powerfully underscores the enormous gap between who Italian Americans really are and how we are portrayed by the U.S. entertainment, advertising and news industries,” says OSIA National President Joseph Sciame. (Order of Sons of Italy in America, 2003)

As our own critical inquiry becomes connected with broader social movements and inquiry in our own community, we begin to tap into the power described in the works of Horton and Freire. Within our own communities, for example, we could find some in each state of the United States who identify themselves as Italian Americans (even North Dakota has a reported 5,328—less than any other state—according to the OSIA report) and can compare their answers to those preconceptions we, and our students, carry regarding issues such as the following: identity (Who am I, who are we?); affiliation (Who are we? Who are they?); conflict, struggle, and discrimination; and socioeconomic class. Students can examine stereotypes depicted in television shows, movies, and other media as well in relation to the questions of identity, for example. By listening to the stories of those who are living the U.S. experience of linguistic diversity, as well as hearing their values, and when possible, in their own language varieties, we begin a powerful exploration that incorporates language learning and social justice to drive vocabulary themes and grammar choices. Students should then, after investigating the question of identity, utilize inductive analysis to draw themes from their work. Are there issues of importance, for example, to many Italian Americans? How do they feel that they are depicted? How do those in the language class receive such depictions? Do the students critically engage the depictions or accept them? How does language proficiency in English or Italian influence the depictions? Are there places in Italy that are depicted differently than others (Sicilians vs. Romans, for example)? And how is activism and struggle a part of the daily lives of the linguistically diverse in the United States? Eventually, students should be encouraged to reach tentative conclusions based on the research they have done with others, including those in the community. These conclusions may be stated as sentences or fragments—no form restrictions are inherently necessary, but could reflect the proficiency level of the students. The students must then, along with their coinquirers, begin the process of mutual critical reflection. Mutual critical reflection develops over time. It involves deconstructing our own assumptions, critically examining the inquiry process, and vigorously screening all of the facets for reflections of our own and societal bias. We must recognize the impact that our own power and privilege have on our construction of social reality, and explore ways in which we can move to change that reality to reflect a socially just one. Inquirers must question the nature of education, the importance and necessary and sufficient conditions for democratic society, and their own roles in the process both individually and as a collective whole. Indeed such reflections should eventually command the attention of the field.

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STANDARDS AND ASSESSMENT The Standards for Foreign Language Learning are used to direct many of the activities of the foreign language classroom. As I pointed out earlier, a number of scholars have questioned or scrutinized the underlying power relationships related to the standards. However, I have chosen to take the position that the beginnings of reform are possible, even with the standards-based language classroom. Therefore, I outline in this section the relationships of the standards to the ideas and activities discussed in this chapter. Readers should strive to critically engage both the standards and the connections I offer.

Communication. Communicate in Languages Other Than English Standard 1.1. Students engage in conversations, provide and obtain information, express feelings and emotions, and exchange opinions. Standard 1.2. Students understand and interpret written and spoken language on a variety of topics. Standard 1.3. Students present information, concepts, and ideas to an audience of listeners or readers on a variety of topics.

The ordering of grammar and vocabulary such that it follows student-led inquiry, as opposed to dictating classroom discourse, is a powerful change. Not only do we create and sustain an environment more conducive to teaching world languages for social justice, we immediately ask students to meet the three standards listed in the preceding box. Students must immediately be able to understand and interpret both written and spoken language as they interact with native speakers in their own inquiry. Students must present ideas and concepts on an incredible variety of topics, even if they relate to identity as we discussed previously. Furthermore, in the mutual critical reflection phase, it should be expected that differences of opinion will surface, and those can be supported with a variety of spoken and written evidence.

Cultures. Gain Knowledge and Understanding of Other Cultures Standard 2.1. Students demonstrate an understanding of the relationship between the practices and perspectives of the culture studied. Standard 2.2. Students demonstrate an understanding of the relationship between the products and perspectives of the culture studied.

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By inquiring into identity, as I have proposed in my example, students begin to construct a quite sophisticated understanding of the relationship between the practices and perspectives of cultures, as well as the products. These connections can be fostered by teachers certainly, but they are also required through the process of inductive analysis. Themes emerge as students begin to make these connections and the relationships are explained, not with a reductionist “textbook blurb” as is often the case in contemporary practice, but through a deeper, perhaps even emic perspective.

Connections. Connect With Other Disciplines and Acquire Information Standard 3.1. Students reinforce and further their knowledge of other disciplines through the foreign language. Standard 3.2. Students acquire information and recognize the distinctive viewpoints that are only available through the foreign language and its cultures.

Students most certainly acquire information and recognize distinctive viewpoints available through the foreign language as a part of the inquiry process. Though this information or these viewpoints may be implicit, as the CIC continues, they will be more likely to become apparent as teachers, students, and community members engage in the process collaboratively.

Comparisons. Develop Insight Into the Nature of Language and Culture Standard 4.1. Students demonstrate understanding of the nature of language through comparisons of the language studied and their own. Standard 4.2. Students demonstrate understanding of the concept of culture through comparisons of the cultures studied and their own.

The comparisons related to culture and language are inherent as identity becomes a focus of inquiry. The underlying assumptions that drive choices in the research, along with the questions and responses that are a part of the process, require a constant and consistent dialectical stance of comparison. This comparison, however, is much richer than the “us/them” formula prevalent in our study today. Instead, through the process of mutual critical reflection these comparisons are subjected to the scrutiny of critical engagement, and thus can become catalysts for change toward social justice.

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Communities. Participate in Multilingual Communities at Home and Around the World Standard 5.1. Students use the language both within and beyond the school setting. Standard 5.2. Students show evidence of becoming life-long learners by using the language for personal enjoyment and enrichment.

Finally, by connecting students with linguistic diversity within their own communities, they have experience in a way that language can be part of a lifelong process of personal enrichment and even enjoyment. Moreover, students gain a very powerful, yet guided, experience in using the language both within and beyond the school. These experiences are, in all likelihood, fundamental to any conditions of social justice affected by language education.

A THEMATIC TRANSITION APPROACH AS ALTERNATIVE I recognize that some teachers may be uncomfortable with an approach that embraces the ideals of critical theories as a starting point for generating a course scope and sequence. For those teachers, it may be more appropriate to look at a transition strategy. In Table 4.2, I outline a number of points of departure utilizing themes commonly found in contemporary textbooks for foreign language and aligning them with features of this text or issues related to social justice generally. Teachers may choose to incorporate the thematic transitions strategy to supplement existing course content and gain expertise in highlighting issues related to social justice. For teachers who employ a thematic transitional strategy, the assessment issues would, of course, be related to the specific activities or objectives chosen. Questions for Discussion 1. This chapter outlines the relationship, based on Apple’s work, among textbook selection, production, and worldview(s). How does the worldview presented in any textbook affect its acceptability in public schools? In private schools? In religious schools? 2. The author utilized Ryuko Kubota’s “Four D’s” to generate potential vocabulary and themes that would be appropriate in the language classroom. He did not, however, incorporate “spirituality” as a response to the problem posed earlier in the text. Was this a wise decision? Why or why not?

TABLE 4.2 Thematic Transition Strategies

Contemporary Themes Found in Textbooks Greetings and good-byes, classroom, and telling time

Color, opposites, and clothing

Numbers, year, and banking

Weather, housing, hotel accommodations, and furniture Family, yourself, women, society, character traits, the countries of the target language, and relationships Food, meals, restaurants, and shopping

Celebrations, traditions, calendar

City life, directions, travel, public transportation, social policy, and history of countries in which target language is spoken Sports and clubs, physical fitness, and nature and environmental protection Professions, education, leisure time, university study, and student life Entertainment, television, fairy tales

Possible Thematic Transition Strategies to Relate to Issues of Social Justice As part of the CIC, students are expected to practice inquire with, not on, members of the community. These themes will be basic to establishing such relationships and developing routines. These classifications are oftentimes related to identity, not only racial/ethnic, but also group affiliation through flags, clothing, etc. Opposites are an important component of othering as practiced in social discourse. The financial system is an important component of the economic and sociopolitical structures that are important features of investigation in relation to social justice. These themes can be explored in relation to homelessness, social status and class, and privilege. These themes are appropriately connected to issues of identity, as discussed in this chapter. There are other connections such as “othering” that might also be appropriate. These themes can be related to issues such as socioeconomic status, immigrant or overseas labor, consumerism, and the interrelationships of each. These themes may be helpful in exploring the power basis of assumed “neutral” issues such as tradition. Students could also explore cultural difference, group identity, and similar concepts. Language contact, multiculturalism, socioeconomic status, and migration/immigration patterns could be appropriately connected. The relationships of big business and consumerism to these topics could be explored. Issues of privilege, social and cultural reproduction, and similar topics could be related. These themes can be related to discourse analysis, media literacy, and literature as outlined later in this work.

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3. The CIC describes a format for ongoing inquiry in the classroom. Are there differences between inquiry and learning? How is this form of inquiry related to learning? How is language learning related to inquiry? What grammar and vocabulary choices could support student inquiry based on your explanation of language learning and inquiry? 4. The author suggests a thematic transition approach as a way of “working within existing constraints.” This theme is repeated throughout the text in numerous ways. Do you prefer to work within, or challenge, existing constraints? What are the limitations and benefits of both approaches? Suggested Reading Bakhtin, M. (1981). The dialogic imagination: Four essays (C. Emerson & M. Holquist, Trans.). Austin: University of Texas Press. Bateson, G. (1972). Steps to an ecology of mind. New York: Ballantine. Bourdieu, P. (1991). Language and symbolic power. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Dixon, R. M. W. (1997). The rise and fall of languages. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press. Van Dijk, T. (1972). Some aspects of text grammars. The Hague, Netherlands: Mouton.

5 Canon Fire: Why Literature Still Has Its Place Overview In this chapter you will read about:
The value and challenges of literary study.
Forms.
Characteristics.
Contexts.
Working through an example.
Standards and assessment.

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continue here with literature because it is familiar ground for most foreign language educators and therefore, like grammar and vocabulary, provides us with a common point of departure. Many of us studied literature rather extensively as our language learning continued at and beyond the undergraduate level. Literature in the world language classroom has long had an established role. When methodological approaches shifted from preparing students to read the great works of literature to a “communicative emphasis,” the role of literature became less clear. Yet, literature can continue to help us understand the social and cultural world we are shaped by, and that we shape. Very often literature performs the role of reproducing the ideologies and subjectivities of the powerful, if we do not take a critical analytical stance toward it. 71

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Literature in the language classroom continues to offer some positive benefits to the learner (Stone, 1990). Scholars have sought engaging and unique methods to tap into that power in the language classroom, ranging from genre study (Osborn, 1998; Van Vliet, 1992) to Holocaust studies (Lauckner & Jokiniemi, 2000). In lower-level or intermediate courses, though, the use of literature is often the topic of some confusion. Stone (1990), referring to secondary school language instruction, noted that “many teachers were frightened away from treating literature with their senior classes when communicative competence became the yard-stick with which to beat those who taught in accordance with the old line-by-line translation methodology” (p. 18). Students, as well, have expressed reservations about how literature is used in the language classrooms, some even seeing it as a tiresome translation drill (see Cohen, 1983; J. N. Davis, Miller, & Methany, 1992; Leopold, 1985). The standards-based classrooms of the future, however, can benefit from the skillful introduction of literary topics (Wilk, 2000), because as Stone pointed out: “literature study can strike a very positive chord indeed in the hearts and minds of young students” (p. 18). Lazar (1993) has produced a comprehensive volume on the introduction of literature in the language classroom that can benefit teachers who desire to do so, despite the fact that it predates publication of the contemporary foreign language standards. Even a decade prior, Kramsch (1985) had argued that there needed to be “a change of orientation and redefinition of teacher–learner roles in the discussion of literary texts” (p. 357). Despite the challenges posed by literature, many teachers use it in what I call a “springboard approach.” The springboard approach includes procedures that seek to use literature as a starting point from which to encourage communication, but they often ignore the artistic qualities of the works. These methods are indubitably pragmatic, in that they provide opportunities to practice the language skills and involve students in literature (see, as examples, Gorell & Charlebois, 1992; Leopold, 1985; Riley & Wolf, 1992). Students are called upon to demonstrate reading or listening comprehension beyond discrete components. For example, after reading the sentence, “The doctor and her husband went to the opera,” the students may be asked, “How many people went to the show? What kind of entertainment did they see?” Many of the graded readers and supplemental texts for use in the language classroom represent this approach. Some teachers have tried, as well, to capitalize on the beauty of literature by helping students focus on the aesthetic dimensions of it. Dunning (1968), three decades ago, for example, pointed out that: [A work of literature] is a living organism, conceived as a whole, created as a whole. . . . Appreciation of it, discussion of it, is meaningless unless launched from that perspective—from the thing seen and “heard” and felt complete, alive and functioning. The more individual items a student can grasp in this way, the more he may

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begin to realize the endless wondrous variety and the tremendous scope of the land of literature waiting for any willing explorer. (p. 49)

One possible way of capturing the aesthetic elements is through the use of genre theory (see Freedman & Medway, 1994; Van Vliet, 1992). Osborn (1998), for example, proposed that introducing students to short-story genre theory in language classes provides both an effective approach to addressing aesthetic elements at the same time it bridges a gap between intermediate and advanced language-learning levels. Lazar (1993) points to a number of students’ problems that could be anticipated for students who read short stories, including: Appreciating the style Focusing on individual words rather than general meeting Comprehension of text elements Understanding cultural background Motivation to study stories Making interpretations of the story As a result of such problems, some may argue that such approaches, though potentially motivational, are too advanced and complex for beginning students in language classrooms. They argue that language learning is linear; one must move from simple building blocks to complex tasks. This argument appeals to the logic that language education follows similar lines: grammar first, then comprehensive and complex topics such as literature or specialized language use (e.g., business language). This kind of linearity is far from universally accepted, however. Granted, students at this level are limited in their ability to use the foreign language. However, most students in an intermediate-level course are studying theoretical issues in many other high school or university classes. If these students enter the foreign language class to examine only surface-level meanings of texts, the level of intellectual stimulation, and thus interest, must certainly decline. If given the appropriate kind of assistance, it stands to reason that students might also be able to examine particular qualities of literature and that the instructor could integrate the study of these qualities into the intermediate-level course. However, further research is required to develop techniques that will increase students’ interest and provide a way to effectively teach literature at this level at the same time building students’ awareness of issues related to social justice. Teaching literature in foreign language classes presents the instructor with seemingly insurmountable difficulties. Students are limited in their use of the language and, as a result, often the time needed to address the vocabulary and grammatical structure of the work rules out the feasibility of assisting the students in examining the work as a literary creation. And, as methodological emphasis has shifted from translation-based learning, which utilized literary texts quite exten-

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sively, to communication-based learning, literature in the intermediate-level course has been either overlooked or discredited as a viable tool of instruction. Furthermore, today’s youth seem to have little interest in literature, in either their own language or a foreign language, as indicated by the attitudes they express about reading foreign language literature: an exhausting translation exercise, an experience that turns students off of literature forever, or an activity of simply no use (see Cohen, 1983; Leopold, 1985; Stone, 1990). Although some researchers have struggled to find ways to use literature in the communicative or proficiencybased classroom, few scholars in the past 20 years have addressed instruction of literary genre theory at this level (J. N. Davis et al., 1992; Osborn, 1998). In my own experience, students seemed most receptive, and the resulting work most productive, when I provided significant structure and abundant opportunities to visualize the piece, perhaps no great surprise for the sound-bite and video generation (see Osborn, 1993; see also Paivio, 1986). In some instances, the level of involvement was so high that they even resisted moving on to new activities. Effectively using literature in teaching world languages for social justice begins with an establishment and acknowledgment of selection criteria. Hodge (1990) explains: The need is not to eliminate the study of texts that form the canon, but to replace the tunnel vision of the past, controlled through the concept of a canon, with a broadly based practice that is situated socially and historically. This is not to say that the study of literature from the past should be deferred or disvalued, even for the moment. Rather the basis for that study of the past needs to be secured by the attention to the present. (pp. 233–234)

Though the anticanonists have brought very important facets to light, there have been others who dissent. Casement (1996), for example, argues: Another difficulty with anticanonism is its notion that reading the great books is an exercise in the indoctrination of conservative politics. The canon does not present a unified view at all, politically conservative or otherwise. And reading from its contents, unless done in an unnaturally selective and closed-minded fashion, provokes thoughtfulness rather than indoctrination. Anticanonism is wrong in its basic assumption about the content of the canon, and may also harbor a misunderstanding of how the process of reading the great books contributes to a unified knowledge, or is thought by canonists to do so. (p. 67)

As a result, the debates continue. Yet those in critical circles rarely advocate abandoning literary study. Reagan (2003) has noted how classics literature can even support critical language awareness in the classroom. B. Simon (2000), discussing the concept of hybridity from the postcolonialist view, argues that we should examine cultural politics and global relations in our efforts to study literature. As

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we reorganize would languages curricula in an attempt to move toward social justice, then, we need a differing approach to literature to complement our efforts. A second principle of effective use of literature in the world language classroom relates to the aesthetic. Aesthetic qualities of literature are often studied in advanced language courses, and there may be something quite “spiritual” about experiencing the aesthetic in all art forms, as Whitman (1965) captures it: When I heard the learn’d astronomer, When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them, When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture room, How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself, In the mystical moist night air, and from time to time, Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars. (p. 271)

To this end, there are many literary characteristics that students at the earlier levels can examine. By looking at artistic qualities of the literature, students are not restricted to conducting an exhaustive analysis of the works for passive forms, subjunctive verbs, idiomatic constructions, and so on, but can use their developing language skills to enjoy the art form of literature in its abundant beauty. To effectively use literature in the world language classroom, there should be attention paid to forms, characteristics, and context of literature. I now turn to each of these individually.

FORMS Liaw (2001) concluded regarding the use of literary response in a Taiwanese university English class: The use of literature, if taught in a response-based manner, need not be only a vehicle for language teaching but a form of aesthetic experience that enhances the enjoyment of reading in a foreign language. The approach allows for creative and critical thinking to take place in an atmosphere where there are neither threats nor any compulsion to learn the correct answer or compete for the best interpretation. Selecting materials that are of personal relevance and appropriate difficulty helps to ensure high interests and low anxiety for students reading authentic foreign language texts. (p. 43)

Numerous scholars argue that the most appropriate way to read a literary text is not using a comprehension approach, but using a response approach (Rosenblatt, 1938, 1978; see also Beach, 1993, for a comprehensive overview of the research

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as it relates to the classroom). The response approach to reading literary texts in a foreign language class can avail extensive possibilities for enhancing the sophistication of reading in the foreign language classroom, even in the face of limited decoding “fluency” (Anderson & Osborn, 2002). Anderson and Rubano’s (1991) Enhancing Aesthetic Reading and Response explores research, theory, and practice of reader response in the English classroom, and offers several points to consider. One of their key techniques is “form translation,” the reader responding to a literary text by translating the text into another form. One example of form translation is the writing of a poem in response to a short story. The intention is that the student will be more likely to capture the aesthetic elements in her or his response to a literary text if she or he is asked to respond in a consciously poetic form of discourse. Although the tradition of reading for comprehension has remained in the curriculum, the alternative tradition of responding to literature, a key pedagogy since the 1930s, follows innovators such as Louise Rosenblatt and presumes that: 1. Literacy involves a mastery of more than one mode of language use (see, e.g., Carrasquillo & Rodriguez, 1996). 2. Much of language growth and development is unconscious, and much of an individual’s knowledge of language use is “intuitive” (see Britton, Burgess, Martin, McLeod, & Rosen, 1975; Fromkin & Rodman, 1998, pp. 347–349). 3. “Intuitive” knowledge, or what Polanyi (1962) calls tacit knowledge (i.e., “knowing more than we can say”), is the basis for much practical linguistic and cognitive functioning (see, e.g., Shrum & Glisan, 2000, pp. 4–5).

The intuitive understanding of language appears to be at least as important as the articulated formal knowledge of language structure. This explains why someone could have a formal knowledge of German grammar, but not be able to function effectively in a German-speaking environment, as argued by Anderson and Osborn (2002). In any case, because both the oral and literary traditions require an intuitive sense of the language, the intuitive sense of a language needs to be nurtured to facilitate fluency in any language. One central facet of language competence that requires the nurturing of the intuitive is the aesthetic or artistic functions of language in literature. The aesthetic is neglected even in native language instruction, because teachers tend to focus on the analytical and communicative functions, for example, in comprehension questions, essays, and reports, and increasingly so as “accountability” translates into teaching to the test. Yet, for decades language development and cognitive research have identified two essential categories of language use: the paradigmatic and the narrative (Bruner, 1985), or the transactional and the poetic (Britton, 1976). These functions of thought and language use are reciprocal: Sophistication in one mode is interrelated with sophistication in the other. Simply put, sophisti-

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cation in poetic modes is enhanced by the same in the transactional, and transactional writing is enhanced by qualities of the poetic. When language teachers use literature solely as a springboard to teaching grammar or increasing comprehension, they position the students squarely in what Rosenblatt (1938, 1978) refers to as the efferent and not the aesthetic. These stances refer to a predisposition, a set of expectations, one brings to the reading of a text, normally expressed along a continuum between the two. The aesthetic is essential to the reading of literary texts, as illustrated in Rosenblatt’s most infamous example of an efferent reading stance required of students encountering an elementary literary text: “What facts does this poem teach you?” How similar is such a question to our own traditions in working with literature at the earlier levels? Anderson and Rubano (1991) suggest that students are more likely to engage in aesthetic response to a text if they are first encouraged, or required, to adopt an aesthetic stance toward the text. One simple way to encourage the shift to aesthetic stance is to change the expectations for reading from “What’s the author trying to say?” to “What do you see?” and to change the spoken and written response expectations from the analytical and mnemonic to the creative and associative. Other examples in Anderson and Rubano’s (1991) monograph are easy to adapt to the foreign language classroom, as Anderson and Osborn (2002) have done. One effective technique for guaranteeing attention to the aesthetic elements of language is the use of “dependent authorship.” The reader is presented with a poem or a short story from which words, sentences, or whole paragraphs have been removed. A rudimentary version is an adaptation of the cloze procedure from reading comprehension, in which the text has every fifth word removed from the text, though in a poetic cloze text only the key words representing central images or connected ideas are removed. Theodor Storm (1817–1888) authored a poem that evokes strong images, Die Stadt, which I have translated for purposes of illustration: The City On the gray beach, on the gray sea And the city lies adjacent The fog weighs heavily on the rooftops And through the silence roars the sea Monotonously around the city. No forest murmurs, no bird sings Incessantly in May; The wild goose with its hard cry Only flies by in an autumn night; At the beach the grass waves. Yet my whole heart clings to you, You gray city on the sea

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For ever and ever, the magic of youth Rests smilingly still on you, on you You gray city on the sea.

As a cloze exercise, Anderson and Rubano (1991) suggest that students are given a list of vocabulary simultaneously drawn from the poem, which they then attempt to match back to the original. For example, At the beach, on the gray sea And the city lies adjacent. on the The fog weighs And through the roars the sea around the city. (monotonously) (gray) (heavily) (silence) (rooftops)

If the omitted words have been carefully selected, the teacher can assist the students as well in looking for context clues and grammatical issues simultaneously, as evidenced by the lack of “fit” inherent in certain possible answers in the preceding stanza. For example, the fog weighs heavily on the monotonously simply cannot work. Another common form of dependent authorship is the “continuation” of a story, that is, adding an ending to a story from which the teacher has removed the ending. The ending might even be written in English after reading the first part of the story with the teacher’s guidance. To write the ending enhances the aesthetic in that the student must “return” to the earlier reading to extend the story, even if the student may move away from the original ending. Yet another approach to the aesthetic can be called “writing within a text.” English teachers routinely ask students to take on the role of a character, writing something in the voice of the character, such as a letter or diary entry for the character at a point in the book or in response to a key dramatic moment. Some teachers even ask students to provide various elements “missing” from the text, including fuller character descriptions, more details of setting, or “off-stage” conversations and actions, revealing students’ cultural and psychological assumptions, which can later be deconstructed as to issues of power. One reason for the sophistication of the poetic responses may be the use of what Bruner (1985), drawing on Vygotsky, calls “cognitive scaffolding,” from which the power of such techniques can be explicated. Cognitive scaffolding is the expert structure placed on a student task that allows the student to perform at higher levels than the student could without expert direction and structure (compare with Vygotsky’s “zone of proximal development”). In each of the previous examples, the students are responding to a text within a structure (and with a stance) promoted by the activity. In each instance the effect is to focus the student

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on the aesthetic elements. The students tend to produce more sophisticated and illuminating responses in dealing with language texts, when they focus on the central concepts and images in the text. As a result, the aspects of their own prejudices and privileges are likely to surface. Consider again, for example, Storm’s “The City.” If students are given partial stanzas until the entire poem has been presented, and they are then asked for the central images, they might create a list as follows: dark, gloomy, dense, loud, repetitive, wind, and memories. From these images, then, students could ultimately examine their own conceptions of cities, of others, and of diversity.

CHARACTERISTICS Studying genre theory may seem like a highly technical and complicated endeavor. It may have seemed natural to avoid such approaches until late in a student’s academic career. However, I have suggested that the short story is particularly well suited for intermediate-level students, and have illustrated that certain characteristics of the genre can be effectively treated with these students (Osborn, 1998). Though my discussion stems from my own study of the German short story, the activities may be adapted and applied to any foreign language genre. The French contes, the Spanish cuentos, or the Italian racconto may share similar characteristics, or have aspects unique to themselves. I also provide illustrations of the characteristics in works that are more familiar than the German ones, but caution the reader that a genre is, by definition, distinctive, and thus the characteristics may or may not be considered applicable by scholars in all cases. Because a prereading phase is often needed to help students read texts in their native language, teachers should include such a phase for students reading literature in a foreign language (J. Davis & Osborn, 2003). If there are words or grammatical forms in the work that the instructor judges will be unfamiliar to students, the instructor can design strategies to introduce them to students. Once all prereading exercises are complete, the instructor presents the text to the students. Though the first goal of the presentation stage is to ensure that students have a surface-level understanding of the story, because students can effectively use visual cues to increase their understanding of a short story, they may act out the plot, use puppets or models to illustrate what is happening in the story, draw several pictures on the chalkboard to demonstrate the plot, or even make an in-class video or movie of the work, with guidance as needed. The visualization process is a relatively quick method of ensuring surface-level comprehension (insofar as possible for any given student), and enables the instructor to shift the focus of instruction to the literary characteristics more quickly. After students understand the text at the surface level, the second goal of the presentation stage is to help students to view the story as a complete artistic cre-

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ation. Instructors may employ aesthetic-response activities (described earlier) or have students write a short paragraph (in the target language, preferably) beginning with phrases such as In my opinion . . . , or I think that. . . . “Reaction” paragraphs or assignments may be turned in, discussed in class, debated, or combined as a group effort into a longer summary of reactions. Next, teachers can shift the focus to specific literary characteristics. The examination of literary tools, such as a metaphor or simile, are often the topic of English literature courses at the secondary or college level, and examining textual examples of these tools might be helpful to students as a beginning. Beyond these, a number of literary characteristics can serve to sensitize students to elements of discourse that may eventually be analyzed in future study. Teaching Narrative Perspective A simple, yet important characteristic of any writing is the narrative situation. The two types of narration commonly seen in literature are the first-person and the third-person narrative. The first-person narrative is seen as a character in the story tells the story. First-person narrations often seem to pull the reader into the story by giving the biases and feelings of a character in the work. Students commonly have a problem understanding the role of the narrator when studying short stories (Lazar, 1993). To examine the narrative perspective of a short story, intermediate students can write their own versions written from the standpoint of different characters in the work and then contrast the author’s version with their own. If the work being presented has more than one character, students can rewrite the story from the perspective of a character who is not the narrator of the story. Obviously, with a third-person narrator, students may rewrite the story from the perspective of any character, even if the work contains only one character. This exercise echoes the “writing with a text” activity discussed earlier. These student revisions may be shared with the class by individual students, combined in a group effort for presentation, or turned in as a written assignment. Cooperative-learning groups, for example, could be assigned different characters and the results of each group’s work shared, leading to a discussion of the difference in perspective. If appropriate, cultural, ethnic, linguistic, and religious perceptions of “the other” in stories may also prove educative. Additionally, the instructor may choose to allow students to act out a story, portraying characters who do not appear in the text. For example, one student may play a parent or child of one of the protagonists. The result of teaching narrative perspective in this manner is that the student learns to see the influence a narrator has on the work, rather than simply being able to identify a first- or third-person narrator. In so doing, the aesthetic and characteristics of literature are studied, even as students develop skills that will serve them well in a world language classroom interested in exploring issues of social justice, including discourse analysis as discussed in later chapters.

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Beginning Without Introduction It may seem odd to examine the short story in terms of something it lacks, but beginning without an introduction of characters is one of the traits of this genre that distinguish it from other literary genres (Nayhauss, 1982). Novels and other works of fiction, in contrast, often tell the reader about the characters’ background(s). Students could be asked to imagine and write an introduction to the story, which can be read to the class (for oral practice), turned in for homework (for written evaluation), or combined as a group effort (for students to discuss in German). The information will probably be derived from passages in the text that describe the character, a method that could give the students assistance with structuring a grammatically correct answer. If, however, the information is based purely on the student’s imagination, this too is relevant. This genre necessarily requires the reader to make assumptions about the characters. Writing the introduction is similar to dependent authorship exercised discussed earlier. Passive Versus Active Protagonist Also appropriate for study are Doderer’s (1969) two classifications based on the nature of the protagonist. In a short story with a passive protagonist, she or he is more or less delivered over to the circumstances and the main action is that of fate or circumstances. In contrast, in a short story that portrays the main character as active, she or he is the “driving force” of the story insofar as she or he makes decisions based on the circumstances presented. For a short story with a passive protagonist, the students can design a visual representation of the various factors influencing or affecting the protagonist. This activity allows the student to visualize the character’s passivity, especially when compared to a similar diagram of a work with an active protagonist. If the protagonist is active, the instructor directs the students to draw a flow chart showing the different turns the character takes in the work. Another possibility is to have students simply list the choices that the protagonist makes. Both of these activities give the student a visual representation of the actions described in the text. “Mittagspause” (Wolf Wondratschek) has an example of a passive protagonist, and because this story is set in a sidewalk café, it lends itself well to having students draw the various factors affecting the protagonist. Nearby tables have other patrons, each leading the character to reflect on her own feelings and attitudes. “Der Augsburger Kreidekreis” (Bertolt Brecht) represents the active protagonist. When the troops invade, the protagonist makes several decisions, which could be diagrammed on a flow chart. When students examine these two stories in succession, they have a visual representation of the texts as they themselves have interpreted them. The result is that students are beginning to explore the nature of self and other, society and the indi-

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vidual, identity, power, and context. These themes are, of course, germane to social justice. Unfolding Versus Expanding Plot Structures Doderer (1969) asserts that, through the first sentence of a short story, the work is lifted to a narrative plane and either (a) “unfolds” or (b) “expands.” In an unfolding plot, the situation is virtually set from the beginning and the focus of the narration is on revealing the details of this relatively static situation. Expanding plots, however, have a “mounting” plot. The action in the work continues to develop to a climactic point. The plot expands and there is a progression of action in the work. Students can easily identify each of the plot structures when the concepts are taught by contrasting two stories. For students the terms snapshot and movie can be assigned to unfolding and expanding, respectively, because the former may be more easily understood. Students, working either independently or in groups, can draw a picture of the story being presented. By choosing the works carefully, the instructor can present two works in succession that illustrate these differences. Students can, for example, sketch the plot of “Der Milchmann” (Peter Bichsel) in one frame, as is the case for all unfolding short stories. A sketch of “Das verliehene Buch” (Hermann Harry Schmitz), however, requires more than one frame, because the plot expands. Thus, the distinct difference between these two structure types will become visually evident. At the same time, students have the advantage of a visual representation of the text, which may elevate both their level of interest and skill in approaching the work. Furthermore, students begin to explore the nature of depictions of reality in writing. Is it (reality) presented as a constant, reductionist external entity or is it ecological, dynamic, and related to power contexts?

CONTEXTS A final component of literature to examine in language classrooms is the critical context. Critical contexts, as I am using the term, take advantage of the four interrelationships commonly studied in literary criticism. Semiotics, or the study of signs, feminist and gender studies, and cultural studies have all contributed to an understanding of literature as representative of sociopolitical relationships. As Rylance and Simons (2001) explain, “Authors are deeply impressionable beings, alive to the burning issues of their day. . . . Writers can never isolate themselves from the political issues which shape their cultures, and texts are unavoidably products of the ideologies of their age” (p. xxvii). They go on to assert that, “Generally speaking, the idea of context includes significant facts or processes of different kinds which have shaped the writing and understanding of literary works”

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FIG. 5.1.

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Producer–interpreter social world continuum.

(p. xxiii). Klarer (1998) points to four foci of literary criticism: text, author, reader, and context. For purposes of my illustration, the critical contexts include the social world as expressed in (a) language and language forms, (b) values and evaluative frameworks, (c) political interrelationships, and (d) cause-and-effect relationships. These facets of critical contexts exist in terms of producer and interpreter on a continuum between shared view and presumed-shared view. Because the producer of a text (e.g., an author) and the interpreter (e.g., a reader) are communicating, the social world expressed in the text will fall somewhere along a continuum as shown in Fig. 5.1. When dealing with second language texts, it is likely reasonable to suggest that though a producer presumes much to be shared, the reader who is a student in a world language classroom will likely not share many of the same assumptions of contexts. It is this dynamic that has likely led to the didactic teaching of culture in language classrooms for years. It is within the interaction between the presumed shared, but disparate, that we must seize the opportunities for social justice. Simply put, social worlds differ and the abilities of students to recognize and function within such differences are essential to the endeavor presented here.

WORKING THROUGH AN EXAMPLE Now we look at each of the components of critical contexts individually, as they were presented previously: language and language forms, values and evaluative frameworks, political interrelationships, and cause and effect. To aid in this examination, it is helpful to work with a specific text. I refer to the cuento by Gregorio López y Fuentes titled “Una Carta a Dios” (A Letter to God). This story appears in the reader Album: Cuentos del Mundo Hispánico by Valette and Renjilian-Burgy (1984). As such, the story reflects one that is widely available. Briefly synopsized, Lencho, a peasant farmer whose harvest is ruined, sent a letter to God requesting money. A postal employee opened the letter (because it was undeliverable) and was moved to take a collection for the man of simple faith, placing it in an envelope addressed to Lencho from God. Because the collection was not as much as he had requested, Lencho sent a response back to God. In this letter, he asked God not to send the money through the post office next time, because the employees “son muy ladrones,” are thieves. The irony of the story can certainly provoke a reaction from students, and as such, can be motivational. Once students have developed a basic understanding of the plot, the teacher can begin to explore a literary response. Perhaps, using the

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idea of form translation, students could write their own letters to God, on behalf of the post office employees, or compose a poem. Perhaps the students could be directed to extend the story and describe how the postal employees reacted upon reading the next letter. Students can explore what the author is trying to say (purpose and intent) or the teacher could use a cloze text that has students fill in central images or connected ideas. As well, it may be helpful to have students write descriptions of the other postal employees, or members of Lencho’s community of faith in response to the story. To move toward a study of characteristics, the narrative perspective can be discussed in terms of the students’ creations just described. It is also possible to have students explore what assumptions they make about Lencho and the other characters in terms of background, traits, and motivations. Is Lencho an active or passive protagonist? Can students draw a flow chart or create a list of choices describing his actions? Does the plot expand or unfold? Is the story best represented by a snapshot or a movie? As they examine literature in this way, students not only learn valuable skills for literary study, but also develop an eye toward examining the depictions presented of people in texts. In the following chapters, I expand on the role of and possible opportunities to deconstruct the world as presented in various textual forms around us. Therefore, these skill-building activities can be viewed as prerequisite to students’ study of their own communities. The study of critical contexts continues to build to such a transition. In “Una Carta a Dios,” how are language and language forms reflective of the issues related to social justice? Because Gregorio López y Fuentes is a novelist of the Mexican Revolution from Veracruz, how does he choose to depict the language of Lencho? Is it the same as, for example, students have learned in their textbooks? What differences could be noted? What is the likely reason(s) for these differences? How might Lencho have written if, instead of being a peasant farmer who needed money, he had been a university professor or politician? Is educational level reflected in language choices? If students were to rewrite the letter using a shift in register reflecting higher educational levels, how might the reactions of the postal employees differed? How would their value systems or evaluative frameworks been reflected in a differing reaction? What is the actual cause of the loss of crops? Is our idea of the actual cause, likely based in the science of weather, more valid than Lencho’s perceptions? Why or why not? Does science offer an objective truth, or does it require a leap of faith similar to the reasoning of Lencho? What are the effects of losing the crops? Are those effects based on a social or political system that provides for the disadvantaged? How would the loss of crops differ in its impact on a farmer in the United States? How would a letter from God likely be handled by the U.S. Postal Service?

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To explore political interrelationships, students could draw a hierarchy of characters based on their possession of money, of faith, and of power. How do the hierarchies compare and contrast? If we changed the setting from Mexico to New York City and from crops to merchandise, how might the story differ, even if Lencho were still the protagonist? What do our answers suggest about U.S. society and language diversity? About cultural diversity? The questions I have just articulated can create a backdrop for inquiry in our own communities as well. Language skills such as reading, in terms of not only the stories themselves, but from target language newspapers or Web sites around the world, can be strengthened. Writing activities can involve the extension of the stories, or could be created in the form of a “letter to the editor” of a local paper, or any of a variety of forms. Oral language skills may have students play the roles of various characters in the story, perhaps a journalist reporting on the events, and can utilize prompts to explore the socially relevant questions I posed earlier. Finally, listening skills can be employed if students discuss the story with target language speakers from their own communities, then compare the students’ answers to the preceding questions to those of the native speakers, when possible. As an example, if students have access to native speakers who have a familiarity with the story, it might be illustrative to compare their answers to the question: If we changed the setting from Mexico to New York City and from crops to merchandise, how might the story differ? Reflecting critically on answers to such questions could reveal issues of power and privilege, or powerlessness, that could be beneficial in terms of an awareness of issues of social justice.

STANDARDS AND ASSESSMENT In Standards for Foreign Language Learning: Preparing for the 21st Century, the Standards task force included one learning scenario called the “Literature-based Project,” which addresses at least one standard from each of the five “C’s” of communication, cultures, connections, comparisons, and communities (see National Standards in Foreign Language Education Project, 1996, p. 9). Literature, by its nature as a communicative medium, does indeed offer opportunities to relate language curricula and literary selections to the latest stated goals of foreign language education at the same time students build insights and skills that will be helpful in exploring issues related to social justice and equity. In a number of ways, the standards that could be addressed by the activities described in this chapter are largely dependent on the specific shape the activities take. Therefore, I can speak in general about the relationships of the standards to the ideas and activities discussed in this chapter.

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Communication. Communicate in Languages Other Than English Standard 1.1. Students engage in conversations, provide and obtain information, express feelings and emotions, and exchange opinions. Standard 1.2. Students understand and interpret written and spoken language on a variety of topics. Standard 1.3. Students present information, concepts, and ideas to an audience of listeners or readers on a variety of topics.

Certainly, the students exchange opinions and are called upon to understand written language on a variety of topics, given the themes presented. They also may present information and convey ideas to listeners if they engage in conversations with native speakers or even one another in relation to the topics presented in the stories. Literature and the discussion of literature have long been established as appropriate vehicles for students to use in communicating in world languages.

Cultures. Gain Knowledge and Understanding of Other Cultures Standard 2.1. Students demonstrate an understanding of the relationship between the practices and perspectives of the culture studied. Standard 2.2. Students demonstrate an understanding of the relationship between the products and perspectives of the culture studied.

To the extent that literature reflects culture, knowledge is gained as prescribed by these two standards. If, however, students can extend the activities to the community as well, such learning is enhanced considerably. Students can test their understanding of cultures not in a one-way conversation, but in an actual dialectic with members of the culture.

Connections. Connect With Other Disciplines and Acquire Information Standard 3.1. Students reinforce and further their knowledge of other disciplines through the foreign language. Standard 3.2. Students acquire information and recognize the distinctive viewpoints that are only available through the foreign language and its cultures.

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Though the activities in this chapter may lead up to the interdisciplinary activities I discuss later, the activities related to literature may allow students to acquire information and recognize distinctive viewpoints. Teachers could certainly choose literary selections that lend themselves to connections with other disciplines, but such a focus is not what I have proposed here.

Comparisons. Develop Insight Into the Nature of Language and Culture Standard 4.1. Students demonstrate understanding of the nature of language through comparisons of the language studied and their own. Standard 4.2. Students demonstrate understanding of the concept of culture through comparisons of the cultures studied and their own.

Comparisons would be particularly appropriate as students examine the critical contexts in the ways presented in this chapter. The question related to the relationships among education, language forms, and perceptions would help students gather insight into the nature of language and culture in terms of linguistic diversity in the United States. These insights, in turn, can raise an awareness of issues germane to social justice.

Communities. Participate in Multilingual Communities at Home and Around the World Standard 5.1. Students use the language both within and beyond the school setting. Standard 5.2. Students show evidence of becoming life-long learners by using the language for personal enjoyment and enrichment.

Reading literature, as discussed at the outset of the chapter, can be a source of lifelong enjoyment and enrichment for students of world languages. In the activities presented in this chapter, students learn to use the language both within and beyond the school setting as they explore the world presented within literary texts in comparison with the social world they inhabit in the United States. Finally, the standards for communities can be addressed by demonstrating to students how literature is related to aesthetic experiences in life itself. Students could discuss the art forms of literature by an author in the target language and a painting, for example, by an artist from the local and/or target culture. These discussions could focus on the relevance of art (in all of its forms) in the lives of all human beings.

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CONCLUSION In this chapter, I have endeavored to explore activities with literature in a world language classroom concerned with issues of social justice. By focusing on aesthetic forms and characteristics as well as critical contexts, I have concluded with a discussion of how the proposed emphases relate to existing standards. At the same time, I have continued to put in place skills for students that will hopefully transfer as we turn our focus, in the next chapter, to representations of and in the social world around us. Questions for Discussion 1. Can you write a poem to describe how this book has made you feel thus far? How would that exercise relate to the discussion in this chapter? 2. The short story “Una Carta a Dios” ties in a number of themes that have been discussed in this chapter. Describe how the story and this book could be related. 3. As language teachers, we are often called upon to represent the target culture to our students. How can literature assist or impede us in that endeavor? What limitations can you see to employing literature in the language classroom? 4. Choose a selection of literature that has impacted you in some way. How could you employ the ideas and techniques presented here to treat that story with your students? Suggested Reading Cooper, C. R. (1985). Researching response to literature and the teaching of literature: Points of departure. Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Eisner, E. (1985). Aesthetic modes of knowing. In E. Eisner (Ed.), 84th Yearbook of the National Society for the Study of Education: Part I. Learning and teaching the ways of knowing (pp. 23–36). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Flynn, E. A., & Schweickart, P. (Eds.). (1986). Gender and reading: Essays on readers, texts, and contexts. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Gates, H. L., Jr. (1992). Loose canons: Notes on the culture wars. New York: Oxford University Press. Gehlker, M., Gozzi, M. L., & Zeller, I. (1999). Teaching the Holocaust in the foreign language classroom. NECTFL Review, 46, 20–29. Hillocks, G., Jr. (1980). Toward a hierarchy of skills in the comprehension of literature. English Journal, 69(3), 54–59. Hitchcock, P. (1993). Dialogics of the oppressed. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Jameson, F. (1981). The political unconscious: Narrative as a socially symbolic act. London: Methuen. Kahn, E., Walter, C., & Johannessen, L. (1984). Writing about literature. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English.

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Langer, J. A. (1982). The reading process. In H. A. Robinson & A. Berger (Eds.), Secondary school reading: What research reveals about classroom practice (pp. 39–52). Urbana, IL: National Conference on Research in English. Langer, J. A. (1990). The process of understanding: Reading for literary and informative purposes. Research in the Teaching of English, 24(3), 229–257. Langer, J. (Ed.). (1992). Literature instruction: A focus on student response. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Neis, E. (1991). Wie interpretiere ich Gedichte und Kurzgeschichten? Methoden und Beispiele [How do I interpret poems and short stories? Methods and examples] (15th ed.). Hollfeld: C. Bange Verlag. Purves, A. C, with Harnisch, D., Quirk, D., & Bauer, B. (1981). Reading and literature: American achievement in international perspective. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Purves, A. C., & Beach, R. (1972). Literature and the reader: Research in response to literature, reading interests, and the teaching of literature. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Purves, A. C. (1973). Literature education in ten countries. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wicksell. Rabinowitz, P. J., & Smith, M. W. (1998). Authorizing readers, resistance and respect in the teaching of literature. New York: Teachers College Press. Rosenblatt, L. (1976). Literature as exploration (3rd ed.). New York: Noble & Noble. Rosenblatt, L. (1978). The reader, the text, and the poem: The transactional theory of the literary work. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Sadowski, M., Goetz, E. T., & Kangiser, S. (1988). Imagination in story response: Relationships between imagery, affect, and structural importance. Reading Research Quarterly, 23(3), 320–336.

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6 Critical Discourse and Visual Analysis as Pedagogy Overview In this chapter you will read about:
Media literacy and analysis.
Wal-Mart and the immigrants.
Examining the Scheer editorial.
The Capital Times editorial.
Examining the Capital Times editorial.
Editorial cartoons.
An article from the Democrat and Chronicle about diversity.
Examining the Democrat and Chronicle article.
Comparisons and the CIC.
Standards and assessment.

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oung people today are besieged by images from the media. This invasion of sights and sounds also includes sometimes unstated assumptions and perspectives on the world, especially the social world, that our students are ill-equipped to examine or challenge. Media literacy, as a concept of 21st-century education, has tried to provide students the skills to examine such issues. Yet rarely have we in language education employed the same tools in looking at the linguistic world we inhabit. 91

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Naigles and Mayeux (2001) have examined the role that television can play as an “incidental language teacher,” concluding that “Television can facilitate some aspects of lexical development, and even if future television research is able to demonstrate some facilitative effects on grammatical development, there is nothing to suggest that television input could ever replace natural language input for child language learners” (p. 150). Entman and Rojecki (1998) have noted that images in mass media often associate minority groups with antisocial and negative behavior. Berry and Asamen (2001) have questioned the role that television may play in how bicultural and bilingual children see themselves and others. Media literacy education also provides some insights into how we can employ visual and discourse analysis. Brown (2001) draws on other writers as he suggests that media literacy must be grassroots in its origination, and points to teachers as critical, even apposite, to the effort—though they are largely unprepared in this area. Drawing on Hobbs (as cited in Brown, 2001), for instance, Brown explains that key concepts of media education include:
Media messages are constructed (this involves choices and editing);
Messages are representations of reality (but how valid or accurate?);
Messages have social, economic, political, and aesthetic purposes and contexts (financed by megacorporations through advertising to audiences attracted by program content); [and]
Individuals construct meaning in media messages through interpretation (viewers interpret the content through selective perception and negotiating meaning. (p. 689)

As for the activities and skills for students, it seems appropriate to build upon the skills of textual analysis developed in the previous chapter with literature. However, a number of additional tools would be helpful as well in terms of examining visual elements, including pictures, photographs, and so on. Van Leeuwen (2001) points to characteristic issues in semiotic analysis that can be adapted here. Depicting people can be done with multiple layers of meaning. People can be depicted visually in groups or as individuals, from a distance or up close, and depictions can be positioned near other elements, including pictures or text, in ways that also provide meaning. Van Leeuwen also suggests that the connotation or “layer of the broader concepts, ideas, and values which the represented people, places and things ‘stand for’, ‘are signs of’ ” (p. 96). These elements may include the angle of a shot (is it a profile or frontal shot) and the framing of a shot in a depiction (long shot—socially distant; or closer shot, socially less distant from the viewer). To these concepts of visual analysis, some elements from the realm of discourse analysis can be complementary. Discourse analysis allows the student to deconstruct written texts to also review issues of power, identity, and equity. Chimombo and Roseberry (1998), drawing on the literature, for example, note

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that language can either be directive or constitutive. Directive language use is manipulative by intent whereas constitutive language reinforces stereotypes more indirectly. They illustrate the concept of frames as “experiential organizations of information” (p. 43) that suggests or implies other information. Using the example of a kitchen, Chimombo and Roseberry’s suggestion is that a “kitchen” would signify a frame that includes certain appliances and furniture. Moreover, social expectations of what happens in a kitchen could be considered part of the frame (though Chimombo & Roseberry seem to suggest that nouns are more appropriate for frames). Scripts are another significant feature of discourse (Chimombo & Roseberry, 1998). Scripts suggest that there are additional actions involved. To start a car, for example, may include opening the door, inserting a key, turning it, and so on. These scripts are assumed, and not necessarily explicitly stated. Finally, frames and scripts work together to create schema, sequences of things and events in a general sense, whereas scenarios are more specific cases of schema. A final point to consider from Chimombo and Roseberry is the distinction between intent (a producer’s purpose) and purpose (the purpose perceived by the interpreter of a text). Bloome (2003) suggests that social relationships and social identities exist in a narrative text, and include both the “world-in-the-text” and the “people-in-thetext”; that they “may have a powerful influence on how people define and understand their world” (p. 293); and that readers construct “a situation model (a mental micro world) that requires bringing to the narrative text world knowledge and the making of inferences (to fill in omissions inherent in any narrative)” (p. 295). Thus, when we examine texts, particularly nonliterary ones, and visual depictions in a world language classroom, we can utilize the critical contexts discussed earlier and the features just discussed. The overarching questions would be:
What situation model(s) do readers bring to the text/image?
What is the world-in-the-text? Who are the people-in-the-text?
What purpose do students perceive in the text?
How are these seen in (a) language and language forms, (b) values and

evaluative frameworks, (c) political interrelationships, and (d) cause-andeffect relationships?

To ascertain the answers to these questions, the features of texts and images discussed earlier can be studied. To review, they are:
Directive language versus constitutive language.
Frames, scripts, and schema.
Intent and purpose.

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For visual images, the examination may include the following:
Are people depicted visually (a) in groups or as individuals, (b) from a dis-

tance or up close, and (c) near other relevant elements, including pictures or text in ways that also provide meaning?
What does the angle of a shot (is it a profile or frontal shot) suggest?
What does the framing of a shot in a depiction suggest (long shot—socially distant) or closer shot (socially less distant from the viewer)? At this point, it is likely helpful to walk through a few examples or realia. I have chosen English examples from a combination of national and regional/local sources, but certainly there are a number of newspapers and publications relevant to the activities that could be substituted, based on availability and student proficiency level.

WAL-MART AND THE IMMIGRANTS In 2003, Wal-Mart stores across the nation were raided simultaneously by federal officials seeking to find illegal immigrants who were working on overnight cleaning crews. The raids were received with a variety of reactions, and provoked a number of editorials. The first example is from Robert Scheer (2003), a syndicated columnist, reprinted here in its entirety:

Scapegoating Illegal Workers Won’t Seal the Borders Robert Scheer ❏ As long as firms are willing to hire them, immigrants will come.

Let’s hear it for those gonzo immigration cops from the Department of Homeland Security who so heroically swooped down on illegal Wal-Mart janitors last week. No longer will our homeland’s security be threatened by undocumented workers vigorously wielding mops and brooms while good Americans sleep. The only thing I can’t figure out is, if those janitors worked every night of the year except Christmas and New Year’s, as was reported, when did they have time for terrorism? Oh, that’s right, the Immigration and Naturalization Service was swept into the new federal mega-agency with the Orwellian name; this wasn’t about

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finding Al Qaeda operatives embedded among the mostly Christian laborers from Latin America and Eastern Europe, but simply a public relations move to assuage the sensibilities of those xenophobic reactionaries who call for “sealing the borders.” Because to really stop illegal immigration, without greatly increasing legal immigration from poor countries, would mean wiping out the U.S. agriculture and garment industries, among others. To blame the workers, rather than the system they operate in, is the core hypocrisy our immigration policy has long been based upon. If we really wanted to stop illegal immigrant workers from coming into this country, it would be straightforward and simple: require a tamper-proof identity card for any applicant for a job in this country and impose stiff criminal penalties on employers who hire people who do not provide the requisite card. But enforceable sanctions would be opposed by most major business associations because employers would no longer be able to find a vulnerable labor force to exploit. Undocumented immigrants come here to work. If jobs didn’t exist, the number crossing the border, mostly from Latin America, would plummet. That’s how you “seal the borders.” But the cost for ending those jobs would be high. Ending the endemic use of undocumented workers in low-wage, dead-end jobs would force employers to pay real wages and offer real benefits to attract “real Americans” to do the work, and some jobs would simply leave the country. Prices for food, clothing and any product that relies on dirt-cheap labor would rise for everybody, and those middle- and upper-class families that count on don’t-ask, don’ttell relationships with undocumented housekeepers, gardeners, nannies and elder-care workers would be affected. That is the conundrum faced by California Gov.-elect Arnold Schwarzenegger. In his campaign, he demagogically railed that a new law permitting undocumented immigrants to obtain a driver’s license threatened national security. Yet many of the people who voted for him employ illegal immigrants and even expect them to ferry their children about. Why in the world wouldn’t they want those people to prove they are properly qualified to drive? And why can’t they make do with legal workers? The answer is they are greedy and cheap, just like the executives of WalMart. Too many employers are unwilling to abide by labor laws governing pay, overtime and worker safety that would attract legal workers. The undocumented workers are used to undermine the hard-won gains of the American labor movement. Three supermarket chains in California are currently trying to break their unions, citing the encroachment of Wal-Mart on their turf even as their profits soar.

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Who will replace some of these workers if they aren’t willing to give up salary and basic benefits? Take a guess. As a matter of justice, we have to stop pitting one group of workers against another. The first step would be to make the undocumented workers already here legal. Or, failing that humane step, eliminate the jobs for undocumented workers by toughening the law on hiring—and arresting employers who violate the law. We must increase the number of legal immigrants allowed annually, particularly from Mexico with its strong family and historic ties to this country. Also, immigration laws have been rigged to favor certain skilled occupations, ignoring the reality that much of our prosperity derives from the sweat of unskilled immigrant labor. It is sad that our Austrian-born governor-elect, who qualified for U.S. citizenship mainly on the basis of his familiarity with dumbbells, should be so willing to exploit immigrant-bashing to win votes from nativist hypocrites. Let’s stop politicizing economic immigration—or making it a “security” issue—and start implementing obvious, fair and pragmatic solutions. Editorial reprinted by permission of Robert Scheer and Creators Syndicate.

EXAMINING THE SCHEER EDITORIAL The examples I provide are, of course, not prescriptive. Any number of interesting facets could be treated. The students can discuss, along with community partners in inquiry, if they are available, the following:
When Scheer refers to “gonzo immigration cops,” who are these “people-in-












the-text”? How do we imagine them looking (frames) and behaving (scripts)? As the writer chooses to describe the arrest as “heroically swooped down,” what do his language choices suggest? Is this directive or constitutive language use? What situation models does it connect to in the reader’s world? What are the power relationships highlighted among those who “heroically swoop” and those “vigorously wielding mops and brooms”? As Scheer describes “a public relations move to assuage the sensibilities of those xenophobic reactionaries,” what cause and effect are suggested? As the writer argues that “To really stop illegal immigration” would wipe “out the U.S. agriculture and garment industries, among others,” what is the worldin-the-text? What cause-and-effect relationships can be explored here? By blaming workers rather than the system that our immigration policy resides within, what values and evaluative frameworks seem to exist in regard to the powerful and the powerless?

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When Scheer points out that “enforceable sanctions would be opposed by













most major business association because employers would no longer be able to find a vulnerable labor force to exploit,” what are the frames and scripts assumed? How are the political (power-based) relationships within the world-in-the-text? Who are the people-in-the-text? What does the term “real Americans” suggest about the critical contexts, including language use, values and evaluative frameworks, political interrelationships, and causes and effects? What situation models do readers bring to this terminology and how do situation models differ? As Scheer argues that many voters expect illegal immigrants to “ferry the children about” and points out that they disagree with a national driver’s license, he poses a rhetorical question, “Why in the world wouldn’t they want those people to prove they are properly qualified to drive?” How is this an example of constitutive language use? What is the effect of choosing the phrases “they” and “those people”? How do these phrases reflect the worldin-the-text? When the writer discusses the supermarket chains in California breaking unions and blaming Wal-Mart, how is he extending the argument? What seems to be the cause and effect being suggested? What seems to be his intent in writing this editorial? How do students differ in their perceptions of the purpose? How do community members’ reflections compare and contrast with those of the students?

Though the Scheer editorial is syndicated and therefore may appear in papers around the country, a number of editorials related to the same events were seen in local papers as well. The local accounts can be particularly beneficial as we attempt to macrocontextualize the language curriculum.

THE CAPITAL TIMES EDITORIAL Writing about the same raids, but focusing on Wal-Mart rather than the homeland security issues, the Capital Times (“Cracking down on Wal-Mart,” 2003) in Madison, Wisconsin, weighs in: Editorial: Cracking Down on Wal-Mart An editorial October 26, 2003 Wal-Mart is the world’s largest retailer, a definitional player in the economies of communities across the United States and a political force to be

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reckoned with. Wal-Mart has used campaign money, lobbying muscle and aggressive legal strategies to rewrite the laws of individual states and the nation to favor itself, while disfavoring the basic rights of workers, small businesses and U.S. manufacturers. But the one law that Wal-Mart forgot to warp in its favor was the one that prevents U.S. companies from employing or taking advantage of the services of individuals who are not authorized to work in the United States. Last Thursday, federal agents raided 60 Wal-Mart stores in 21 states and found evidence that the company was engaged in widespread reliance on illegal immigrants to perform janitorial services. As part of the raid, federal agents searched the office of an executive at Wal-Mart’s Bentonville, Ark., headquarters and removed boxes of documents. The federal investigators have, as well, obtained recordings of conversations between Wal-Mart executives and contractors that, it can reasonably be assumed, will be used to make the case against the company. Of course, Wal-Mart is trying to shift the blame to the contractors who provide its janitorial services. And there will be attempts to blame the 250 immigrants who were arrested. But attention should not be deflected from Wal-Mart. This is just the latest example of abuses by a company with a long history of aggressively pressuring its contractors to conform to its bottom-line demands and anti-worker biases. Wal-Mart will fight every effort to hold it accountable. This company does not like to follow the laws that other American corporations are required to obey. As the New York Times notes in something of an understatement, “In recent years, Wal-Mart has frequently been accused of skirting various federal employment laws.” The company’s actions have inspired challenges on a number of fronts: Class action suits have been filed in at least 30 states charging Wal-Mart supervisors have pressured employees to work off the clock in order to keep their jobs. A California lawsuit accuses Wal-Mart of favoring male employees in promotions while discriminating against more qualified women. A federal judge is now deciding whether to permit the lawsuit to be expanded into a class action that could involve as many as 1.6 million former and current Wal-Mart employees. There continue to be widespread complaints about Wal-Mart scheming to avoid providing workers with basic benefits, and few have forgotten the stories about the company taking special insurance policies with an eye to collect when employees die.

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Last week’s raid on Wal-Mart put the spotlight on this company’s pattern of abusing not just labor laws, but the trust of the American people. This country allows corporations great flexibility when it comes to maintaining retail operations. But it does make some very basic demands with regard to treatment of workers and the role that stores play in the communities where they are located. Many firms struggle to meet their responsibilities. Wal-Mart, it seems, struggles to avoid and undermine them. No wonder that so many Wisconsin communities, such as Jefferson and Stoughton, have fought to keep Wal-Mart from expanding in their towns. The slogan of the Stoughton foes of the retail chain’s expansion is “Uff-da Wal-Mart.” We could not agree more. Published: 6:40 AM 10/25/03 Reprinted by permission of The Capital Times / Madison, Wisconsin.

EXAMINING THE CAPITAL TIMES EDITORIAL In regard to this editorial, language students and community members in the local area may examine the following questions:
When the editors describe Wal-Mart as “the world’s largest retailer,” what is















the world-in-the-text? What situation models are students and community members drawing from? When they are described as “a political force to be reckoned with,” what political (power) relationships are highlighted? The editors suggest that “Wal-Mart has used campaign money, lobbying muscle and aggressive legal strategies to rewrite the laws of individual states and the nation to favor itself, while disfavoring the basic rights of workers, small businesses and U.S. manufacturers.” What scripts are assumed here? What causes and effects? When the editors suggest that Wal-Mart forgot to “warp” one law in its favor, is the language use constitutive or directive? When federal agents raided “60 Wal-Mart stores in 21 states and found evidence,” what scripts are assumed? What is the world-in-the-text and who are the people-in-the-text? The editors accuse Wal-Mart of trying to shift the blame. What values and evaluative frameworks are suggested? As “there will be attempts to blame the 250 immigrants,” what power (political) interrelationships are highlighted? What scripts are assumed in the phrases “fight every effort to hold it accountable,” “favoring male employees in promotions,” “abusing not just labor

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laws but the trust of the American people,” and “Wal-Mart, it seems, struggles to avoid and undermine [their responsibilities to the country]”? How do these language choices affect the writers’ message?
What situation models do readers bring to these accusations and how do they compare and contrast?
What purposes do readers express?
Finally, in the final sentence, the editors choose the phrase “Uff-da WalMart.” This phrase represents a local expression, and as such, is a powerful illustration of the social issues involved in language choices, especially when juxtaposed with the “national” specter of big business Wal-Mart? Students and readers should examine this feature carefully and look for similar examples in other language choices of “us” and “them.” The examples, as I have discussed before, are presented in this text in English. However, there are many language-specific examples, especially in Spanish, available in this country for a similar analysis. In addition, the visual depictions of editorial cartoons can be enlightening as well.

EDITORIAL CARTOONS Editorial cartoons often relate information based on sociocultural realities and can likewise be of assistance. Consider the following cartoon, based on a similar theme (migrant workers) and related to employment:

Reprinted by permission of Jeff Parker and Cagle Cartoons.

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In this case, the visual depictions are also relevant, and students may inquire:
What perspectives exist in this cartoon. What is the symbolic meaning of the












“Statue of Liberty”? As she says, “It reads a little differently for you,” she points to the difference between our stated beliefs and our actions. What is the actual text? How does the grouping of migrant workers suggest an identity? How does the angle of the shot reflect their access to “liberty”? How does the framing of the shot reflect their closeness to the viewer? Who are the assumed people and what is the assumed social world(s) in this depiction? What situation models do students bring to this image regarding political interrelationships, values and evaluative frameworks, and causes and effects? How does the depiction confirm or challenge those models? What schema or forms are assumed? What purposes are perceived by viewers of the cartoon?

Cartoons and editorials are often expected to make social commentary and, as such, are often quite accessible in terms of the issues examined in this chapter. However, articles that position themselves as more “neutral” are helpful as well.

AN ARTICLE FROM THE DEMOCRAT AND CHRONICLE ABOUT DIVERSITY Articles, when compared to editorials, tend to appear less opinionated and directive in their language choices. They provide, nonetheless, some illustration of important issues. Consider the concept of “diversity” as viewed through companies and reported by Ben Rand (2003) and how “language” issues are almost ignored.

Companies recognize need to mirror community By Ben Rand Democrat and Chronicle (January 13, 2003) — Editor’s note: This is part two of a two-part series examining job discrimination in Rochester. The first part of the series reported that job discrimination is still common in the Rochester area. Five years ago, by his own admission, he was a bully. A troublemaker. A difficult kid headed in the wrong direction. And to him, Wegmans was just a place that sold food.

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Today, 19-year-old Jamarr Myers of Rochester is on a different path. He has just been promoted to service team leader at the Wegmans store on Chili Avenue, a job that will have him supervising 30 to 40 cashiers. He dreams of working his way up to become a store manager, a corporate vice president or even president. Myers recently flew to Washington, D.C., with the current holder of the job—Danny Wegman—and answered questions from a congressional committee studying innovative training programs. Next fall Myers expects to begin studying business administration at Roberts Wesleyan College. None of it, he says, could have happened without a groundbreaking push by Wegmans to make itself a more attractive place for minorities and women to work. Myers benefited from a scholarship program that seeks to forge longterm corporate relationships with youths from poor sections of the city. His story helps illustrate how far some companies will go to build work forces that mirror their communities—a quest that is meeting with increasing success here and across the nation. Rochester-area employers are dramatically more diverse than they were 10 years ago, a function both of changing demographics and shifting corporate culture on matters of race and gender. Minorities now hold 16.5 percent of the jobs in the six-county region, up from 12.8 percent in 1991. That’s an increase of almost a third—better than the Buffalo region, New York state and the nation as a whole. Yet discrimination complaints of all sorts continue to plague companies throughout the region, a Democrat and Chronicle investigation has found. The complaints come from a cross-section of the workplace, including minorities, females, older workers, people who are deaf or otherwise disabled, gays and lesbians. And the upper levels of area companies remain generally off-limits to African Americans, Hispanics, Asian Americans and Native Americans. In 2000, white people held 93 percent of jobs as officials and managers, 90 percent of jobs as professionals and 89 percent of jobs as technicians. Those categories are the highest-ranking positions tracked by the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, the federal agency that enforces laws against workplace discrimination. The numbers come from a decade of reports submitted to the EEOC. Companies with more than 100 employees must annually disclose how many white people, racial minorities, men and women work in nine separate job categories at various facilities. The reports for the Rochester region encompass about 40 percent of the local work force.

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The newspaper analyzed those reports, conducted more than two dozen interviews, reviewed other studies and found that: ❏ Minorities now make up a larger percentage of the local work force than

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they do of the population as a whole—16.5 to 15.2 percent. That’s not solely because of demographic change. Minority representation in business grew 29 percent in the 1990s vs. 21 percent in the overall population. Larger local companies have been leading the charge. One in four U.S. workers at Xerox Corp., Bausch & Lomb Inc. and Eastman Kodak Co. was a racial minority in 2001, up from one in five a decade ago. That was no easy feat—U.S. employment for those three companies fell by onethird during the period, but their minority representation increased. The performance of Rochester’s most recognizable employers has earned them a series of plaudits. Xerox, for instance, was recently named one of the “best of the best” places to work for minorities and women; Kodak was recognized as one of the best companies for its record of purchasing from minority and female-owned suppliers. Much of the progress for minorities has been confined to lower-level jobs. The local work force added 8,831 minorities in the past decade; 45 percent of those were classified either as service workers or laborers. Kodak, Xerox and B&L each struggle with similar problems; for instance, about 42 percent of minority jobs at Xerox in 2001 were office or clerical positions. Progress has not been quite as robust for women but is moving in the right direction. Female employment grew 12 percent in Rochester in the 1990s vs. 9 percent in the overall population.

The statistics provide a snapshot of Rochester’s corporate melting pot as the nation enters what most demographers believe will be an unprecedented period of diversity. White people, for instance, no longer make up the majority in almost half of the 100 largest U.S. cities, according to a study by the Brookings Institution. Almost every prediction calls for that trend to accelerate. As diversity accelerates, it becomes an increasingly critical business strategy. People of color spend $1.3 trillion a year on products and services in the United States, about 18 percent of the nation’s total consumer purchasing power, according to the University of Georgia’s Selig Center for Economic Growth. The data also offer a checkpoint on local progress on the threshold of the 40th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. That landmark legislation made it illegal to discriminate on the basis of race, sex, religion and national origin. Taken together, the numbers make an unambiguous statement, both for Rochester and the nation: While notable progress has been made, there’s much left to do to make work a more welcoming place for all, experts say.

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That’s likely to be an ongoing battle. Consider that as recently as the 1950s, employers could legally reject applicants simply because they were not white, said Laura P. Hartman, professor of business ethics at DePaul University and president of the American Society of Business Ethics. Yet today, most people would loudly object to such a plainly bigoted practice. Hartman wonders: “What are we doing today that we’ll be embarrassed about 20 or 30 years from now?” Success stories Jamarr Myers admits that he had no thoughts of taking a job or launching a career at Wegmans as he entered his early teens. At least, not until he got into trouble, transferred to Franklin High School and was introduced to the company’s highly praised Work-Scholarship Connection. The program, founded by Wegmans in 1987, is designed to provide practical and emotional support to students who are at risk of dropping out of school. It is now run by the Hillside Children’s Center and involves dozens of employers. The goal of Work-Scholarship is to identify troubled students at a young age—as young as sixth grade—and link them to an advocate who helps teach basic life skills, solve problems and other matters. The student is gradually introduced to the discipline of work. When it was founded, the program was an attempt to help the Rochester area address a high dropout rate. Along the way it began helping Wegmans solve several business problems. Wegmans—which has had seven discrimination complaints over the past 10 years—relies heavily on young people to staff its stores, particularly in cities with so-called “pockets of poverty” such as Rochester. The company has since expanded into other similar urban areas, such as Trenton, N.J., Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. But the company suffered from a high degree of turnover—in some areas as much as 100 percent, meaning youths didn’t stay even one year. By focusing Work-Scholarship on poorer areas, Wegmans is able to expand the number of recruitable youths and more meaningfully diversify. The issue is one of dollars and cents, Danny Wegman told Congress in September. It costs $4,000 to train a new employee but only $2,500 to keep an individual in the Work-Scholarship program.

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Results are inspiring. The program has a current enrollment of 1,000 students; 80 percent of participants graduate from high school vs. 44 percent in the overall Rochester school system; 80 percent remain employed at Wegmans. Myers said he took some severe joshing from his friends when he first started in the program. They told him that he’d be “a janitor or pushing carts,” Myers recalls. “But they believe now. If it hadn’t been for this program, I wouldn’t be here.” Gail Evans also probably wouldn’t be where she is without Kodak’s commitment to creating a more diverse workplace. Evans joined Kodak in 1980 as a custodian. Soon afterward, with Kodak’s financial help, she began studying computer science part time at Nazareth College. That degree helped propel her to her current job as chief technology officer for Kodak.com, Kodak’s front door to the Internet. Evans, an African American, praises Kodak for giving her the chance to better herself and for standing behind her—but also acknowledges her own role. “I wanted to make sure I was always qualified, the best in all I did. I didn’t want to allow anyone an excuse.” Hiring and promoting qualified employees of varied backgrounds is critical for success in an increasingly diverse world, says May Snowden, Kodak’s first chief diversity officer. She has built an office of 20 people in the three years since joining Kodak. “Diversity is green,” says Snowden, referring to the growth in minority purchasing power. Diversity is not an exercise in political correctness, she adds. It’s an effort to get people to work together more effectively and appreciate their differences. Diversity, dissension Yet for all the success stories, diversity programs can create dissension in the workplace. David Wieme, a white mid-level Kodak manager, recently filed a reverse discrimination lawsuit against the company in U.S. District Court in Rochester. He claims he was unfairly demoted last year—allegedly for failing to follow standard procedure in investigating a racial incident. He contends that he did everything by the book and that Kodak punished him because it wanted to look tough on racism. Wieme also alleges that he and other white employees are “scapegoats” caught in the push to diversify. Kodak denies his allegations; the case is pending.

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Complaints of reverse discrimination are becoming more common across corporate America, said Wieme’s attorney, Nelson Thomas. Even diversity proponents disagree at times. A group of present and former AfricanAmerican employees at Kodak, for example, picketed a meeting of the regional chapter of the NAACP last fall. Their complaint: the NAACP’s role in Kodak’s decision to provide $3 million in raises and $10 million in back pay to about 2,000 minorities and women more than three years ago. The group, which calls itself “Employees Committed for Justice,” feels that Kodak went back on promises to give an independent panel the final say on the size of the raises and back pay. In the continuing battles over diversity, even bystanders can get caught in the middle. Billy Ray Farmer of Macedon was a technical cleaner for CellTech Pharmaceuticals in Henrietta when he was interviewed in connection with a co-worker’s complaint that a supervisor was using racially insensitive language. Farmer said he told a human resources staffer that he had, in fact, heard the supervisor use slurs. Not long afterward, Farmer was fired. Farmer said the company told him it was because he extended his vacation without informing his boss; Farmer contends it was clearly in retaliation for his honesty about the supervisor’s language. “All of a sudden, that supervisor was a good guy and we were the bad guys. We were the troublemakers,” Farmer recalls. He has filed a discrimination lawsuit against CellTech; federal law bars companies from retaliating against individuals who complain or expose discrimination. In a statement, CellTech denied that it has retaliated or discriminated against anyone, but it declined to address Farmer’s specific allegations. Complex frontiers The pro-diversity/anti-discrimination push appears to be heading into areas that are equally—if not more—controversial. In a historic move last month, Gov. George Pataki signed the Sexual Orientation Non-Discrimination Act. The bill makes it illegal for employers and others to discriminate on the basis of sexual preferences. It was aimed primarily at protecting gays and lesbians from prejudice.

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New York became only the 13th state to enact such a law, but even proponents had a criticism: It does not bar discrimination on the basis of gender identity. Activists have lobbied Congress for many years for a national anti-discrimination bill, but to no avail, said Pamela Barres, executive director of the Gay Alliance of the Genesee Valley. Critics argue that specifically protecting gays and lesbians from discrimination grants those groups special rights unavailable to others. Nonsense, Barres says. The bill simply makes the workplace fairer. Until Pataki signed the bill, “if you came out in Monroe County, you could be legally fired. You had no legal recourse. And that’s true in most of the country,” Barres says. Another complicated area is disability discrimination. The Americans with Disabilities Act requires companies to deploy “reasonable accommodations” for workers whose disabilities prevent them from performing essential functions of their jobs. Those terms are frequently in dispute, said Thomas, an attorney with Dolin, Thomas and Solomon, a Rochester law firm that specializes in employment law. As well, the law does not define the disabilities that employers must assist. Michelle Bonura found this out the hard way. According to court testimony, she suffers from bipolar disorder, a psychiatric condition that takes her through cycles of disabling elation and deep depression. She claims she was effectively forced out of her part-time sales job at the Sears, Roebuck & Co. store at The Marketplace mall because of her condition. Bonura, through her attorney, argued in her now-dismissed federal lawsuit that she could work only a part-time schedule, about 20 hours a week, but a supervisor at Sears refused to play along. That, she said, made it impossible for her to continue to work. She left in August 1996. Sears denied the allegations. U.S. District Judge Michael Telesca dismissed the case in July. Among other findings, Telesca ruled that Bonura failed to prove that her disability prevented her from performing major life activities. In pre-trial testimony, Bonura told the judge that she could do some errands, such as cooking and laundry, on some days but not on others.

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Bonura, now representing herself, is appealing the judge’s dismissal. She said she thinks Telesca overlooked the fact that she could be hit by a depressive episode at any time. “When you have bipolar disorder, you don’t have rational thought,” says Bonura, who is about to finish up her studies in licensed social work at SUNY Brockport. “I couldn’t make decisions. Nothing seemed logical.” Despite her legal setback, she says she will continue to fight. “I think I have a real good chance.”

EXAMINING THE DEMOCRAT AND CHRONICLE ARTICLE It is likely helpful to begin with similar questions and build to more complex issues. Inquirers may begin by looking at:
What situation model(s) do readers bring to the text/image? What is a

“bully” or “troublemaker” and what are his or her likely chances for success?
What is the world-in-the-text? Who are the people-in-the-text? What does

the concept of “Rochester’s corporate melting pot as the nation enters what most demographers believe will be an unprecedented period of diversity” suggest about both? How do frames, scripts, and schema support the conceptualization of both the world and the people in the text?
How are these seen in (a) language and language forms (are there examples of directive and constitutive language use?), (b) values and evaluative frameworks (what does dramatically more diversity for employers suggest?), (c) political interrelationships (why are they giving congressional testimony?), and (d) cause-and-effect relationships (what does the fact that upper levels are still off-limits to certain groups suggest?)?
What purpose do students perceive in the text? There are two additional themes that are brought out in the text that are very relevant for social justice. The first is an epistemological issue of “evidence.” As the author of the piece attempts to support the claim that diversity in employment has increased, he relies on statistics such as 29% increase in minority representation in business versus 21% increase in the population. Yet, elsewhere he suggests that upper-level positions do not reflect such a change. He confirm this by showing that of the 8,831 local minority workers added in the past decade, most have been in lowerlevel jobs. Women, likewise, have not experienced “robust” growth. Why is reflection of language diversity largely absent from the statistical evidence? Students

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could be led to examine how evidence in terms of “external reality” and quantitative measure is supportive or is misleading. Is it constitutive or directive in nature, and what does it suggest about measuring social justice? Do students have concerns about such measures? How do their local school “statistics” compare, for example, in grades—do grades reflect the “real” situation as objective, external measures? What challenges does that present us in our inquiry? Finally, the values and evaluative frameworks in the piece should be examined in relation to the following statement (as an example): As diversity accelerates, it becomes an increasingly critical business strategy. Do profits motivate everything for businesses? Should they? Should profits or financial gain motivate educational policies? Social policies? How does language diversity affect business strategy and how do these effects relate to sociocultural conditions? Such evaluative frameworks should be critically engaged by students and coinquirers as they work in world language classrooms geared toward social justice.

COMPARISONS AND THE CIC Returning to the process of the CIC, the visual and discourse analysis presented in this chapter can be helpful in conducting an informed investigation. Students can consider themes that emerge, draw tentative conclusions, and reflect critically on their findings. These skills become an important facet of language classrooms as we consider how diversity within the United States is portrayed or represented in the various media. Students can learn skills of critically engaging such depictions and working with others to deconstruct the plethora of messages that assail them on a daily basis through these media.

STANDARDS AND ASSESSMENT As in earlier chapters, many of the specific objectives one may derive from the principles and practices here will determine the specific standards that apply. However, as shown in the following discussion, there are a number of points of connection.

Communication. Communicate in Languages Other Than English Standard 1.1. Students engage in conversations, provide and obtain information, express feelings and emotions, and exchange opinions. Standard 1.2. Students understand and interpret written and spoken language on a variety of topics. Standard 1.3. Students present information, concepts, and ideas to an audience of listeners or readers on a variety of topics.

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To the extent that teachers utilize editorials, cartoons, and articles in the target languages, these standards apply. The World Wide Web is a particularly good resource for finding examples of such media account in the United States in many languages. However, teachers should not hesitate to use an English example, if it indeed supports the greater gain of increasing student understanding of the cultural perspectives of those who speak the target language.

Cultures. Gain Knowledge and Understanding of Other Cultures Standard 2.1. Students demonstrate an understanding of the relationship between the practices and perspectives of the culture studied. Standard 2.2. Students demonstrate an understanding of the relationship between the products and perspectives of the culture studied.

Products, practices, and perspectives of the target culture are richly embodied in media accounts. Therefore, the standards presented here are addressed as students critically engage these examples. I would argue, in fact, that through the process of the CIC, students gain a much more sophisticated understanding of these relationships than they do with the “chapter blurb” so often present in our language textbooks.

Connections. Connect With Other Disciplines and Acquire Information Standard 3.1. Students reinforce and further their knowledge of other disciplines through the foreign language. Standard 3.2. Students acquire information and recognize the distinctive viewpoints that are only available through the foreign language and its cultures.

Viewpoints are reflected in media, and teachers can incorporate work in media studies, social studies, journalism, and similar disciplines into the work described in this chapter. Indeed, such connections serve to enrich the experience and may provide opportunities for cross-cultural and cross-linguistic comparisons as students examine English medium examples in the other classes and target language or target culture examples in the world language classroom.

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Comparisons. Develop Insight Into the Nature of Language and Culture Standard 4.1. Students demonstrate understanding of the nature of language through comparisons of the language studied and their own. Standard 4.2. Students demonstrate understanding of the concept of culture through comparisons of the cultures studied and their own.

The role of language and culture in their daily lives is likely overlooked by many students. By giving students tools to examine these facets in examples drawn from the media, teachers may increase the sophistication and opportunities students take in examining their own language and culture. Thus, their insights into the nature of language and culture can be enhanced at levels beyond current practice in the world language classroom.

Communities. Participate in Multilingual Communities at Home and Around the World Standard 5.1. Students use the language both within and beyond the school setting. Standard 5.2. Students show evidence of becoming life-long learners by using the language for personal enjoyment and enrichment.

By providing students with the opportunities and experience of critically examining examples from the media, we provide them with tools for participating in multilingual communities not only at home, but also around the world. Through the CIC, they may work with members of their own community who speak the target language, and as a result develop relationships that can indeed result in lifelong enjoyment and personal enrichment. Such activities likewise move participation from the level of “passive,” which seems to be the emphasis we have placed so far in language courses (as recipients of information from multilingual communities) to “active” as students engage in a dialogic process with the world, linguistic and cultural, around them. Questions for Discussion 1. Select an editorial from your local paper on an issue related to linguistic or ethnic diversity. Conduct an analysis similar to the ones suggested in this chapter. Share your analysis with your classmates or colleagues.

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2. Select an editorial cartoon from your local paper on an issue related to linguistic or ethnic diversity. With a partner, conduct an analysis similar to the ones suggested in this chapter. Share your analysis with your classmates or colleagues. 3. Select a news article from your local paper on an issue related to linguistic or ethnic diversity. In small groups, conduct an analysis similar to the ones suggested in this chapter. Share your analysis with your classmates or colleagues. 4. Select a clip from a television show or film on an issue related to linguistic or ethnic diversity. As a class, conduct an analysis similar to the ones suggested in this chapter. 5. What difficulties did you see in terms of conducting the analyses in groups of differing sizes? What advantages did you find in larger groups? What limitations? Suggested Reading Cazden, C. B. (1988). Classroom discourse: The language of teaching and learning. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Lieblich, A., Tuval-Mashiach, R., & Zilber, T. (1998). Narrative research: Reading, analysis, and interpretation. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. van Dijk, T. (1988). News as discourse. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Wodak, R., & Meyer, R. (Eds.). (2001). Methods of critical discourse analysis. London: Sage. Wood, L. A., & Kroger, R. O. (2000). Doing discourse analysis: Methods for studying action in talk and text. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

7 Crossing the Lines: Interdisciplinary Possibilities Overview In this chapter you will read about:
Language learning as interdisciplinary.
Critical inquiry cycle, revisited.
The role of the CIC in interdisciplinary work.
Toward a taxonomy of interdisciplinary sophistication.
History/social studies.
Art.
World language classroom.
Mutual critical reflection.
Standards and assessment.

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here could be an understandable position taken by educators to view the discipline of language education as the one example of a truly interdisciplinary discipline. One could point to a number of issues discussed in the language class, such as great artists and scientists of the countries where the target language is spoken. As part of our courses, as well, we commonly incorporate elements of political science, cuisine, drama, film, literature, cultural studies, history, mathematics, and even English grammar. We traditionally group all the facets of language education into one of five categories: speaking, reading, writing, listening, and culture. 113

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Though there may be great rhetorical appeal to the concept of language as the interdisciplinary discipline, in fact such a line of logic conflates the disciplinedefined subject(s) of study with the medium of study. The medium of language in learning is not limited to a language class, as the science of learning is not limited to science classes, the history of learning not limited to history classes, the art of learning not limited to art classes, and so on. The Standards for Foreign Language Learning, similar to standards in other disciplines, do call for interdisciplinary study: The conscious effort to connect the foreign language curriculum with other parts of students’ academic lives opens doors to information and experiences which enrich the entire school and life experience. Those connections flow from other areas to the foreign language classroom and also originate in the foreign language classroom to add unique experiences and insights to the rest of the curriculum. (National Standards for Foreign Language Education Project, 1996, p. 49)

These trends are seen at many levels, as evidenced in Kecht and von Hammerstein’s (2000), Languages Across the Curriculum: Interdisciplinary Structures and Internationalized Education. Heidi Byrnes (2000) noted that curriculum renewal is experiencing a sort of epiphany of late in the foreign language field, arguing that: Many departments have replaced a primarily philological or literary focus with what has been called a Cultural Studies approach. Second, departments attempted to expand a narrow disciplinary orientation to cross-disciplinary, at times even interdisciplinary, perspectives, involving not only the content foci of diverse fields such as anthropology, sociology, education, history, politics, and economics, but also their diverse methodologies and standards of scholarship. And, finally, the Languages Across the Curriculum movement and, more recently, various models for contentbased language instruction (CBI) responded to broad changes in our field and society at large, often by at least rhetorically reasserting the inherent linkage between language, literature, and culture. (p. 155)

Swaffar (2000) criticizes the approach prevalent in the field of spoken language being taught primarily at the introductory level of language courses, and then utilizing short texts in the second year. She argues that “besides failing to provide students with content and discursive continuity, that hierarchy illustrates few applications of context as bearer of meaning . . . textbook passages in beginning classes seldom link reading selections to the learner’s knowledge base in other disciplines” (p. 125). Leaver and Bilstein (2000) suggest that content-based instructional programs tend to bring to light complex trade-offs in language development among issues of accuracy, fluency, and strategic and linguistic competence. Berman (2000), drawing on the notion of cultural literacy, though rejecting its neo-conservative call for an American consciousness, calls for a “curriculum

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based on a foreign cultural literacy [the rationale for which] is the urgency of cultivating an international knowledge among American students, otherwise at risk of slipping into a great-power parochialism” (p. 73). At times, foreign language educators attempt to draw on other models of language education, notably TESOL or bilingual education, to meld variety in content and language. Duallanguage instructional programs, for example, have as a foundation, “a complex mosaic involving theory, research, and discourse from several different areas of scholarship and inquiry” (Lessow-Hurley, 1996, p. xii). Our field is not alone in this endeavor. A growing number of scholars within the core content areas have included interdisciplinary curricula within the list of needed reforms (Lonning, DeFranco, & Weinland, 1998; National Council of Teachers of Mathematics, 1991), as others have noted that the hurdles faced by planners in integrating the aspects of course content (Davison, Miller, & Methany, 1995; Lonning & DeFranco, 1997). Contemporary educational thought in all fields is decidedly prointerdisciplinary, and as Shrum and Glisan (2000) point out, linking language with content in language courses is a worthwhile goal. Ackerman (1989) has suggested intellectual and practical criteria useful in all fields to be considered as a “framework for teachers and curriculum developers deliberating over whether to adopt a curriculum integration approach for some portion of their instructional program” (p. 25). Perhaps most influential within his discussion are the concepts of validity for, validity within, and validity beyond the discipline. Briefly summarized, these criteria require an interdisciplinary theme or organizing center to be important to involved fields of study, that is, not a contrived connection, to facilitate the learning of other concepts within the individual disciplines, and to give the student a “metaconceptual bonus” (Ackerman, 1989, p. 29; see also pp. 27–30). Lonning et al. (1998) argue that the “selection of appropriate themes seems to be the key to providing instruction that is potentially more meaningful when taught in an interdisciplinary fashion than when the concepts are taught separately” (p. 312). Though preparing language teachers to work using interdisciplinary frames can be especially challenging, in our teacher education program in the Neag School of Education at the University of Connecticut, we have a close relationship with the Glastonbury, Connecticut, school district and have been able to give the teachers hands-on experience developing interdisciplinary learning materials for students. Students in the year prior to receiving their master’s degrees in our integrated bachelor’s/master’s program have worked with Christine Brown, the Coordinator of Foreign Languages for the district and past President of the ACTFL. The students and faculty collaboratively developed curriculum enhancements that began with framing questions posed by students as “grand questions” and then developed units that addressed those questions through the medium of the foreign language (C. Brown, personal communication, September 4, 2002). Critical insights into foreign language education suggest that the curriculum will need to move beyond the formula of “four-skills plus culture” to include is-

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sues of the ways in which languages function in a sociocultural context such as the U.S. democracy. A partial list of issues that would need to be explored would include:
The social context of language use.
The nature and implications of code switching and code mixing.
Bilingualism and multilingualism as individual and social norms.
Ideology and language.
Issues of language standardization and linguistic purism.
The concept of linguistic legitimacy.
The historical development of language.
The nature of literacy, and the concept of multiple literacies. (See Reagan &

Osborn, 2002.) Though traditionally such issues have been dealt with only in sporadic ways in the foreign language classrooms, based on the understanding and comfort level of individual teachers, changes in curricula could include the investigation of such issues through the use of a critical language curriculum. As part of teaching world languages for social justice, I now return to the implementation of the critical inquiry cycle, presented in detail earlier.

CRITICAL INQUIRY CYCLE, REVISITED The CIC is based on a critical approach to qualitative research, viewing the truth as holistic, the researcher’s values as intrinsic to the research process, and acknowledging the evolving nature of research questions and activity. It hinges upon the utilization of inquiry to approach interdisciplinary studies. Jacobs (1989), in perhaps the most influential text on interdisciplinary curriculum, argues: Students should study epistemological issues. Regardless of the age of students, epistemological questions such as “What is knowledge?”, “What do we know?”, and “How can we present knowledge in the schools?” can and should be at the heart of our efforts. . . . Relevance begins with the rationale for educational choices affecting the school life of the student. (p. 10)

Haynes (2002) echoes this position: Rather than view knowledge as certain and held by authorities, interdisciplinary students—in order to reconcile and synthesize the differing disciplinary and nondisciplinary worldviews—must believe that knowledge is relative to a context and acquired through inquiry. . . . How one understands knowledge is directly related to

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how one understands others and the self. In other words, interpersonal and intrapersonal awareness mediate the epistemological dimension of development. An individual’s meaning-making undergoes changes that affect and are affected by his or her view of the self, relations to others, and understanding of experience. . . . The interdisciplinary epistemology is not one that posits a pure relativism in which all knowledge claims are always equal. Instead it rests on the assumptions that disciplines and its practitioners, as well as their activities and concepts, are already socially constituted. The task of the interdisciplinary investigator, then, is to invent a new discourse that critically combines key elements of several disciplinary discourses and that is in keeping with his or her own sense of self. (pp. xiv–xv)

Finally, Moran (2002) points out the relationship of interdisciplinarity as it ties to our historical divisions in education: The critique of the academic disciplines as limited and confining is as long-standing as the disciplines themselves. Historically, this critique has often taken the form of referring back to an older, more unified form of knowledge, usually located in an undisciplined subject such as philosophy. The term “interdisciplinary” emerged within the context of these anxieties about the decline of general forms of education, being first used in the social sciences in the mid-1920s and becoming common currency across the social sciences and humanities in the period immediately after the Second World War. . . . interdisciplinarity interlocks with the concerns of epistemology—the study of knowledge—and tends to be centered around problems and issues that cannot be addressed or solved within the existing disciplines, rather than the quest for an all-inclusive synthesis. (pp. 14–15)

As language skills continue to develop, the CIC (see Fig. 7.1) becomes a symbiotic vehicle through which language becomes the landscape and the medium of

FIG. 7.1.

The critical inquiry cycle.

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inquiry: Language proficiency is strengthened through the CIC and activities supporting it as inquiry is strengthened through language proficiency, because the insights of speakers of the target language can be accessed through the medium of the language.

THE ROLE OF THE CIC IN INTERDISCIPLINARY WORK The CIC can play a potent role in the future of interdisciplinary work in the foreign language classroom. Because the inquiry cycle is largely driven by local contexts, rather than by centralized curricular objectives, language students and educators are free to inquire into “grand questions” using the medium and the subject matter of language. If students wanted to look into the issue of migrant (in)justice and liberty, for example, the CIC could involve the disciplinary contributions of history, journalism, political science, art, and media studies, in addition to language. Recall from earlier discussion that the critical contexts seen in language and language forms, values and evaluative frameworks, political or power-based interrelationships, and cause-and-effect relationships can be helpful in illuminating issues relevant to social justice. These same critical contexts can form the basis of inquiry, and thus reach toward a more sophisticated interdisciplinary project, in looking at a grand question phrased as follows: How do migrants (or immigrants) experience justice in the U.S. and how do their experiences related to the ideals of liberty?

We can then utilize this grand question to begin the process of interdisciplinary inquiry and unit development in the world language classroom. If the focus of the CIC in terms of migrant (in)justice and liberty is evaluated against criteria established earlier for interdisciplinary units in the language classroom, one sees that the CIC fits well into such a framework. The component parts to be evaluated are connective validity and comparative integrity. Connective validity (see J. Davis & Osborn, 2003; Osborn, 2002) would include the following: (a) integration of communicative aspects in the skills of reading, writing, listening, or speaking, (b) contextualization1 of the domestic (or “home”) perspective, and (c) attention to the related global or local realities of pluralism, including any role played by language diversity. Comparative integrity suggests that the unit 1 Contextualization in this sense is to expose the power basis of the curriculum by making curricular elements relate to properties or specific conditions of the mind as distinguished from general or universal experience; relating to the nature of an object as it is known in the mind (or in the official knowledge of schools) as distinct from a thing in itself (see Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language entries for subjectify and subjective; compare with objectify). For a discussion of the impact of objectification on curricula and pedagogy, see Giroux (1997).

1

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themes or material include (a) an emic, or insider’s, representation of the cultural information, (b) an avoidance of bifurcatious categorization (e.g., “we/they”), and (c) articulation of multiple perspectives within the “home” culture. Utilizing the criteria established in connective validity and comparative integrity, I now turn to an evaluation of the proposed CIC. An integrated, interdisciplinary unit should focus on themes containing elements that can be investigated through sources in the foreign language classroom. Documents, videos, audio recordings, and other media are examples of such sources. The language teacher, using those realia as a communicative springboard, can then plan to include activities related to reading, writing, listening, or speaking in any combination. Though all of the activities need not specifically relate to the connections in other courses, the point of connection should involve the acquisition of information in the target language. The assumption being made in these cases is that the perspectives will largely represent the home cultural values. A theme that draws on international weather phenomena, for instance, may well include cultural aspects from the target language, but student understanding will derive mainly from their background knowledge in their home culture. Examples of possible aspects include proverbs or idiomatic expressions related to weather, or even culturally relevant concepts such as the German “Hitzeferien,” closing of school due to an excessively hot day. However, in such an instance the material involves the study of the natural world and the influence of relative perspectives may be less visible than issues such as family, for example. Nonetheless, the unit should also include an attempt to contextualize the “home” perspective. The presentation of material in neutral and natural frames supports what Giroux (1997) refers to as a “culture of positivism” and leads students to understand, fallaciously, that knowledge is apolitical and beyond the influence of culture. Certainly, this is not the case. Instead, students grow to understand through the contextualization of the perspective that the evidence being presented represents a consensus or dominant opinion, not always an unbiased fact. Finally, connective validity suggests that the theme attends to the realities of global pluralism. If the theme does not relate to internationalization or cultural diversity in some identifiable way, then the connection to the language classroom is likely contrived. As an example, the letter R might be proposed as a unit theme. Certainly one could practice words beginning with R in the target language and contextualize the curriculum by noting that the translations of some words beginning in R in fact start with a different letter in the first language. However, the theme fails at the third point because the letter has no real connection to the realities of global pluralism, and thus should be rejected. The integration of communicative aspects in the skills of reading, writing, listening, or speaking is established by the teacher in design of appropriate activities to support the CIC. Contextualization of the domestic perspective is established as students explore and discover a wide range of examples and perspectives of mi-

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grant (in)justice and liberty throughout the United States. In essence, contextualization is accomplished by giving students a broader epistemological context in which sense is made of migrant (in)justice and liberty by various sociocultural groups. Finally, because migrant (in)justice and liberty is related to common occurrences when diverse linguistic groups are in contact with one another, the criterion of attention to realities of pluralism is satisfied. Comparative integrity is vital in unit development, as shown by Wong’s (1993) caution regarding comparative approaches to literature: A key instructional means of eliciting insight being comparison and contrast, at every turn we need to decide what to compare a marginalized literature to, and to what end. If this is done from a fallacious assumption of one’s impartiality, however wellintentioned, the purpose of broadening the curriculum, namely, to honor the articulation of previously suppressed subjectivities, will be seriously undermined. (p. 112)

In a related vein, several scholars have pointed recently to the inclusion of culturally reductionist or misrepresentative elements within language curricula and texts (Brosh, 1993; Osborn, 1999; Reagan & Osborn, 1998; Wieczorek, 1994). In summary, these examinations have called into question the nature of characterizations of “foreignness” within language classrooms. Osborn (2000) for example, raises concerns about English language/American synonymy and geographic fragmentation. The former refers to the way the English language and the categorization “American” are treated as synonyms in language curricula and texts, as in this brief example taken from a curriculum guide: “The students will demonstrate how non-verbal communications of Italian-speaking persons and Americans differ by preparing short skits” (Newark Board of Education, 1994, n.p.). Geographic fragmentation refers to the depiction of speakers of non-English languages as living in “communities” somehow separate from the American mainstream. As I (Osborn, 2000) explain in reference to textbook maps highlighting states and cities in the United States where the “foreign” languages are spoken: Though arguably such depictions are not blatantly inaccurate, they are certainly misleading. By appearing to limit linguistic diversity to certain geographical areas in the United States, and failing to carve analogous “holes” in countries where pockets of, by way of example, indigenous language speakers may live, the foreign language textbooks seem to fragment the United States alone into areas of significant linguistic diversity (e.g., part of the mundo hispánico). Further, by ignoring linguistic diversity found in every urban area of the United States, the impact may be even more significant, since native speakers of Spanish or other non-English languages who live in urban, but non-highlighted areas (notably Washington, D.C., and Hartford, CT, for example), would appear to be the proverbial outsiders within. (p. 36)

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Comparisons of information that is cross-cultural in nature must be evaluated with certain diligence to preclude the tendency toward exacerbating cultural divisiveness. Language teachers have employed the techniques of culture capsules and culture assimilators to highlight cultural issues in the language class, but these techniques tend to stress comparison and contrast of differences, rather than focusing on a metaconceptual whole. Comparison and contrast can become unwittingly oppositional without intending to marginalize a particular viewpoint. Consider the way in which one textbook explained differences in the concept of time: “When invited to dinner, people from Spanish-speaking countries might ask if the time is hora americana or hora latina in order to know whether or not to be punctual. . . . Which attitude toward time—the North American or the Latin American—makes you feel more comfortable?” (Jarvis, Birckbichler, Bonin, & Shih, 1989, p. 49). Though universals are not likely to be found, the insider’s perspective is necessary to protect comparative integrity. The emic, or insider’s perspective is critical for comparative integrity. No matter how well intentioned, if the classroom activities, discussions, or presentations attempt to act as agent for representing the target cultural perspective, the resultant depictions will likely be both self-serving and reductionist. As in the case of naturalistic research, it is often difficult to capture the emic perspective. Nonetheless, integrated and interdisciplinary units in the foreign language classroom containing matter closely related to the target culture should strive for it. The avoidance of bifurcation relates to establishing “us” and “them” categories. Though seldom so blatant, assumptions regarding the “American” versus “foreign” perspective present the same problem. As discussed earlier, there is a tendency to treat the English language medium and the descriptor “American” as somehow synonymous within language classes in the United States. These categories, obviously, ignore the mosaic of diversity found domestically and compromise the educational value of any interdisciplinary unit involving the foreign language classroom. Finally, by noting for students the multiple perspectives within the home culture, curricular planners provide a dialectical understanding of cultural mediation for the students. Simply put, no cultural issue is one-dimensional nor is any culture monovocal. Tensions and resistance exist in all cultural matters, and exploring such facets with students is centrally important to the integrity of the comparison. In terms of comparative integrity, the emic representation is always quite challenging, but the mutual critical reflection phase will be indispensable in achieving this objective. The bifurcatious categorization and an articulation of multiple perspectives within the “home” culture can be avoided as, within the classroom, the heterogeneity of perception and the role of ideology are discussed. In summary, the CIC exploring issues of migrant (in)justice and liberty would be an appropri-

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ate utilization of the foreign language classroom in an interdisciplinary and critical exploratory frame.

TOWARD A TAXONOMY OF INTERDISCIPLINARY SOPHISTICATION To this point, I have discussed integration of themes and languages as components or facets of interdisciplinarity. However, there are two other issues that need to be addressed for the world language classroom: analytic integration and school/ community integration. Because we are utilizing the CIC, inquiry and analysis are fundamental to interdisciplinarity. Thus, our principles of analysis should reach across disciplines as well. Analytic integration, though not necessary for interdisciplinarity per se, does yield a more sophisticated CIC. At the same time, interdisciplinary units in the world language classroom oriented toward social justice should incorporate the voices of the students and the community. Such an approach is consistent with Horton’s work at Highlander and Freire’s pedagogical insights, as explored by Freire: The more people participate in the process of their own education, the more the people participate in the process of defining what kind of production to produce, and for what and why, the more the people participate in the development of their selves. The more the people become themselves, the better the democracy. The less people are asked about what they want, about their expectations, the less democracy we have. (M. Horton & Freire, 1990, pp. 145–146)

However, the participation here, one should note, is not based on a market conceptualization of need in educational programming. It is based on priorities of human development. This idea is by no means new in education—it seems to only have been in absentia for a while. In summary, I want to suggest a taxonomy of interdisciplinary complexity in the world language classroom:
First-degree integration is linguistic and/or thematic only.
Second-degree is linguistic or thematic, and analytic.
Third-degree is linguistic, thematic, and either analytic or school and com-

munity.
Fourth-degree is linguistic, thematic, analytic, and school and community. The goal is fourth-degree integration of interdisciplinarity in the CIC. An example of one interdisciplinary unit that is fourth-degree could involve the example of

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Asher’s mural (Asher, 2003) as an outgrowth of oral history, thus providing connections to social studies. Oral history avails an opportunity to transform textbook accounts to living lessons as the experience of people known to students take center stage in the classroom. Students generate documents that serve as primary sources, reflecting the voices of the community. These personal stories not only may promote critical thinking and historical perspective, but also may help students obtain an emic perspective. As Asher (2000) describes initial research methods for the Procession mural: Queens is significant to the history of immigration in New York City. In the 1900s this borough had a population of 152,099, and by 2001, the population estimate is more than three million. I wanted to illuminate this unique immigration history through the creation of a mural. . . . Through artistic interpretation, the project offered the community a deeper understanding of the generations who came before us, with a goal that reflects tolerance of difference through an awareness of local history and values concerning cultural heritage and immigration. Students were encouraged to find their personal approach to qualitative, interdisciplinary, and multicultural teaching, and to understand the complexities of group activity in a cooperative learning environment. The aesthetic challenge for the class was to produce a professional and sophisticated work of public art collectively that tells a story. (pp. 161–162)

Thus, utilizing oral history methods from the social sciences, mural creation from fine arts, and communicative skills from the foreign language classroom, I worked with Rikki Asher and David Gerwin to develop an integrated, interdisciplinary unit outline. The thematic organizing center (see Jacobs, 1989; Lonning et al., 1998) chosen was Migration Stories (Alger, 1998; Hoerder, 1999). At this point, I expand our original design and tie it in to the theme of migrant (in)justice and liberty. In history classes, the students were to explore the power and methodology of oral history (see Ritchie, 1994). In art classes, creating a mural was to be the primary activity focus. However, these portions can be developed even further.

HISTORY/SOCIAL STUDIES In history/social studies one example that can be particularly relevant is the case of Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti. On August 23, 1927, Sacco and Vanzetti were executed for the crime of murder by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. The evidence presented at trial was based on eyewitness testimony of 11 of the greater than 50 who saw the crime, physical evidence related to the weapon and bullets taken from one of the victims, and a behavior pattern that the state

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claimed showed a “consciousness of guilt” (Young & Kaiser, 1985). The context, however, of the trial was of much greater import for the example at hand. On April 15, 1920, two men were gunned down in South Braintree, Massachusetts, as they transported a factory payroll. It was this crime for which Sacco and Vanzetti would stand trial and ultimately meet their demise. However, on August 23, 1977, some 50 years after their executions, Michael S. Dukakis, the then governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, proclaimed a memorial day and declared that any stigma and disgrace should be forever removed from their names, their families, and descendants. The defendants, because of their ItalianAmerican identities and anarchist views, were tried in an environment of xenophobia and paranoia related to immigrants that challenges the convictions of any tolerant person, and many who may even feel they were guilty. The United States was emerging from World War I and there was a tremendous distrust of “foreigners” and particularly those who advocated any challenge to existing governmental structures. Anarchists, of course, would have been, and were logical targets. At the same time, a number of bombs were detonated at various points in the country, and these acts were attributed to anarchists. GermanAmericans, among others, may not have been supportive of the war, and the environment related to dissent in the United States, to understate the case, fell short of any social justice. The trial highlights issues for our investigation that have spawned many, many books and articles and therefore access to the information for those in history or social studies classes should be no problem around the country. In fact, the Sacco–Vanzetti project at www.saccovanzettiproject.org can serve as a valuable starting point, as can the works of Jackson (1981), Lyons (1970), Sacco–Vanzetti Defense Committee (n.d.), and Young and Kaiser (1985), among others. Students in social studies classes may extend from this study to oral history projects in which they interview migrants or immigrants and their families as a way of gathering more historical evidence (see Gerwin, 2003). These oral histories may form the basis of projects in the art class such as a mural (Asher, 2003) and can utilize language skills in the target language, if appropriate. In this way, students can apply the skills on perspective that were first discussed in regard to literature.

ART In the art class, in addition to murals or other art projects based on oral history interviews, students may examine or create editorial cartoons. In the case of the theme of migrant (in)justice and liberty, for example, the following cartoons could be analyzed using the techniques discussed in the last chapter. The first example appeared in 1994 in a California newspaper:

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Reprinted with permission of Steve Greenberg.

Using the technique of misdirection, this cartoon demonstrates that migration, far from being a recent phenomenon, is common to the human experience. It also highlights, and reverses, the perceptions that many “Americans” have about “their” homeland. Other cartoons, for example, can demonstrate the relationship between times of national crisis and liberty, as highlighted in this post–September 11, 2001, feature:

Reprinted with permission of Arturo Kemchs and Cagle Cartoons.

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The Statue of Liberty as a battering ram demonstrates the nature of government control in times of national crisis. A similar symbol was used in relation to the trial of Sacco and Vanzetti, as can be seen in this example from that time:

From Michigan State University Libraries’ digital collection.

The Statue of Liberty as a symbol is powerful, and can even be superimposed with other powerful symbols, again, as occurred at the time of the Sacco–Vanzetti trial.

From Michigan State University Libraries’ digital collection.

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Art teachers, of course, would be the appropriate allies to incorporate into the interdisciplinary inquiry, and could facilitate aesthetic, community, and creative dimensions as well. As a culminating project, the creation of a mural may also serve to highlight the work done, and could be publicized.

WORLD LANGUAGE CLASSROOM The unit activities in the world language classroom may include interviews, transcription, composition, revision, and recording. Each of the unit activities is described in relation to the CIC. The Informed Investigation Interviews. During the interview phase, students utilize their second language skills to gather information. Typically, questions may include: “When did you or your family come to the United States?” “Why did your family move from your previous homeland?” “Describe your first memories of Queens.” The interviews should be, with the permission of the interviewee of course, audiotaped so that transcription becomes a possible component of the overall unit. Obviously, prior to the interviewing sessions, students will need to rehearse appropriate vocabulary and structures that may be necessary for successful completion. Transcription. Though transcription has largely fallen out of favor in some circles since the days of classroom dictations, the purpose of this activity is to transcribe portions of the audiotaped interviews that become the focus of student development of compositions (see next section). Beyond simply demonstrating listening comprehension, students are likewise learning new vocabulary and could be exploring new cultural topics as well, depending on the content of the interview and answers. Inductive Analysis and Tentative Conclusions Composing. Narratives can be utilized as material for constructing longer compositions, focusing on a group of people, a particular theme emerging from inductive analysis, or various topics. Ideally, these foci would evolve out of the interviews. Revising. Revision may be the most overlooked component of teaching writing in the world language classroom. It is important to note, however, that most proficient writers do not simply revise once after completing a composition. Instead, they tend to write recursively (see Hadley, 2001), revising as they go along, adding information, expanding, moving, and rethinking their expressions in terms

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of the intended audience. Revision should be considered in terms of whiledrafting and after-drafting. As the discussion of information gleaned from interviewing and incorporated into the project(s) is highlighted, new insights or angles may emerge. Recording. The results of the interview process are “recorded,” as it were, in the mural and in the compositions. However, some teachers may encourage students to make audio or video recordings that would be similar to the museum narration one often encounters when viewing artwork in a formal setting. Perhaps students could also incorporate the project(s) into a Web site, as is discussed in the next chapter. The point here would be to allow the students to express what they have learned, as filtered through their own experiences. In this instance, students would focus on both the product and the process involved in the interdisciplinary unit.

MUTUAL CRITICAL REFLECTION As students reflect critically on both the conclusions and themes that emerged from their work, they may also examine how art, history, and world language classes, and specifically their epistemological frameworks, affect the process and the product as they examine critical contexts. They should, of course, critically engage both as part of the ongoing CIC.

STANDARDS AND ASSESSMENT As with many forms of inquiry, the CIC avails a number of questions to be asked through an interdisciplinary unit or activities. These questions, themselves, can be more or less sophisticated as products. As a result, we should consider the standards in light of such a range.

Communication. Communicate in Languages Other Than English Standard 1.1. Students engage in conversations, provide and obtain information, express feelings and emotions, and exchange opinions. Standard 1.2. Students understand and interpret written and spoken language on a variety of topics. Standard 1.3. Students present information, concepts, and ideas to an audience of listeners or readers on a variety of topics.

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As students engage in reading books on the trial (also available in the target language, especially Italian, e.g., Schiavina, 1927), they may employ the language skills that have been developed through earlier exercises in literature, for example. If they interview migrants or immigrants in their own communities, or families with close ties to their non-English linguistic identities, students may also employ the target language. Much of this will, of course, vary by setting, and thus reflects the principle of macrocontextualization. As the questions and activities approach greater sophistication, it is likely that the level of proficiency required would be quite significant. However, at basic levels, many students would still have access to the necessary language.

Cultures. Gain Knowledge and Understanding of Other Cultures Standard 2.1. Students demonstrate an understanding of the relationship between the practices and perspectives of the culture studied. Standard 2.2. Students demonstrate an understanding of the relationship between the products and perspectives of the culture studied.

By employing the techniques described in this chapter, once again knowledge and understanding of culture can become less one-dimensional as in the case of a blurb, and more textured and nuanced. Certainly, limits will still be seen. However, as a blending of analysis, synthesis, and evaluation (as examples) is reflected in a project, the teacher should expect to see significant gains in cultural understanding because the arbitrary barriers of epistemology within disciplines become less prominent.

Connections. Connect With Other Disciplines and Acquire Information Standard 3.1. Students reinforce and further their knowledge of other disciplines through the foreign language. Standard 3.2. Students acquire information and recognize the distinctive viewpoints that are only available through the foreign language and its cultures.

Without doubt, the interdisciplinary approaches relayed in this chapter are likely most effective in terms of addressing the connection standards. Distinctive viewpoints, reinforced knowledge of other disciplines, and the integration of target language can be optimized in this fashion. Indeed, it may even be possible to

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carve out a role for world languages in the core of an educational program that seriously considers social justice a worthwhile, albeit irreducible, goal.

Comparisons. Develop Insight Into the Nature of Language and Culture Standard 4.1. Students demonstrate understanding of the nature of language through comparisons of the language studied and their own. Standard 4.2. Students demonstrate understanding of the concept of culture through comparisons of the cultures studied and their own.

As in previous chapters, the interrelationships of language and culture take “center stage” in the language classroom oriented toward social justice. As such, teaching world languages for social justice may involve comparisons of the cultures and languages domestically and abroad.

Communities. Participate in Multilingual Communities at Home and Around the World Standard 5.1. Students use the language both within and beyond the school setting. Standard 5.2. Students show evidence of becoming life-long learners by using the language for personal enjoyment and enrichment.

Finally, by bringing migrant communities or others in the community into the process of interdisciplinary inquiry, the language classrooms become vibrant locales of learning and have immediate application of admittedly limited language ability. However, in the long run, such involvement and outreach activities may build support for language education, enhance articulation efforts, build support for language learning at even earlier levels, and secure our position in the core of educational experiences for all students. Questions for Discussion 1. In recent years, a number of highly publicized trials have included charges of discrimination based on ethnicity or language differences. Thinking of one or two trials in particular, how did community sentiment differ in the cases? 2. In terms of the sentiment of community members, how do you think these reactions could be recorded in a history textbook? In a film? In a legal textbook? In a song?

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3. If students were to study the trial years from now, which sources are they likely to encounter? Which facets of the experience do you think will be lost? 4. As a language teacher, how can you utilize language struggles in your own context to help students explore “grand questions” of life? Which questions would be appropriate for you to treat? Would any be inappropriate? Why or why not? Suggested Reading Ackerman, D. (1989). Intellectual and practical criteria for successful curriculum integration. In H. Jacobs (Ed.), Interdisciplinary curriculum: Design and implementation (pp. 25–38). Alexandria, VA: Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development. Baum, W. K. (1987). Oral history for the local historical society. Walnut Creek, CA: Alta Mira Press. Beane, J. A. (1997). Curriculum integration: Designing the core of democratic education. New York: Teachers College Press. Dunaway, D. K., & Baum, W. K. (1996). Oral history: An interdisciplinary anthology (2nd ed.). Walnut Creek, CA: Alta Mira Press. Fogarty, R. (1991). The mindful school: How to integrate the curricula. Palatine, IL: Skylight. Frisch, M. (1990). A shared authority. Albany: State University of New York Press. Grele, R. J. (1985). Envelopes of sound: The art of oral history (2nd ed.). Chicago: Precedent. Havlice, P. P. (1985). Oral history: A reference guide and annotated bibliography. Jefferson, NC: McFarland. Holstein, J. A., & Gubrium, J. F. (1995). The active interview. Thousand Oaks, CA: Alta Mira Press. Ives, E. D. (1995). The tape-recorded interview: A manual for field workers in folklore and oral history (2nd ed.). Knoxville: University of Tennessee. Jacobs, H. H. (Ed.). (1989). Interdisciplinary curriculum: Design and implementation. Alexandria, VA: Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development. Kaufman, D., Moss, D., & Osborn, T. (2003). Beyond the boundaries: A transdisciplinary approach to learning and teaching. Westport, CT: Praeger. Rubin, H. J., & Rubin, I. S. (1995). Qualitative interviewing. The art of hearing data. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

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8 A Small Virtual World After All: Communities in Cyberspace Overview In this chapter you will read about:
The caricatures we plan by.
The Internet as virtual reality.
Public journalism.
An example of a Web site.
Some basic concepts regarding Web authoring.
Standards and assessment.

THE CARICATURES WE PLAN BY

W

hen our children were younger, my wife and I enjoyed a trip in January to Disney World in Orlando, Florida—we formerly lived in Tampa, only 1½ hours by car. I recognize that Disney has weathered criticism from a number of fronts, including in my view perhaps the most significant from Lippi-Green (1997). Others have criticized Disney because of their commercial success and marketing to younger children. We went because our kids liked Mickey and Minnie—and would go again. In any event, the visits to Disney were interesting in that after several visits one begins to see the place as an industry, based on image, illusion, and fantasy, not unlike some other industries familiar to the readers of this text. The “It’s a Small World” ride, for example, propels the rider at a leisurely pace through a tunnel of automated puppet-type characters singing the theme song in various languages. 133

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Each of the puppets is dressed in traditional garb representing the global corner they are intended to embody. Although the ride can be enjoyable for young and old alike, very few would seriously consider such an escapade to truly be multicultural education, and to my knowledge none have suggested it, even if “there’s so much that we share” according to the song. But a similar criticism as to the staged nature of the Disney ride could be leveled against foreign language education in the United States. If we consider the way curricula present the world, it is the educational equivalent of putting students though an attraction. Consider the idea of the educated person in comparison to what can be provided in contemporary language education. The curricula of language classrooms, based on communicative themes derived from an idealized view of cross-cultural interrelations, seem to reflect our parts-to-whole approach to language education borne in the intellectual confines of positivism. It reminds one of Mary Shelley’s character played by Boris Karloff, “the Monster” in Frankenstein, who walked stiffly around with utterances that were barely comprehensible. The monster was pieced together from body parts in hopes that by taking the pieces and applying electricity, a whole would be born. Our contemporary approach, it would seem, suggests only that the electricity needs more time to bring the “monster” to life. It is manifestly inappropriate to blame the shortcomings of our “product” on language educators, given the environment in which we work and the almost universal lack of support for the learning of non-English languages in the United States. However, it is also likely that language educators need to take an extended and unflinching appraisal of how we have conceptualized the language teacher, the language, language learning, and the social contexts of each in our endeavor. The fundamental shortcoming, in my view, of our understanding of all of these facets is based on assuming each is largely unchanging. Language teachers change, languages change, and social contexts can be changed through education. Rather than viewing social reality as the fait accompli, as language teachers we must realize and seize the opportunity to shape it. We can, therefore, affect language and language forms, values and evaluative frameworks, political relationships, and cause-and-effect relationships in our social world. These critical contexts, as we have shown, are reflective of our society’s location on a measure of social justice, and can play a vital role in our transformational activity.

THE INTERNET AS VIRTUAL REALITY The Internet is actually a recent manifestation of a historical phenomenon referred to as the “virtual.” Shields (2003) explains: Techniques of the virtual create the illusion of presence through props, simulations, partial presences (such as a voice conveyed by telephone or thoughts written in a

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book) and rituals which invoke the past and make absent others present. They aid metaxis [leaps between virtual and concrete or vice versa] from the virtual to the actual by giving concrete presence to intangible ideas. Historically, a growing web of communications, beginning with the early couriers and envoys, first between the courts of rival countries and empires, later across those empires in the form of postal systems which served common people, and finally via telegraph and other forms of telecommunication to the far corners of the globe culminating in the spread of the Internet as a grassroots alternative to phone, fax, and telex which girdles the globe (even if this is more the exception than the rule in some developing countries . . .). (pp. 41–42)

Though this concrete presence reflects intangible reality, with the world of the digital age, not each reality is represented equally. Access to the Internet, for example, is based on power and privilege, and has resulted in what scholars refer to as the “digital divide.” The digital divide can be defined as “the gap between those who have and do not have information and communication technologies” (Rice & Katz, 2003, p. 91). Katz and Rice (2002) connect the Internet’s potential to the extreme views of utopian and dystopian perspectives. In so doing, they provide a beneficial understanding of the possibilities of the Internet, both positive and negative. In summary, they suggest that the Internet may (a) narrow the range of participants in any civic or community involvement, (b) limit privacy, participation, and discourse, (c) limit the potential for transformation, (d) foster political involvement, and (e) increase tolerance and involvement of community members (see pp. 103–113). Surratt (2001) has suggested in a similar vein that the Internet functions as a virtual human settlement, a “Netropolis” enabling two-way communication, and challenging the conceptualizations of self. In relation to social justice, Gattiker (2001) argues that the Internet produces a number of problems in addition to the digital divide, including the fact that “one group’s freedom to cruise on the Net may infringe on another’s right to fast responses through the Internet. Accordingly, the development of a just society requires that the rights secured by justice are balanced among the various groups’ interests” (p. 107). Though Gattiker’s position on social justice appeals to an external and independent logic of principles of justice, it also suggests two major principles that could be helpful in our case: Social justice (a) assigns rights and duties as it (b) defines the division of social advantages. Because language education has traditionally served those who will go to college and the remnants of that system still seem to be quite strong, the rights and duties assigned language classrooms should include the responsibility to utilize the social advantages they have in the service of a greater good of social justice. In other words, language classrooms have access that may be denied to large segments of society both globally and locally. They can use that access in re-creating a social context reflecting more social justice. Wood and M. J. Smith (2001), for example, posit that:

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Discursive resistance is a process through which text, oral, nonverbal communication, and other forms of meaning-making are employed to imagine alternatives to dominant power structures. This definition rests on a conception of discourse— communication that shapes or influences human relationships. Of course, all communication may be considered discursive to some degree; some are just more obvious than others. This form of resistance may confront and reject those structures, but it seldom attacks them directly. Ironically, current trends reveal that the Internet may be an unlikely site of discursive resistance. (p. 169)

Wood and Smith distinguish between intentional communities, those who join for a specific cause, and ad hoc communities, those that form in response to a threatening or traumatic event. If world language classrooms connect themselves to broader social movements they can become ad hoc communities on a local level; at the same time they function as intentional communities with other language classrooms on a broader level. In other words, the world language classrooms can become facilitators of interlinguistic discourse related to social justice. Lovink (2002) points out that: The public no longer has to respond to governmental officials, business representatives or celebrity experts and launches its own public forums on line. However, the knowledge exchange of how to set up such a digital public sphere is still performed in English, a fact which native English speakers may not even notice. For non-native English theorists and artists however, language is very much a topic. . . . Participation in international discourse is therefore limited to those who want to make the extra effort, do a creative writing course or get help from native speaking [English] friends. . . . Publishers who paid for expensive translators are reluctant to make these translations available on line, thereby further increasing the time lag in what I see as vital cultural exchanges about rapidly changing global issues. (p. 122)

Instead of relying on a market-driven rationale to emerge for non-English representation on the Web, through a grassroots—but organized—effort, world language classrooms can attempt to take advantage of access, and the admittedly debated democratic possibilities of the Web, as outlined by L. D. Simon, Corrales, and Wolfensberger (2002): (a) an erosion of borders, both national and physical, (b) the availability of information and ideas, (c) freedom of association, (d) a reduction of the power of governmental control, (e) the ambiguity of identity of any single regulative body, (f) the speed of development and diffusion, and (g) forcing governments to change and become more democratic in the process (pp. 8–14). It should be noted that Simon et al. also point out specific examples of the limitation of the Internet’s potential. Aronowitz (2001), in commenting on the work of Poster (2001), points out that: Although skeptical of cyberhype, Poster agrees that cyberspace has altered the nature of “community.” From spaces of face to face interaction, where pressing the flesh is the characteristic gesture of everyday encounters (let alone friendship), we

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may now, by means of networks, generate communities that meet in cyberspace but possibly never in person. (p. 168)

Teaching world languages for social justice is indeed related to altering the nature of “community” in regard to language teaching in the United States and beyond. We can be activists in recreating the community in our local context and in the “most powerful nation on Earth.” Farhi (2003) echoes this sentiment of a dual approach: The immediate actors (middle classes, students, urban popular groups . . .) most interested in the deepening of democratic participation continue to be internal and their actions are aimed at local authorities. Civic organizations that have taken a leading role have also developed in symbiosis with the nation-state. However, there is no doubt that formal and informal international networks of non-governmental organizations focused on women, minorities and human rights in general as well as the environment are also having an impact, at least in terms of the normative valuation of democratic action at the global level. Also influential are the exiled or émigré communities that, given the power of global electronic mediation, are now able to cross these borders much more easily in terms of influence and ideas. Common to all these groups and organizations, both local and international, is a consciousness of universal democratic values that must nevertheless translate into practical and local political agendas. (p. 35)

We do not accept the global imperialism of English as a fait accompli, but seek to utilize the language classrooms of the world as an opportunity for resistance. As they consider the potential of Internet-based communities, Katz and Rice (2002, pp. 103–129) also suggest possible drawbacks and benefits: 1. Online communities are controlled and secondary. 2. Mediated communities detract from social capital, or the informal and voluntary association, communication and interaction (though Katz and Rice dispute this claim using their own research). 3. Online communities are homogeneous and overly narrow in their interests. 4. Online communities detract from the involvement and participation in local community organizations. 5. Online communities can overcome physical and temporal constraints. 6. Online communities can be vibrant and supportive, perhaps more so than local communities alone. 7. Online communities avail the ability to create shared information and community voices. 8. Online communities may spur activism beyond local areas. 9. Online communities can complement offline relations. 10. Online communities can foster dialogue that is otherwise suppressed.

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Katz and Rice’s research suggests that activism and social capital are indeed spurred through online communities, often based on altruism. This social capital is created as a by-product of people using the Internet based on individual interests. Though based on theories that have not yet been adequately explored, I would argue, it is possible that we can begin to discover opportunities for facilitating sociolinguistic change through activities related to the discussions presented in this text and to the tradition of public journalism.

PUBLIC JOURNALISM Eksterowicz and Roberts (2000) refer to new movement in journalism that concentrates on civic responsibility, when noting, “While traditional journalism recognizes objectivity and detachment as a moral and philosophical foundation for the practice of journalism, public journalism represents an attempt to connect journalists with the community in which they operate. It places citizen input as the center of journalistic concern” (p. xiii). Eksterowicz and Roberts conclude that “hope remains that many more print and broadcast journalists will recognize their responsibility to help Americans understand that democratic institutions rarely survive without an engaged citizenry” (p. 187). Jensen (2001) has even suggested that radical ideas can be most definitely incorporated into the journalistic endeavor. One of the ways we can both utilize the World Wide Web to explore local linguistic diversity and at the same time confront privilege is to foster relationships among teachers in districts that have fewer electronic resources available. As an example, assume that a language teacher in a resource-starved district works with a language teacher in a more affluent suburban district.

AN EXAMPLE OF A WEB SITE In the last chapter, I outlined ideas for an interdisciplinary unit on migration injustice and liberty. At this point, I would build on that project by suggesting a Web site that serves as a “Migration Primer” for Anytown High School. The page could include links to information about history, stories and interviews, visuals, perspectives from the United States and abroad, current challenges, about our class, and more information. I now turn to each of these sections of the hypothetical site.1 1 In the long-standing tradition of the Web, addresses (URLs) are subject to change. The sites discussed in this chapter were accessed during the time of this writing, but there is no reason to believe that there is an abnormal volume of relevant sites at this time. In other words, though teachers of world languages may need to find their own examples, the information here may prove illustrative as one hypothetical case in point.

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History A page created to reflect the history of language diversity in a particular area could look back at colonial times, the westward expansion, all the way up to through the world wars and to present day in a particular geographic area. Each section of the United States has historically been linguistically diverse, and to assume a single “English-speaking nation” is not only inaccurate today, but has never been more than an idealized concept, reified through years of political struggle. If students in the world language classroom had completed, for example, the interdisciplinary unit mentioned in the previous chapter and included a study of Sacco and Vanzetti, a number of links could be added to a history page. The history section might also look at the treatment of the linguistically diverse in the case of German-American or Japanese-American internment camps (for information on the latter, consult The Japanese American Museum at http://www. janm.org/main.html), the Cuban refugees (see the Cuban information archives at http://cuban-exile.com/index.html), the treatment of African Americans in the pre–civil rights South (which, although related to ethnicity or race, could be seen as having linguistic features as well). Even in the states not normally thought of as points of entry, contemporary issues can be explored. Nebraska, for example, has initiated a number of important advances, including as of this writing a draft meatpacking industry workers bill of rights, including: “An employee is entitled to understand his or her rights and obligations. The employer shall provide an explanation in an employees’ native language of that employee’s rights and duties as an employee either person to person or through written materials” (from http:// gov.nol.org/johanns03/policy/wborNewsReleases/mpworkersbor.htm; retrieved November 25, 2003). Court cases may provide information regarding historically relevant events as well, including, for example, Kim v. The Northwestern Mutual Life Insurance Co. described on the Legal Aid Society’s Employment Law Center web page about their National Origin, Immigration, and Language Rights Program: The Project, joined by MALDEF and the Wilson, Sonsini law firm, filed a class action suit under federal and state law against Northwestern because of its admitted policy of rejecting life insurance applicants whom it deemed not sufficiently proficient in English. The case was successfully resolved when Northwestern agreed, among other things, to embark upon a sweeping national program to provide multilingual access to all of its insurance products, provide monetary relief to the class of persons who had been denied coverage because of the policy, and to set up a consumer education fund to combat unfair insurance practices. (from http://www.laselc.org/origin.html#lrp; retrieved November 25, 2003)

Historical sections may also include “virtual tours” of linguistic heritage. One excellent example could include the Goethe Institute’s German-American sites in

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the San Francisco Bay area, available at http://www.goethe.de/uk/was/vtour/sf1/ index.htm. Such sites enable students to connect, in their own communities, to understand the existence and influence of language contact and linguistic diversity in all parts of the United States. Even Native-American studies could include language issues as well. Teachers may choose to explore the language they are teaching individually in sections of the site, have students publish pages in both English and the target language, or in the case of specific community resources, provide links to specific local information. Stories and Interviews In the last chapter, I explored the possible use of interviews and oral history in developing the interdisciplinary unit. Those interviews, or other stories about linguistic diversity within the community and nation at large, could be highlighted in such a Web site project. Online news sources, such as La Opinión in Los Angeles (available at http://www.laopinion.com/). Additional examples could include the Italian-American Web site of New York (http://www.italian-american.com/ italaffm.htm), La Prensa of Minnesota (http://www.laprensa-mn.com/), and the German Life Magazine at http://www.germanlife.com/about.html. Any number of biographical and community stories could be linked or even reported firsthand on this page. Oral history projects including the Ellis Island Oral History project can provide both resources and inspiration for world language classes interested in the area of discussion: The internationally acclaimed Ellis Island Oral History Project, based at the Ellis Island Immigration Museum, is the oldest and largest oral history project dedicated to preserving the first-hand recollections of immigrants coming to America during the years Ellis Island was in operation: 1892–1954. Begun in 1973 by National Park Service employee Margo Nash, the project has grown over the years to include over 1,300 interviews on audiotape. Each interview includes an extensive examination of everyday life in the subject’s country of origin, family history, reasons for coming to America, the journey to the port, experiences on the ship, arrival and processing at the Ellis Island facility and an in-depth look at the adjustment to living in the United States. (from http://www.i-channel.com/education/ellis/oralhist.html; retrieved November 25, 2003)

Students could develop similar projects, in the target language, from their own locales, when possible. Additional historical notes of importance can be related to regional interests. Foreign-born populations in several states, such as Missouri, may have perceived the issues of the U.S. Civil War differently than their neighbors. And perhaps

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most poignantly in recent history, the terrorist attacks of September 11 crossed linguistic, ethnic, and religious lines in notable ways. The U.S. Department of State has a Web site that notes this very issue with stories of the heroes of September 11, 2001, noting: September 11 created a new generation of heroes for America and the world. They came from diverse cultures, and many from faraway lands, but on September 11— whether they perished in the attacks or bore witness—all were victims and each was a hero. From Pakistan, India, China and Nigeria, their stories are remarkably the same. A human being, not a nationality, saw strangers in need, and in many cases risked—and gave—their own life in order to save another. The global heroes of September 11 spoke different languages, but shared a common humanity. (from http:// usinfo.state.gov/albums/911/; retrieved November 25, 2003)

The site includes information available in French, Spanish, Arabic, Russian, and Chinese. Web sites more critical of the U.S. response are also available, and should not be overlooked (but depending on specific contexts must be handled with sensitivity) because they represent some perspectives of the target culture, including the German http://www.11-sept-2001.de/index.html. CNN also maintains pages in target languages, including German (http://www.n-tv.de/). Visuals The mural project described in the last chapter could be posted online by use of a digital camera, as could student-produced editorial cartoons, images of intercultural conflict, and heritage-related activities. In New York City, for example, the Puerto Rican Day Parade often includes bright, colorful images that reflect linguistic and cultural diversity in a vibrant U.S. city. The parade was even featured in an episode of “Seinfeld.” Similar events are held in places across the nation, including California (see http://www.capuertorican.com/). However, the Puerto Rican Day parade has also been the setting for much controversy in recent years. The postparade festivities were recently the location of a sexual attack and groping of about 50 women, including a French tourist on her honeymoon. Police tactics were criticized in both that year and following years, when an increased police presence became evident. The parade has also been the site of protests against the bombing of Vieques. As a result, editorial cartoons and images filled the airwaves and the Internet. These visuals were in addition to television news coverage including still frames of alleged perpetrators taken from home movies and similar sources. The images related to the event present a powerful pictorial composition of the intercultural and interlinguistic controversies in a large city. Other possibilities exist in smaller towns as well. Students could utilize digital or regular cameras (processed with the photos returned in digital form) to provide a visual documentation of language diversity in

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their own hometowns. Students should, of course, be encouraged to respect the sensitivities of certain cultures and people to having their picture taken. These students can, as one example, highlight examples of Spanish names, Spanish speakers, historical points of interest, and related visuals in their communities. The mural project described in the last chapter could serve as a capstone to such an extended project. Perspectives From the United States and Abroad A significant source of information about the United States as a “player on the world’s stage” is not only our own newspapers, but the Internet sites and perspectives offered from the areas where the target language is spoken. Usually major world issues such as the Iraqi conflict are discussed worldwide, but so are issues such as environmental conservation, human rights, HIV/AIDS, refugees, and women’s rights. The perspectives gained in the target language can be synopsized or explored by students, with links to the original sources. Through the popular site Yahoo, for example, one can find news reports of events in German (www.yahoo.de), in Spanish (es.yahoo.com), in French (www.yahoo.fr), in Japanese (www.yahoo.co.jp/), in Italian (it.yahoo.com/), in Chinese (cn.yahoo.com/), and even in Spanish, but dedicated to U.S. issues (espanol.yahoo.com/). Those the stories presented on this site may be from major news sources around the world and therefore do not extensively engage dominant discourse critically, but they do allow for comparison of stories in the languages. The Human Rights Watch Web site, www.hrw.org, also provides information on controversial issues in a number of languages. The possible language offerings on that site include Arabic, French, Chinese, English, Portuguese, Russian, Spanish, Albanian, Amharic, Bosnian, Bulgarian, Georgian, German, Indonesian, Japanese, Korean, Persian/Farsi, Serbian, Swahili, and Turkish. The Web site reports on human rights abuses in countries around the world, including the United States and Canada. Current Challenges Following the lead of such organizations as Amnesty International and other human rights organizations, world language classrooms may also become advocates/watchdogs for issues of language rights in the United States and other settings. The declaration of universal human rights by the United Nations includes protection of language minorities. UNICEF’s Voices of Youth Web site (www. unicef.org/voy/) includes discussion forums where children discuss issues related to human rights in French, Spanish, and English. It is not my purpose to prescribe a single connection in the work of Web site building or a particular theme. It is, however, very important that the activities are aligned with existing social movements, which was one of the original points of

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discussion in this text. World language classrooms should engage in the study of issues related to social justice through a process of inquiry, such as the critical inquiry cycle, discussed throughout this work. The CIC can, in fact, serve in a symbiotic relationship with a Web site project. Current challenges can be explored, and tentative conclusions can be discussed or debated as well. Students’ awareness can be enhanced as they study languages, and social reality in the United States can be altered as part of the process. This should not be viewed as engineering in the sense of curriculum design as an exact science. It will likely be a messy process, much like reality. About Our Class This section of the Web site can introduce visitors to your site to the process in which you are engaged. At the same time, it can serve as a point of connection for other language classrooms engaged in the same process. Obviously, protecting children from predators would necessitate diligence in regard to what information is presented regarding students, including pictures or other images. More Information Perhaps one of the most beneficial roles played by a world language classroom Web site, in addition to exploring issues related to linguistic diversity at local, national, and global levels, is to serve as a resource for further study. These resources may simply increase public awareness of language diversity in their own local environment (see the French-American Chamber of Commerce, Louisiana Chapter, www.faccla.com/, as one example), or local efforts to address global issues (see the French American Foundation at www.frenchamerican.org/). If the world language class Web sites at numerous schools link to one another and each engage in inquiry locally, the world language for social justice classroom becomes part of a movement itself. As depicted in the folk song “Alice’s Restaurant,” if one class begins the process, others may join in this improbable attempt to celebrate linguistic diversity—and this from a context, the language classroom, that has seem to grow increasingly marginalized in the national discourse, and irrelevant to the national experience. Any level of success, it could be argued, would improve our already abysmal record.

SOME BASIC CONCEPTS REGARDING WEB AUTHORING Though most of us are comfortable browsing the Web, fewer of us would consider ourselves Web authors. As a result, the idea of publishing a Web site related to the activities described in this book may be intimidating. However, Web authoring is

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not unlike using a word processor. For beginners, I typically recommend a program with a simple, user-friendly interface such as Microsoft FrontPage. If one thinks of the Internet as an extension of a single computer, it is helpful in understanding the way the Web works. I am writing this text on a laptop, with a Windows 98 operating system. When I save this document, it is placed in the C drive, in a folder called “My Documents.” The file is called “webauthor” and is a document, so it is represented as being located at C:\MyDocuments\ webauthor.doc. This logic is extended to the Web, as well. If I want to access a different computer file, I can open a browser window such as Internet Explorer or Netscape, and type a Web address, called a URL (Uniform Resource Locator). If, for example, I wanted to visit the Web site of the International Society for Language Studies (ISLS), I would type in the address http:// www.isls-inc.org. The http:// prefix (often merely assumed and not stated when a Web address is given) describes the way computers use to communicate, called Hypertext Transfer Protocol. The address, www.isls-inc.org, is a registered domain that indicates files sitting on a computer, called a server. The browser then sends a request to the server for the web page. In the case of www.isls-inc.org, the page is actually called “index” and is not a document, “doc,” but a file written in Hypertext Markup Language or HTML. That page, then, can be found on a computer at the location described as www.isls-inc.org/index.html. The server recognizes that when one simply types in www.isls-inc.org they are requesting the default page, or index.html. However, other pages exist on that server, including www.isls-inc.org/join.htm for joining and www.isls-inc. org/conference.htm for conference information. If the pages were in a folder one level further down, the address would include at least one additional “/” to describe labels. If one were to visit the web page at the White House Web site that is in Spanish, as of the time of this writing it is found at www.whitehouse.gov/espanol/index.es.html. This indicates that on the server for www.whitehouse.gov, there is a folder called “espanol” and within that folder is a file called index.es.html. This detail helps us understand, then, how Web sites are constructed. Using HTML, students can create pages that include links to other pages. A link is simply a reference to a different file. When you click on a link, you send a request for that file. Pages can also display pictures, sounds, and other elements, which also are stored on computers as files and therefore are downloaded. Returning to the ISLS page, one can see that there is a picture bar running across the bottom of the page. The picture bar is stored at http://www.isls-inc.org/Untitled2.jpg and inserted into the ISLS home page. Therefore, if you were to put only the location of the bar into a browser, such as Internet Explorer, you would see only the picture bar on the page. By combining words, pictures, and links, a page is born. If world language classrooms also have a web page that includes links to files on other servers, one approach would be to set up a frames page.

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The frames page is basically a single page divided into a number of sections, called regions. Each region contains a different file (page or picture or combination). The frames page often includes links that change the page in another region. This structure allows visitors to the Web site to see other sites while they continue to have access to your site at the same time. The sample page presented earlier in the chapter utilizes frames. Many sources are available for those learning to author Web sites, and many services are available for free or inexpensive Web hosting (a service in which computer space is “rented” to store Web files for an Internet or Web site). Several of these resources are listed at the end of this chapter.

CONCLUSION As we begin to explore the transformative potential of our field, we can begin to unravel the cycle of curricular bankruptcy that has reduced foreign language education to a mere caricature of its potential. Indeed, like the typical amusement park ride, if our efforts continue in the same technicist vein, we likely deserve our own theme song. Ode to U.S. Foreign Language Education (To the tune of It’s a Small World) It’s a world where the people Don’t talk like me, But they’re preoccupied With their own hobbies, Weather, body parts, and Things I don’t understand ’Cause I can’t speak “en español.” Communication and vocab I know Not enough if I want to go Anywhere except to U.S. schools. Foreign language rules! Now I’m told that the world Is a great big place. If I go overseas I will see their face But I can’t comprehend My own neighborhood friends When they’re speaking español. German, French, and the like I take So to college I can go and make

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Much more money than my migrant friends Who learn that English wins!

The Web site projects, however, can serve as a form of activism and awareness enhancement that begins to change our very small world.

STANDARDS AND ASSESSMENT The Standards for Foreign Language Learning may be addressed through the Web site projects, but as was the case in previous chapters, the specific applications will depend on the activities or objectives employed by the teacher.

Communication. Communicate in Languages Other Than English Standard 1.1. Students engage in conversations, provide and obtain information, express feelings and emotions, and exchange opinions. Standard 1.2. Students understand and interpret written and spoken language on a variety of topics. Standard 1.3. Students present information, concepts, and ideas to an audience of listeners or readers on a variety of topics.

Students creating and reading web pages can use written language in the process. If, in the tradition of public journalism, interviews are included, then conversations, exchange of opinions, and presenting information may also be part of the activities. The audiences for the web page will also receive concepts, information, and ideas on a variety of topics.

Cultures. Gain Knowledge and Understanding of Other Cultures Standard 2.1. Students demonstrate an understanding of the relationship between the practices and perspectives of the culture studied. Standard 2.2. Students demonstrate an understanding of the relationship between the products and perspectives of the culture studied.

Because the Web represents practices and products of cultures being studied, the Internet as part of a world language class can indeed help students gain knowledge and understanding of other cultures. At the same time, as students interview local speakers of the language, where appropriate, they gain even more knowledge related to linguistic diversity in the United States.

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Connections. Connect With Other Disciplines and Acquire Information Standard 3.1. Students reinforce and further their knowledge of other disciplines through the foreign language. Standard 3.2. Students acquire information and recognize the distinctive viewpoints that are only available through the foreign language and its cultures.

Connections with other disciplines are possible, particularly if the interdisciplinary activities presented in the previous chapter are utilized. However, the Web site activities are most likely to help students gain information through the foreign language as the students conduct research on the Web, as indicated in Standard 3.2.

Comparisons. Develop Insight Into the Nature of Language and Culture Standard 4.1. Students demonstrate understanding of the nature of language through comparisons of the language studied and their own. Standard 4.2. Students demonstrate understanding of the concept of culture through comparisons of the cultures studied and their own.

Comparisons related to language and culture would be incorporated in the CIC phases. The students can be exposed to cultural differences as they examine international issues at the local level.

Communities. Participate in Multilingual Communities at Home and Around the World Standard 5.1. Students use the language both within and beyond the school setting. Standard 5.2. Students show evidence of becoming life-long learners by using the language for personal enjoyment and enrichment.

Perhaps most significantly, students who engage in the Web site projects described in this chapter participate in multilingual communities at home and abroad. For some, this learning may even become lifelong, and the language skills

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and experiences of the world language classroom can provide an effective beginning to the process. A Final Thought As a final thought, it is important to remember that although the Internet does contain many perspectives, students also need to engage them critically—as has been recommended in previous chapters for other media. Many of my colleagues and I have discussed, moreover, that helping students develop skills in evaluating the value of certain information on the Web, specifically the quality of research, is becoming an alarmingly common need. The language classroom may not be the place to undertake such activity as a primary focus, but certainly teachers can be aware that simply because something is on the Web does not automatically make it of the highest quality. That awareness can be shared with students as well. Questions for Discussion 1. How do language curricula require a “suspension of disbelief” similar to reading a selection of fiction? 2. Are there limitations to the effectiveness of the Internet in language teaching? Of computers in general? What are they? 3. The author suggests that the Internet in language education could be utilized to reconstruct social realities. How has technology already done so? How has the impact differed for people in differing socioeconomic classes? In terms of the Internet, should the government subsidize access for all citizens? Why or why not? 4. How could you complete projects similar to the ones described in this chapter without using the Internet or World Wide Web? Are there alternative, yet equally powerful media that could also be useful in changing sociocultural realities? Suggested Reading Anderson, B. (1991). Imagined communities. New York: Verso. Chomsky, N., & Herman, E. S. (1988). Manufacturing consent: The political economy of the mass media. New York: Pantheon Books. Frechette, J. D. (2002). Developing media literacy in cyberspace: Pedagogy and critical learning for the twenty-first-century classroom. Westport, CT: Praeger. Garcia, O., & Fishman, J. (Eds.). (2002). The multilingual apple: Languages in NYC (2nd ed.). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Graves, D. H. (1983). Writing: Teachers and children at work. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann Educational Books. Landow, G. P. (1997). Hypertext 2.0. The convergence of contemporary critical theory and technology. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

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Overfield, D. M. (1997). From the margins to the mainstream: Foreign language education and community-based learning. Foreign Language Annals, 30(4), 485–491. Sussex, R., & White, P. (1996). Electronic networking. Annual Review of Applied Linguistics, 16, 200–225. Warschauer, M. (Ed.). (1998). Virtual connections: Online activities and projects for networking language learner. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

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9 Reconcile! Toward a Unified Discipline Overview In this chapter you will read about:
My own experiences in teacher education.
My students’ thoughts.
Toward rethinking curriculum development.
Will this work in all languages and in all contexts?
Macrocontextualization revisited.
Heritage language learning: why it doesn’t go far enough.
Crossing disciplines to unify.
Moving the agenda forward: reconciliation.
Language education on trial.

MY OWN EXPERIENCES IN TEACHER EDUCATION

W

hen I first began teaching my courses with a critical frame, I found the experience to be more frustrating than exciting. Students, who were accustomed to being handed a syllabus (undergraduate and graduate), were often put off by the fact that I had not prescribed the sequence of course topics or the evaluation system. One student asked, “Why have grades at all—why don’t we just have class with no grades?” A good point, to be sure, but I still had to send something to the registrar at the end of the semester. Or did I? “Okay,” I replied, “but you realize that the registrar will simply assign you a grade of ‘K’ meaning that the instructor did not submit a grade for the course. You 151

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will not get your three credits.” The students did not take long to ponder this issue; they immediately decided perhaps a grade would be a good thing. And then they set up a grading system that included class participation, projects, and a presentation. My thought was that this system seems to be not much different than one I would have created. As the course progressed, it seemed to me we spent a lot of time retracing our steps, though we did develop a sequence of topics and took turns discussing the issues relevant to the course. In the third or fourth session, though, things began to change remarkably. No longer were the students “going along” with their instructor to appease him, they actually began to take charge of the learning. They overruled my ideas for activities, proposed alternative directions, and began to forge a path for themselves. It probably helped that my role was more of problem poser/ troublemaker in that I constantly demanded that they view everything they were doing through the eyes of what we were discussing and developing. Over time, we developed our own “cultural practices” within the classroom. We began confronting one another and ourselves, as we explored our own lives of privilege and power. Given that the students were all teachers or teachers-to-be, we recognized that few of us could really say that we have experienced the extent of marginalization that many in the United States live daily. We agreed that this reality did not mean we had no voice, for to take such a position would preclude academic discussion. No one in academe could be said to be able to discuss the relevant issues based on such an extremist claim. We utilized the chalkboard/whiteboard as an open forum. Students would often walk to the board (which, as it happens, was not at the front of our group), and would write a thought, rephrase what others were saying, register a protest, or otherwise codify a moment in our exploration. This act was symbolic of a shared power structure (in that “the board” is the traditional symbol of dominant discourse). It often frustrated us, but we noticed a tendency to “bank” critical pedagogy. In other words, we wanted to put critical pedagogy and our explorations in little boxes that made it seem more controllable, more applicable in the daily lives of our academic demands. However, we recognized that such an approach was inconsistent with the goals of social justice, and often resulted in essentialized or reductionist approaches to our discussion or forum. Finally, we found ourselves revising the syllabus regularly. This was not planned revision, per se. The students grew in their understanding of what they wanted from the class, what areas of interest were important in the world they inhabited, professionally and personally, and therefore challenged the way they had set up the syllabus in terms of order, in terms of activities, and in terms of assessment. We did not remove any of the assigned texts, interestingly, but the way we approached the works evolved from more of a synopsis discussion to an application and critical engagement of the texts, the ideas, and the process itself.

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MY STUDENTS’ THOUGHTS The students were quite articulate (both before and even after the semester grades had been submitted!) about their reactions to this challenge to their typical ways of thinking. I present a few of them here, anonymously, and lightly edited: What I can actually say to you is that you and the colleagues in that class collaborated to have me learn to unoppress [sic] myself and fulfill my free style of thinking which seems to be in clash with narrow mindedness that occurs around. I am able to question a number of said progressive-constructivism teaching approaches whereby I feel myself manipulated to do what the instructor wants me to do. I learnt to learn in a free and developing manner in your class because of your integrating us as learners to initiate burning issues pertaining what and how we seek to learn. Someone else might claim to be doing the same, unfortunately some I have come across they are not doing so. There is an element of a strategic manipulation which most of my “poor colleagues” seem to collaborate to get the A. Who does not want an A? I also want the A as much as I do not want to be oppressed. I was born and bred in oppression and most of my people died in it and I survived. It is clear that it might take my life time for me to be free. But I am grateful for the fact that your-our strategy of sharing views and opinions on critical pedagogy were able to make me feel free and as much as we dealt much on critical pedagogy I was able to learn that solutions are not from necessarily on critical pedagogy but in people involved within the situation but critical pedagogy attempts and challenges people to do right things they would determine to be done within education setting and for effective social practices.

Another one shared: It is no secret that initially I felt very uneasy and distraught. Most of my previous educational experiences encompassed structure and explicit expectations. Not adhering to the “norm” was very new to me. Yes, this was due to my severe brainwashed state of oppression. The grading system also made me feel very vulnerable. The unclear grading process (a subjective opinion made by a superior about another’s academic performance) enhanced my vulnerability. My grades always meant a great deal to me. I knew that others would judge my academic abilities by my college transcripts. The opinion of others should be secondary to my own feeling of academic enrichment.

Still a third shared: As for the class, it’s been transformational. That’s the best word I can think of to describe it. I said before that although I’ve learned something from all my classes, this class actually helped me to grow. I’ve grown as a critical thinker, as a student, as a teacher, as an observer, and (I think) as a person. And we all have. Some people just ate that sort of transformational thinking up because it’s what they like to do any-

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way. For others, it was frustrating and at times maybe painful. But growth is funny like that. I’ve been going through the motions in the school of ed because they’re going to give me a piece of paper that tells me I can teach. But I have a feeling that this might be the ONLY class that is actually going to help me be a better teacher. And so far, that has been true. It makes me want to rip my hair out sometimes, but this class always stays with me. I like going to class. I talk to my classmates outside of class (about critical pedagogy, no less). I talk to teachers and students about it. I’ve challenged the high school students that I work individually with to do the same sort of analysis that we do in class, and they have given me feedback and reading materials. They seek me out in the school because they want to have educational debates. I hear them talking to each other about it. It’s transformational. The sad thing is, I don’t think it’s really all that radical or revolutionary. It just isn’t done. Does that make sense? I think it’s natural to think and teach and learn like we’ve been modeling all semester. It’s just that the school system doesn’t trust its teachers or its students enough to let them do it. And so then we get into all this stuff about politics and culture and hegemony. They go hand in hand, and obviously we link these issues with every aspect of our lives and society. But it seems to me that critical pedagogy is only political because of its questioning nature. It seems to me that critical pedagogy is just the teaching and learning of critical thinking. As for my own learning, it’s the same story. It isn’t all that radical for me to think critically. . . . I just wasn’t doing it. I was so caught up in meeting deadlines and managing my schedule that I didn’t stop to question what I hoped to accomplish with it all and why. This class forced—no, allowed—me to do that. And it helped that I was surrounded by people who would question me right back. I didn’t say anything without analyzing the hidden implications behind what I was saying. And the environment was comfortable enough for the most part that I was comfortable speaking even though I knew I might back myself into a corner with my words. The fact was that we were all growing and transforming together. We were helping each other to do so. So it was ok to make a mistake. My favorite parts of the class were when we stopped and talked about how we were feeling and thinking and learning. I like being critical of the “thems” out there, but it was much more fascinating when I was critical of myself and of my own process. The class was great like that. It turned each one of us inside out. All of a sudden we were all exposed and vulnerable, and part of that exposure was looking inward and seeing ourselves. The vulnerability happened when we realized that other people were learning about us AS we were, meaning that we couldn’t build up our walls. Humor and aesthetics were essential, I think, in making the level of intensity in the room a bit more bearable.

I share this story to prepare the language teacher who wishes to teach for social justice. There is nothing, at first, comforting about the approach. Results do not come quickly and there are many, many missteps coupled with a constant need for meta-analysis. It can be compared, perhaps, to a journey on a yacht across a broad ocean. We can have tools for navigation and a commitment to the journey, but the

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seas are not infrequently rough and the destination is not even on the horizon. We may not even be able to imagine what the destination port looks like! But, teaching for social justice is not about the destination, it is about the journey. Whether we “make the road by walking” as M. Horton and Freire’s (1990) book suggests or if we prefer a sailing analogy, the point is not to be overlooked: Teaching for social justice is about the journey of inquiry, not about arriving in any predetermined place. I also fully recognize that the experiences I have described in this chapter involve teachers and teachers-to-be rather than world language students. I would encourage readers to recognize, though, that if we accept experiences only from language students as valid, we have missed a very significant point. World language teachers will also be students in their classrooms; that is, they will learn right alongside their students. Drawing from the works of Vygotsky, Bakhtin, and Erikson in developing applications for youth empowerment, Penuel (1998) notes: In many ways, the adults are the ones who have learned much from engaging in this process, as they themselves shift from using a “unilateral” language of youth development to using a more “empowering” language that seeks to include youth as partners and teachers of community change. Adults can learn from youth how to listen, how to have the courage to speak the truth of their convictions, and how to maintain hope in the face of adversity. (p. 172)

Therefore, the experiences and reflections of teachers in all disciplines are vital. Teachers will not lead their students to a utopia of social justice; they will, in fact, join in this important journey. I would argue that we will never arrive at “social justice,” but we must strive to make the journey nonetheless. The implications for the profession are far reaching: (a) There is no universal road map for this form of teaching; (b) we advance the profession by each making the journey, and then comparing our experiences; and (c) we invite those in the broader community of schools and society to join us. I now turn to an exploration of how the profession can conceptualize the journey.

TOWARD RETHINKING CURRICULUM DEVELOPMENT Though a technicist approach to curriculum development has long predominated, alternative design concepts have emerged as well. For example, Kliebard (2002, p. 7) proposes a hypothesis of four points related to the phenomenon of curriculum instability that I summarize as follows: 1. There are no boundaries for inclusion in a curriculum, therefore any contender could be considered legitimate.

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2. The rhetoric of reform is usually more powerful than any resistance, thus reforms are often initiated without corequisite structural changes necessary for long-term success. 3. Curriculum changes are rarely actual paradigm shifts—they are instead the reemergence of competing ideologies related to favorable social and cultural conditions. 4. Curriculum changes are often tied to the professionalism of the administration and their perceived need to be as advanced or up-to-date as the school down the road; therefore change is sometimes embraced for the sake of change. The significant issues here include recognition that no domain of “knowledge” is predetermined as the one appropriate for a given field of study. The specifics of the domain emerge as a result of competing ideologies in social and cultural contexts. At the same time, however, when curriculum change does occur, it must be coupled with structural change. Literary and philological study within our field can serve as an illustrative example. Carnochan (1993) has suggested that historically the internal debates within foreign language education have reflected a struggle about curriculum related to broader social context, noting that: While the field of history, though sliced into segments of time and place, was conceptually united, modern literary fields were divided against themselves: on the one hand was literature itself; on the other, dominant at the level of research, was language. While history had a relatively easy time working its way down from graduate teaching and research into the early undergraduate years, graduate work in English and the modern languages mean philology, not something readily transplanted into a course for hundreds of beginners. Literature needed therefore to be split off from philology. . . . Until the humanities—an old category newly constituted—secured their place in the unfolding trinity of knowledge, literature labored under the disadvantage of sharing accommodations with its awkward bedfellow. (p. 62)

In the text thus far, most of my discussion has been related to an exploration of ways in which we can restructure curriculum at the local level. As we encourage curriculum to develop and evolve at local levels, we tap into the power that Grundy (1987) recognized over 15 years ago: One of the most basic forms of critique is the discernment between the “natural” and the “cultural”. This is important because of one of the fundamental ways in which ideological oppression operates is to make that which is cultural (and hence in principle susceptible to change) appear natural (and hence unchangeable). Thus, recognizing the problematic nature of existence, it becomes possible to address questions about the root causes of problematic aspects of life and address possibilities of change. This form of critical pedagogy, unlike traditional pedagogical processes, places control of knowledge, (that is, both the production and application of knowl-

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edge) within the learning group rather than elsewhere. Hence such a form of pedagogy is inherently liberating. Participating in the act of pedagogy from this critical perspective is to be engaged in a form of praxis. (p. 104)

Cultural reality can be transformed in this fashion. McCarty (2004) illustrates that we are at a point in U.S. society where the role language teachers, in my view, can play a central role: There is no question, however, that the United States is in the midst of a national language panic, where language has become a proxy for social class and race. Spanish speakers, in particular, have been singled out as the targets of national language hysteria. The horrific events of September 11, 2001 have exacerbated these xenophobic trends, placing Arabic speakers—indeed all those who [appear to be Middle Eastern]—in great jeopardy as well. . . . Can these truly dangerous forces be resisted and transformed? (pp. 87–88)

Pointing to the work of Freire, McCarty concludes that a just, equitable education system is indeed possible.

WILL THIS WORK IN ALL LANGUAGES AND IN ALL CONTEXTS? The answer to the question as to universal application is simple: No! Let us assume, for example, that instead of a modern language, we look at the contexts of the classics. Finding native speakers of Latin with whom to do the exercises described earlier in this text will obviously provide a significant challenge. Yet, even for the classics, Reagan (2003) has argued persuasively that: Contemporary classics scholars have been engaged in a wide range of research activities that seek to address the very cores issues of both classical and modern societies. Among the issues that have been, and continue to be, discussed and debated—and which can and should be incorporated into the study of the classics—are such matters as the role and place of women in classical societies, feminism in classical studies as well as in classics as a field of study, imperialism and nationalism, old age, democracy and its limits, democracy and hegemony, definitions and implications of ethnicity and identity, language and identity, and conceptions of honor and shame. In short, virtually any modern controversy at the very least has antecedents in classical antiquity from which we can learn. Further, as we already noted, the Greeks sought answers to the most fundamental question of human existencequestions about the good life, justice, knowledge, ethics and so on. These are the questions at the heart of the “human conversation,” and it is here that the goals of critical pedagogy and those of classics, and indeed, of education in general, coalesce. (pp. 32–33)

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German and Japanese classes in parts of the country, as examples, may find relatively few native speakers in their contexts. Yet, allowing the lens of inquiry to be framed at the state or regional level will open up more opportunities. The road will look differently to each classroom journeyer.

MACROCONTEXTUALIZATION REVISITED Macrocontextualization, as I have discussed earlier, can be compared with contextualization of language in current practice. By recognizing that language always occurs in a context, I suggest we microcontextualize instruction, and that practice is beneficial to student learning. By macrocontextualizing instruction, we recognize the broader social context in which language education takes place and incorporate the social, cultural, and political realities into our language educational endeavors. This emphasis reflects the two-pronged approach of both “form” and “content” that is widely recognized in the critical literature, and reflected in Kliebard’s (2002) discussion of curriculum instability presented previously. As an integral component, therefore, macrocontextualization of world language education involves challenging existing “disciplinary” lines. The distinction between English as a second language (ESL), bilingual, and “foreign” language courses is, as discussed in my earlier work (Osborn, 2000), more sociological than methodological. Combining the educational endeavors of ESL, bilingual education, and foreign language education into a single “discipline” referred to as world language education and including courses in American English for non-native speakers, the new discipline itself becomes more reflective of the diversity in languages found in the United States. This configuration could allow for collaborative connections to be made between teachers and students of the languages, even as we avoid a “one size fits all” approach. The 1990 Census noted that 32 million people or 12% of the U.S. population are from homes that speak languages other than English and projections indicate that, in the year 2040, that number will climb to 98.7 million or 28% of the population (Center for Applied Linguistics, 1995). The number of English Language Learners in some of our largest school districts reached one in three over a decade ago (Fitzgerald, 1993). The Appendix presents updated census data on the languages spoken nationwide. A consolidation of language educational endeavors would also illuminate the fact that some of our most fundamentally accepted concepts within the field are based on a paradigmatic stance related to positivism. Perhaps, for example, the time-honored categories of BICS (basic interpersonal communication skills) and CALP (cognitive academic language proficiency), though helpful heuristically, have outlived their usefulness. Perhaps they are now best illustrative of an arbitrary barrier to disciplinary unification. In “foreign language” education, our stu-

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dents learn something similar to CABICSSLP (cognitive academic basic interpersonal communications sans language proficiency). Our courses are arranged around an idealized version of interpersonal communications derived by academics working from a cognitive and academic framework. Given the lack of time devoted to language education, one can certainly suggest that language proficiency is the exception rather than the norm. These issues can be illuminated and explored through the macrocontextualization of the profession as well as the course material. We must, in effect, unlearn our own oppression in terms of the artificial barriers we ourselves have intellectually constructed. Critically reflective world language teachers can then apply their insights and the mandates in a way that reflects their best professional judgment. Their ability to do so, in turn, should be at the heart of U.S. curricular and instructional reform in language education in the coming century (see, e.g., Popkewitz, 1991). As another example, we differentiate between additive and subtractive bilingualism. Additive bilingualism can be said to develop linguistic skills complementary to each other whereas subtractive bilingualism tends to develop target language proficiency at the expense of the other language(s), as is often the case in standalone ESL (see Carrasquillo & Rodriguez, 1996). In contemporary “foreign” language education, we accomplish neither. We actually can be better said to facilitate additive structural monolingualism based on the positivist superstructures we impose over the intellectual and social understanding of our students in regard to linguistic diversity. The additive structural monolingualism is accomplished through presenting “foreignness” as a hegemonic construct derived from whiteness, depicting bilingualism as esoteric and novel in native speakers of English and “un-American” when seen in native speakers of non-English languages in the United States. Contemporary language education course tend to “bank” cross-cultural understanding, thus obscuring the nature of cross-cultural interactions into “us” and “them” transactions (see Osborn, 2000; Reagan & Osborn, 2002). In essence, our current approaches to language education in terms of form, notably foreign language education as a separate enterprise from ESL or bilingual education, suggests a twodimensional vision of sociolinguistic reality in the United States. Thus, I have argued: Regardless, however, of the outcome of any curricular movement, critical reflection continues to play an important role in monitoring and further refining the growth of the profession. Only when teachers learn to challenge and redefine the mental frameworks related to differences in language and culture as expressed in our classrooms, can language education can take its place among the core subjects. Language education could enter into a virtual dialectic, in fact, with the other “core” disciplines in terms of underlying power relationships existent in the facets of language use. Ultimately, though the ideologies which underlie language domination also include promoting the concept of foreignness to the dominant language group,

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macrocontextualization . . . [places] the study in the local and sociohistorical framework within which it operates and allows for future shifts in pedagogy to be geared toward sociohistorical realities, not positivistic pedagogical advances rooted in second language acquisition theory. (Osborn, 2000, p. 119)

If language teachers “express impatience, bordering on hostility, with researchers and their work” (Van Lier, 1988, p. 26), it is not surprising. This gulf, however, is one that cannot be bridged effectively only by the publication of “classroom tricks and helpful hints.” Goodlad (1994) and others have discussed a process referred to as simultaneous renewal. And this form of inquiry, though not rooted in critical pedagogy, does reflect the thesis I am putting forward. We will not be able to chart out the course ahead of time. We, as a profession, will need to walk the road together, reaching across disciplines to address the form as well as the content of language education.

HERITAGE LANGUAGE LEARNING: WHY IT DOESN’T GO FAR ENOUGH Heritage language (HL) learning or instruction has evolved in recent years as a systemic approach to incorporating linguistic diversity in our professional paradigm. Some even suggest that it has become a field of its own (Anonymous, downloaded from Heritage Language Journal at http://www.international.ucla. edu/lrc/hlj/about.asp). HL, however, as a phenomenon, has a much longer history in our national context and is not new at all. German instruction in the early 20th century often constituted HL instruction. Kondo-Brown (2003) points out that: In the United States, the term “heritage language” (HL) encompasses a huge, heterogeneous population with varying historical and cultural backgrounds. Broadly speaking, HL refers to any ancestral language such as indigenous, colonial, and immigrant languages, and therefore, it may or may not be a language regularly used in the home and the community.

She goes on to point out that the meaning of the term varies depending on specific academic literature. Martinez (2003) argues that HL education for Spanish speakers in the U.S. Southwest came of age in the 1960s and 1970s related to the movimento chicano. Campbell and Christian (2003) suggest that HL researchers should focus on intergenerational transmission to understand how such languages can be sustained in the U.S. context. To be certain, I am in favor of the study of HL and research into the study of HL. However, I am concerned that as we in academe recognize this important area, we are neglecting the political context in which the work is being done. I can

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best illustrate my concern with a potentially inflammatory statement based on definitions currently used in the literature: English is a heritage language. I do not mean to be flippant, nor do I expect resources to be dedicated to people named “Smith” who want to take English classes. I do want to argue that, based on our current frames in language education (form), English cannot be realistically considered a heritage language nor can it be a foreign language. And therein, it would appear, lies a serious barrier to social justice. As long as American English or any other variety enjoys special status, linguistic diversity in the United States, whether called “foreign,” “world,” “modern,” “second,” “heritage,” or otherwise, will continue to be marginalized both in society at large (as education institutions are complicit in cultural reproduction) and in the field. Only by approaching linguistic diversity as a norm, and not an aberration requiring a special approach, will we begin to move toward a form of social justice in language education. By suggesting that in all language learning in our democracy we have a built-in dichotomy, content will follow form and developments in language education will “bank” social justice, support structural monolingualism, usurp the natural authority of native speakers for their own language, or all three. Allow me to illustrate using two features I found in an earlier study on “foreignness” (Osborn, 2000). Geographical fragmentation was a phenomenon noted in textbooks in curriculum in which areas such as neighborhoods, regions, states, and so on, were seen as areas of linguistic diversity whereas others were depicted as monolithic. Already, the HL movement is taking on such a veneer as it concentrates (albeit understandably) on the Southwest and the urban areas. I am not debating that there are differing levels of linguistic diversity in specific geographic locations—I recognize that these areas are not the only places where heritage languages are learned. Another phenomenon I documented was paternalistic empowerment. In this scenario, language learning is viewed as empowering to the marginalized based on the “evidence” that those with power are validating their language. Such empowerment reifies existing power structures and serves in the same vein as what Bordieu (see Lippi-Green, 1997, for an exploration of this approach) refers to as a strategy of condescension. It allows for linguistic diversity to be incorporated into the mainstream dialogue without actually threatening the status quo. Again, HL does warrant study and students of HL should be served. But they should be served not as “special learners,” rather as part of a national norm. Monolingualism and cultural myopia are the aberrations, if not locally, then globally. If we attempt to suggest that foreign language education is evolving for social justice merely by the presence of inquiry into HL learning, I fear we have “banked” the insights of multicultural education and similar advances. We end up with instructional impacts similar to the following exchange from an East German English-as-a-foreign-language textbook, obviously before German reunification:

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A conversation sprang up, dealing first of all with what they had seen on their tour [of the Cape Cod peninsula]. Marcus: You wanted us to see Cape Cod, the place where the “Mayflower” landed, Eileen! This is a very lovely place, it really is! José: That’s just how I feel! And I can understand that a student of history is interested in such places. Eileen: It means more for me. The humanist ideas of the “Mayflower Compact” and the Declaration of Independence are part of our national heritage. I am sometimes a little bit worried at the thought of what has become of the old democratic ideals of America as the “land of hope for mankind.” José: That’s right. I can only agree with what you just said. The ruling class has betrayed these ideals and the fight for them still goes on. (Böse, Lademann, & D. Schneider, 1989, p. 45)

We must be on guard, such that our efforts do not resemble a clumsy approach at incorporating insights from neo-Marxist thought into language curricula, resulting in dialogues that are just as ludicrous as the ones we currently have on hobbies, school schedules, and weather.

CROSSING DISCIPLINES TO UNIFY I argued in Critical Reflection and the Foreign Language Classroom (Osborn, 2000) that cooperative enterprises among English language learners and both native and non-native English speakers are not without precedent. Bromley (1995) suggested a discourse diary, called a buddy journal, pairing an ESL student in a written conversation with a native English-speaking peer. Nerenz and Knop (1982) pointed out that a non-native student could be paired with a “buddy” native speaker, the latter acting as a tutor to the former. In 1982, the Central States Conference on the Teaching of Foreign Languages looked at bridging the gap between ESL and foreign language teachers with its theme: Foreign Languages and English as a Second Language: From Monologue to Dialogue, though the proceedings focused on teachers from the two disciplines working together in the development and exchange of ideas (Garfinkel, 1982). I have known a foreign language teacher from Plainfield (Connecticut) High School who worked with an ESL teacher at Windham (Connecticut) High School in a program through a regional educational service agency, to build the kind of connections that can provide a glimpse of the motivational value of such endeavors. The students in the two classes exchanged e-mail and videos produced in English and Spanish. Students also became pen pals for each other and communicated via mail. As a culminating activity, the students visited each other’s schools for approximately half a day, talked, and celebrated a “fiesta” (R. T. Jones, personal communication, November 6, 1996). The stated goal of the exchange was

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that students would “integrate their second language and culture” and included the following objectives for students cited in a program overview: Develop new culturally diverse relationships among the students from the two schools. Use and develop their second language skills in the context of community service. Develop a deeper awareness of the importance of having a second language to enhance communication. Develop interpersonal communications skills and group dynamic skills. Model the importance and enjoyment of cultural diversity. (R. T. Jones, personal communication, 1996)

Students engaged in typical language activities that also included reading, interpreting literature in their respective second languages, and writing critiques of the reading using correct grammar and pronunciation. High levels of student motivation were one of the by-products of these activities. Students were reportedly very enthusiastic about the program, as reported by one teacher, noting that a student took advanced Spanish in hopes that the teacher was going to “have another ‘thing’ with those other kids.” Still others agreed that benefits of the exchange were increased cultural understanding and enhancement of second language skills (R. T. Jones, personal communication, 1996). These accounts serve to provide an illustration of the daily connections among the “disciplines of foreign/world language, ESL, and bilingual education” that can become part of the new world of language teaching in the United States. As stated related to other issues several times through the book, the movement toward unifying disciplines cannot be prescribed. The grassroots nature of such an endeavor can, however, eventually re-create our professional and social realities.

MOVING THE AGENDA FORWARD: RECONCILIATION Reconciliation suggests that we need to make something consistent or to establish a close relationship. The reconciliation I am arguing is needed is one including our curriculum, instruction, and assessment with our sociopolitical contexts. The reconciliation should also include the “form” of language education seen in programming, disciplinary divisions, and even language policy in education. The steps of the process may look as simple as follows: First, a few teachers try. Then, others learn from those who succeed. Third, we transform our professional world. All along, we change our social world. The process will not be comforting, and may involve radical reformulation of our understanding of even basic concepts. Consider Pennycook’s (2004) assertion:

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Perhaps, I would like to suggest (rewriting Clifford), the moment has arrived to argue that the language concept too has served its time. Such a proposal would not mean that all conceptions of linguistic difference should be discarded, but rather that the over-determined sense of linguistic fixity, with its long ties to colonialism and linguistics needs to be profoundly questioned. The concept of language used by linguists was invented by European theorists to account for the diverse modes of articulation by different human groups, but for all the supposed relativism of the notion of language, the concept’s model of totality, basically organic in structure, is no different from the nineteenth-century concepts it replaced. Whatever we may use to transcend the concept of language should at least no longer be closely tied to notions of organic unity, traditional continuity, and the enduring grounds of culture and locale. What we need is a set of relations that preserves the concept’s differential and relativist functions and that avoids the positing of cosmopolitan essences and human common denominators. Perhaps the advent of “language studies” can presage such a shift, not doing away with language but relocating its linguistic formulations differently. (pp. 1–2)

I no longer believe that the increasing multilingual context of the United States will put pressure on the foreign language education endeavor to produce a multilingual population. Instead, I suspect that we shall simply see increased movement toward structural monolingualism and world language education will, as I claimed when I started the book, simply stay irrelevant in the national discourse. We may make no difference, as we currently approach the endeavor with the epistemological confines of our field. But, I would also argue quite fervently that it need not be so.

LANGUAGE EDUCATION ON TRIAL The year is 2050. The defendant enters the courtroom dressed in a beret, lederhosen, and a guayabera. “All rise.” The judge, the Honorable Herr K., enters and takes his place at the bench. The charges are entered into the record. Foreign language education, alias World Language Education, alias Second Language Education, alias Languages other than English Education, alias Modern Language Education, is hereby charged with the following: Conspiracy to defraud students of marketable value. Negligence in application of critical insights in education. Malpractice in the transmission of language proficiency.

“How do you plead?” the judge inquires. The defendant does not respond. No plea is entered into the record. After a silent period, a lone voice is heard, “Call your first witness.”

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The prosecutor calls a student to the witness stand, representing those who have taken languages over the preceding 50 years. The student offers, “I took foreign language, but I didn’t learn anything.” “Objection,” the defense attorney interjects, “impossible.” “Your honor, if the court will allow, I can ask the witnesses questions that will clarify the position.” “Objection overruled. You may proceed with the questions.” “You say you didn’t learn anything. Did you receive any skills of marketable value?” “No.” “Were you able to converse in the language after completion of your study?” “No.” “Your honor!” the defense attorney rises again. “We object most strenuously. The witness is attributing shortcomings to the defendant that are the obvious result of inadequate resources or poor articulation, but they cannot be attributed to the defendant.” “Do you believe,” the judge directs his attention to the witnesses, “that given more years of similar study you would have developed a marketable skill?” “No.” “Do you believe you would have traveled abroad and made friends with people in foreign lands if you had taken more years of study?” “No.” “Objection overruled.” The prosecutor rises. “Call Professional Educators.” Professional Educators take the stand. “Do you benefit from the continuance of language education by receiving a salary?” “Yes.” “Do you benefit from the continuance of language testing by receiving fees from would-be teachers and students?” “Yes.” “Do you offer similar financial gains to students through their study?” The witness begins to respond, “I believe that . . .” “The witness will answer based on a market ideology,” Herr K. interrupts. “No, I guess not,” the witness responds. “Call Critical Pedagogue,” the prosecutor announces. Critical Pedagogue takes the stand. “Were you aware of certain structural irregularities in the educational systems of the United States?” “Yes.” “Did you offer any practical suggestions to teachers, any expertise that would enable them to utilize these insights?” “I tried to help them unlearn their oppression them with an understanding of the hegemony inherent in a reductionist approach to educa . . .”

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“The witness will answer based on social justice,” the judge booms. “I refuse to answer,” Critical Pedagogue snaps. “The prosecution rests.” The defense attorney rises and faces the jury of 295 million language students. “You have all taken our courses. We believe the prosecution has twisted the facts, presented a biased argument, and defamed our character. We ask only that you allow your experiences to guide your deliberations. The defense rests.” Judge Herr K. turns to instruct the jury. “You must consider each count separately. You may return one of two verdicts. A verdict of guilty may be announced in English. A verdict of not-guilty must be delivered in the target language—in a complete sentence. You may now retire into the jury room.” The jury files out, with the exception of one lone child, who was left behind to pencil in a standardized juror questionnaire. The jury returns to announce the verdict. “Have you reached a verdict?” Judge Herr K. inquires of the foreperson. The foreperson nods, handing a piece of paper to the bailiff, a first-generation immigrant to the United States. “The bailiff will now publish the verdict.” The bailiff clears his throat, glances at the defendant, and unfolds the paper handed to him by the jury foreperson. Suggested Reading Arthur, N. (1996). Curriculum as conversation: Transforming traditions of teaching and learning. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Barton, D. (1994). Literacy: An introduction to the ecology of written language. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell. Bruner, J. (1986). Actual minds, possible worlds. Boston: Harvard University Press. Corson, D. (1990). Language policy across the curriculum. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters. Delpit, L. (1995). Other people’s children: Cultural conflict in the classroom. New York: Norton. Edelsky, C. (1991). With literacy and justice for all: Rethinking the social in language and education. Bristol, PA: Taylor & Francis. Freire, P., & Macedo, D. (1987). Literacy: Reading the word and the world. Westport, CT: Bergin & Garvey. Tollefson, J. W. (Ed.). (1995). Power and inequality in language education. New York: Cambridge University Press.

Afterword

I

am not particularly enthusiastic about the convention in critically oriented research of the confessional style writing authors often adopt. I recognize, however, that for some readers, having an understanding of the privilege and power enjoyed by the author is essential to contextualizing the work. My reservations are twofold: First, I suspect that simply writing about who you are does not accurately reflect the myriad of things one would need to know to truly contextualize a writer’s work; and second, quite honestly, as a private person it makes me feel immensely vulnerable. I was born in Georgia and grew up in both north Georgia and central Florida. Due to divorce, I lived in a rather interesting dichotomous world in terms of socioeconomic class. I have lived with my mother in a mobile home (trailer) and have had government cheese. But, I was also at other times at the local country club where, to my knowledge, all the members were White and virtually all of the waiters, custodians, and so on, were African American. I was once told that “Blacks” were not really able to join, and soon thereafter (at the age of 12), I stopped socializing at the “club.” I have been, in the past, and still am occasionally ridiculed because of my southern accent and origin. I am in the first generation of my family not raised on a farm, and have seen my accent become less pronounced since moving to New England, where I live and work. I am not ashamed of the fact I am from the South, but I have noted some rather strange preconceived ideas among academics of what southerners are like. I am offended at the fact that stereotyping southerners continues to be an acceptable form of humor in our popular culture (see Lippi-Green, 1997). At the same time, and more than anything else that shapes my identity, I am a Christian. I have known people who identify themselves by the same attribute who are self-righteous moralist/sadists who seem to delight in pointing out what they see as the shortcomings of others, and I have also known many more who were humble people of faith, painfully aware of their own shortcomings. I would like to think I am among the latter. But, as was the case regarding southerners, I have noticed that academics, and particularly those of the critically oriented vein, have depicted Christians as a monolithic, right-wing group of fanatics. I do not intend to sound pedantic, but for those readers who have never been to the South for any period of time, and specifically in areas not served by an interstate highway, it is important to bear in mind that in addition to some vocal White moralists, in the 167

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South there are also people of color who identify with my faith and who always vote Democratic, are oppressed by the right and the White, and are exploited by big business. The religious contexts, convictions, and/or backgrounds of people like Myles Horton, Martin Luther King, Jr., Paulo Freire, Rosa Parks, and others should not be ignored. And Appalachian poverty is significant. But, for the record and with a sincere hope it helps, I am a White male Protestant. I rarely vote Republican, and in fact, I always vote independently. I get annoyed at those who assume they can use “morality” to rally support for their political campaigns because they invariably insult my intelligence and I also get annoyed at those who suggest that any standard of acceptable social behavior is inherently bad. I am in favor of gun control, am against the death penalty, am uncomfortable with government interfering in our lives and decisions about health, deplore (and increasingly so) the influences and excesses of capitalism, have significant reservations about home schooling, do not think public school teachers should proselytize in their professional capacity, worry about the erosion of individual rights, do not fly a flag, but then again I don’t burn them either. My wife is a Naples-born Italian and bilingual, my children go to public schools, and my brother-in-law was working on Wall Street on September 11, 2001, and saw some unspeakable horrors. I am against terrorism, and also against bombing innocent people overseas or at home. I do watch television, both PBS and TV Land. I do not like pecan pie, and have by some measures likely eaten way too many Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Though the last admission is largely directed at my southern audience, I honestly hope that I have helped all readers who need the contextualization. Based on my self-description, some may conclude I seem to be merely a series of contradictions. That would be altogether erudite, y’all.

Appendix TABLE A.1 Language Spoken at Home for the United States: 2000 Language English only Jamaican Creole Krio Hawaiian Pidgin Pidgin Gullah German Pennsylvania Dutch Yiddish Dutch Afrikaans Frisian Luxembourgian Swedish Danish Norwegian Icelandic Faroese Italian French Patois French Creole Cajun Spanish Catalonian Ladino Portuguese Papia Mentae Romanian Rhaeto-Romanic Welsh Breton Irish Gaelic Scottic Gaelic Greek

Number of Speakers 215,423,555 17,460 4,760 150 2,270 620 1,382,615 83,720 178,945 150,485 16,010 920 830 67,655 33,395 55,465 5,660 70 1,008,370 1,606,790 19,795 453,370 17,240 28,100,725 1,660 320 563,835 795 114,840 100 2,655 45 25,870 1,605 365,435 (Continued)

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TABLE A.1 (Continued) Language Albanian Russian Bielorussian Ukrainian Czech Lusatian Polish Slovak Bulgarian Macedonian Serbocroatian Croatian Serbian Slovene Lithuanian Lettish Armenian Persian Pashto Kurdish Balochi Tadzhik India, n.e.c. Hindi Bengali Panjabi Marathi Gujarathi Bihari Rajasthani Oriya Urdu Assamese Kashmiri Nepali Sindhi Pakistan, n.e.c. Sinhalese Romany Finnish Estonian Hungarian Other Uralic Lang. Kazakh Kirghiz

Number of Speakers 79,515 706,240 2,360 129,180 70,500 250 667,415 41,300 28,565 19,165 130,100 58,390 45,375 9,760 38,300 19,845 202,710 312,085 7,710 10,190 115 225 80,240 317,055 128,820 141,740 35,010 235,990 125 335 2,365 262,900 760 945 10,710 7,815 13,960 13,890 2,570 39,770 7,335 117,975 85 200 50 (Continued)

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TABLE A.1 (Continued) Language Karachay Uighur Azerabaijani Turkish Turkmen Mongolian Tungus Caucasian Basque Dravidian Telugu Kannada Malayalam Tamil Munda Chinese Hakka Kan, Hsiang Cantonese Mandarin Fuchow Formosan Wu Tibetan Burmese Karen Kachin Thai Miao-Yao, Mien Miao, Hmong Japanese Korean Laotian Mon-Khmer, Cambodian Vietnamese Moluccan Indonesian Balinese Cham Javanese Malagasy Malay Tagalog Bisayan Sebuano

Number of Speakers 675 1,685 665 74,130 170 2,575 45 4,440 2,780 1,310 86,165 24,390 79,855 83,965 880 1,499,635 960 35 259,750 174,550 805 84,590 1,820 5,110 19,700 240 65 120,465 16,510 168,065 477,995 894,065 149,305 181,890 1,009,625 70 48,140 125 920 180 240 10,670 1,224,240 15,820 7,255 (Continued)

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TABLE A.1 (Continued) Language Pangasinan Ilocano Bikol Pampangan Micronesian Carolinian Chamorro Gilbertese Kusaiean Marshallese Mokilese Palau Ponapean Trukese Ulithean Woleai-Ulithi Yapese Melanesian Polynesian Samoan Tongan Niuean Tokelauan Fijian Marquesan Rarotongan Maori Nukuoro Hawaiian Arabic Hebrew Syriac Amharic Berber Chadic Cushite Sudanic Nilotic Nilo-Hamitic Nubian Saharan Nilo-Saharan Khoisan Swahili Bantu

Number of Speakers 2,035 75,605 445 5,545 2,580 110 15,955 155 570 5,655 190 2,335 1,350 2,265 80 90 585 840 625 57,900 24,065 55 70 3,335 290 65 260 55 27,160 614,580 195,375 62,890 82,070 435 3,220 41,800 2,430 2,995 410 160 60 70 65 36,690 25,075 (Continued)

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TABLE A.1 (Continued) Language Mande Fulani Gur Kru, Ibo, Yoruba Efik Mbum (and related) African, not further spec. Aleut Pacific Gulf Yupik Eskimo Inupik St Lawrence Is Yupik Yupik Algonquian Arapaho Atsina Blackfoot Cheyenne Cree Delaware Fox Kickapoo Menomini French Cree Miami Micmac Ojibwa Ottawa Passamaquoddy Penobscot Abnaki Potawatomi Shawnee Yurok Kutenai Makah Kwakiutl Upper Chehalis Clallam Coeur d’Alene Columbia Salish Okanogan Puget Sound Salish Quinault

Number of Speakers 12,340 12,550 435 179,275 5,275 200 12,950 1,030 75 2,425 6,420 830 16,910 515 1,215 80 1,600 2,320 1,560 310 755 820 805 230 310 330 8,355 560 970 70 90 845 490 280 360 230 80 10 95 75 75 1,315 200 185 45 (Continued)

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TABLE A.1 (Continued) Language Twana Haida Athapascan Ahtena Han Ingalit Koyukon Kuchin Tanaina Upper Tanana Chasta Costa Hupa Other Athapascan-Eyak Apache Kiowa Navaho Tlingit Mountain Maidu Sierra Miwok Nomlaki Wintun Foothill North Yokuts Klamath Nez Perce Sahaptian Upper Chinook Tsimshian Achumawi Karok Pomo Washo Cocomaricopa Mohave Yuma Diegueno Delta River Yuman Havasupai Walapai Yavapai Chumash Yuchi Crow Hidatsa Mandan Dakota

Number of Speakers 15 130 1,335 60 40 25 105 610 35 15 195 225 15 13,265 1,105 178,015 1,195 205 70 35 15 30 170 615 1,105 140 190 15 335 255 260 160 210 400 110 365 580 805 190 15 60 4,350 605 135 20,480 (Continued)

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TABLE A.1 (Continued) Language Chiwere Winnebago Kansa Omaha Osage Ponca Quapaw Alabama Choctaw Mikasuki Koasati Muskogee Chetemacha Keres Iroquois Mohawk Oneida Onondaga Cayuga Seneca Tuscarora Wyandot Cherokee Arikara Caddo Pawnee Wichita Comanche Mono Paiute Northern Paiute Chemehuevi Ute Shoshoni Hopi Cahuilla Cupeno Luiseno Pima Yaqui Aztecan Sonoran, n.e.c. Picuris Tiwa Tewa

Number of Speakers 555 1,650 75 360 245 165 155 455 11,390 400 245 7,210 105 11,215 185 1,300 610 65 45 920 110 30 16,395 90 50 85 15 915 100 1,435 35 30 1,980 2,905 5,225 15 25 45 9,585 620 5,610 110 60 2,190 3,925 (Continued)

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TABLE A.1 (Continued) Language Towa Zuni Chinook Jargon American Indian Misumalpan Mayan Languages Tarascan Mapuche Oto - Manguen Quechua Arawakian Tupi-Guarani Jicarilla Chiricahua San Carlos Kalispel Spokane Specified Not Listed Not Reported

Number of Speakers 2,010 7,005 125 6,560 150 7,620 855 45 5,765 885 3,350 290 675 190 350 4 55 1,130 1,430

Note. From U.S. Census Bureau, Census 2000 Special Tabulation 224. Sampling universe: population 5 years of age and older. Data based on a sample. For information on confidentiality, sampling errors, nonsampling error, and definitions, see www.census.gov/prod/cen2000/doc/sf3.pdf.

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Index A accountability, 28, 50 ACTFL, 47–51 action grammar, 59 additive bilingualism, 159 Al Qaeda, 95 Albanian, 142 American Council on the Teaching of Foreign Languages. See ACTFL American Sign Language, 6 Amharic, 142 anarchists, 124 anti-German hysteria, 2 Apple, M., 21, 27–28 Arabic, 141–142 Art, 24–25, 48, 87 Austin, T., 12

B Babel, 25 Bahktin, M., 70, 155 Balkanization, 6 banking model, 43–44, 51, 152, 159, 161 Basic Interpersonal Communication Skills. See BICS behaviorism, 14 BICS, 158 Bilingual education, 163 Bosnian, 142 Bourdieu, P., 70 Brazil, 29 Bulgarian, 142 Byrnes, H., 114

C California, 23, 58, 95, 98, 124

CALP, 158 Cardinal Principles of Secondary Education, 2 Center for Educational Renewal, 45 certification, 46, 48 Chinese, 142 classics, 74, 157 classroom management, 13 cloze text, 77 Cognitive Academic Language Proficiency. See CALP Cold War, 4 communicative emphasis, 4, 13, 42, 60, 71–72 community, 33, 60, 65, 102, 137, 147 companion methodology, 12–15, 19 comparative integrity, 118, 120–121 composition, 62 Connecticut, 115 connective validity, 118–119 constitutive language, 93, 99, 108–109 consumerism, 7 Corson, D., 166 credentialing. See certification critical contexts, 82–84, 97, 134 Critical Inquiry Cycle (CIC), 33, 35, 63, 67, 70, 109–111, 116–117, 122, 127–128, 143, 147 interdisplinarity and, 118–119 critical pedagogy, 12, 15, 61 critical race theory, 12 critical reflection, 15, 28, 35, 41, 65, 128 Critical Reflection and the Foreign Language Classroom, 10, 162 cross-cultural understanding, 17, 159 cultural capital, 15 curricular bankruptcy, 24, 54 curricular nullification, 28

D Delpit, L., 166

187

188

INDEX

democracy, 8, 30 Department of Homeland Security, 94 dependent authorship, 77–78 digital divide, 135 directive language, 93, 99, 108–109 discourse analysis, 34, 60, 80, 92, 109 discourses, 9 discrimination, 9, 25, 106 Disney World, 133 drama, 32, 113 dual language instruction, 115

E Ebonics, 6, 15 Edelsky, C., 166 educated person, 3 English, 7, 15, 20, 24, 48, 65, 78, 94, 100, 110, 142, 162 imperalism and, 137 English as a second language. See ESL enrollment, 2 ESL, 158–159, 162–163

F five C’s, 1 FLES, 5 Folk High School, 29–30 Foreign language in the Elementary School. See FLES foreignness, 15, 42, 159, 161 form translation, 84 defined, 76 Four D’s, 60–61 frames, 93, 108 Freire, P., 6, 13, 15, 21, 27, 29–30, 36, 38, 43–44, 65, 122, 155, 157, 166 French, 2, 6, 20, 40, 48, 59, 79, 141–142, 145

G gender issues, 17 genre study, 72–73, 75, 79 geographic fragmentation, 120, 161 Georgia, 29 Georgian, 142

German, 2, 6, 16, 19–20, 23, 40, 59, 76, 81, 119, 124, 142, 145, 158, 160–161 Germany, 59 Gerwin, D., 123–124 Giroux, H., 21 Glisan, E., 14, 41, 115 global village, 9 Grammar, 59–60, 66, 73 approaches to, 59–50 Greene, M., 32 Grundtvig, N., 29–31, 36–37

H Hadley, A. O., 14, 127 Haitian Creole, 6 Hall, J. K., 14 Hegemony, 15, 41, 61, 165 heritage language learning, 160–162 hidden curriculum, 14, 61 Highlander Folk School, 29, 122 history, 48, 113 Holocaust studies, 72 Horton, M., 13, 15, 29–30, 32, 37–38, 65, 122, 155 human rights, 8, 17, 142 hybridity, 61, 74

I ideology, 9, 35, 61, 71 idiolect, 40 immigrants, 94 Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS), 94 incremental grammar, 59 Indonesian, 142 inductive analysis, 127 defined, 34 information gap activities, 2, 13, 23 informed investigation, 34, 127 inquiry, 33, 57, 60, 66, 122, 130 intent, 93 interdisciplinary, 19, 34, 60, 113–131, 138, 147 International Society for Language Studies, 39, 144 internment camps, 139 Italian, 63, 65, 79, 140, 142

189

INDEX

J Japanese, 142, 157 Johnston, B., 12, 25–26

K Kaufman, D., 131 Kennedy, J. F., 26 King, M. L., Jr., 26 Korean, 142 Kramsch, C., 21, 72 Kubota, R., 12, 60–61 Kumaravadivelu, B., 10, 27, 41

L labor movement, 32 language proficiency, 9, 58 language testing, 165 Latin, 2, 157 Leaver, B., 114 Lee, J., 14 Lessow-Hurley, J., 115 liberal education. See educated person licensure. See certification linguistic diversity, 1, 5, 25, 63, 108, 118, 146, 161 Lippi-Green, R., 133, 161 literature, 48, 53, 60, 71, 92, 113, 156 Los Angeles, 140 Louisiana, 143

M Macedo, D., 166 macrocontextualization, 10, 27, 41, 129, 157 marginalization, 15, 61 marketplace ideology, 2, 5–7, 17, 136, 165 Massachusetts, 123–124 media literacy, 91–92, 110 mediation, 15 methodological, 14 methodological theory, 4, 14, 41, 51 Mexico, 85 migrant, 19, 100, 118, 120–121. See also immigrants minimalism, 59

Minnesota, 140 Missouri, 140 Moore, Z., 21 Moss, D., 131 motivation, 19, 53, 58, 83, 162 movimento chicano, 160 multicultural education, 27 music, 32

N nation-state, 17, 50 National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education. See NCATE national defense. See national security National Network for Educational Renewal, 45 national security, 2, 4 NCATE, 49–51 Neag School of Education, 45, 47, 50, 115 Nebraska, 139 New Jersey, 29 New York City, 85, 141 North Dakota, 65

O OPI, 46, 49–50 oral history, 123, 140 Oral Proficiency Interview. See OPI Osborn, T., 10, 27, 33, 41–42, 55, 73–74, 79, 116, 118, 120, 159

P paternalistic empowerment, 161 Pedagogy of the Oppressed, 29 Pennycook, A., 29, 163 political science, 48, 113 Portuguese, 142 positivism, 11, 25–26, 28, 35, 37, 39–40, 42, 51, 60, 119, 159 postcolonial studies, 12 postmethod pedagogy, 10, 41 postmodern textbook, 18 postmodernism, 12 problem posing, 24 proficiency. See language proficiency public journalism, 34, 138 Puerto Rican Day Parade, 141 purpose, 93

190

INDEX

R Reagan, T., 6, 10–11, 39, 41, 43, 55, 74, 116, 120, 157, 159 realia, 94 register, 60–62 relevance theory, 59 religion, 48 resistance, 13, 51, 61, 136 response approach, 75, 83 Reyes, X., 11 Richards, J., 14 Rodgers, T., 14 Rosenblatt, L., 75–77, 89 Russian, 4, 141–142

S Sacco, N., 123–124, 126, 139 Said, E., 22 San Francisco, 140 schema, 101, 108 science, 20 scripts, 93, 99, 108 seatwork, 13 Seinfeld, 141 semiotics, 82, 92 September 11, 2001, 1–2, 4 Serbian, 142 Shohamy, E., 10 Shor, I., 22, 38 short stories, 19, 79 Shrum, J., 14, 41, 115 Silverman, N., 18 situation models, 93, 96, 99, 108 Skutnab-Kangas, T., 10 social justice, 135 defining, 12, 16 tenets of teaching (see tenets of teaching for social justice) sociology, 48 Southern dialect, 15 Spanish, 5–6, 12, 19–20, 23, 34, 59, 79, 100, 121, 141–142, 162 spirit, 24–28, 30, 37 Spring, J., 17–18 standards, 52–54, 66–68, 85–87, 109–111, 128–130, 146–147 standards movement, 1, 24, 28, 41–43, 57 structural monolingualism, 159, 161, 164

subtractive bilingualism, 159 Swaffar, J., 114 Swahili, 142

T teacher education, 44–45, 49, 151–152 Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages. See TESOL technist approach, 20, 40–41, 46 technology, 24 tenets of teaching for social justice, 28, 33, 36 Tennessee, 30 terrorist, 43 TESOL, 5, 11 Texas, 48, 58 textbooks, 58–59 thematic pillars, 19, 61–62, 64 thematic transition approach, 68–69 Tollefson, J., 10, 166 trust revolutionary pedagogy and, 30 Turkish, 142

U Ur, P., 14

V values, 60, 99, 101, 109, 134 Van Dijk, T., 70, 112 Van Patten, B., 14 Vanzetti, B., 123–124, 126, 139 vocabulary, 58, 60–61, 66, 73 Vygotsky, L., 22, 78, 155

W Wal-Mart, 94–95, 97–98, 100 Washington, D.C., 102 Watzke, J., 55 web site development, 60, 138–145 Wisconsin, 97, 99 World War I, 124 world wide web, 110 WPT, 46, 49 Written Proficiency Test. See WPT