I’ve been focusing on other things for a few months but am thinking of coming back to Fallen Leaf and widen its perspectives a little. I could add a literary category to share more of my reading, and also incorporate more on writing. Some other themes have been on my mind:
-speculative fiction & imagined futures
-meat eating and veganism
These are only examples of what could be discussed here, and I will try to address them in the near future. In order to maintain the blog over time, I need it to be more flexible and to incorporate whatever topic I have been reflecting on. I would also like to remind readers that I appreciate feedback!
I am borrowing the title of this post from Clarissa, who wrote: “what pleases me the most about my life is that every aspect of it was carefully constructed by me. I didn’t let things just happen to me but created a vision of how I wanted to live and then set out to turn that vision into reality. By the fact of my birth, I was supposed to lead a very, very different life and be a very, very different person.”
I found this very inspiring because I, too, am struggling to envision a life that departs from what was handed to me at birth. Doing a PhD, being queer, or developing an independent spirituality are some of the crucial aspects of my experience which in many ways work against what my parents or extended family has in mind for me. The past exerts a strong influence, as does education into a certain social class and a particular religious perspective, and it takes strength and determination to take bold steps towards emancipation from these external forces, steps towards self-determination. Even though it seems quite stereotypically American to me (think self-made man), I am attracted to the idea of creating a vision for one’s life and using it as both inspiration and guiding principle.
Incidentally, I stumbled upon this article on HigherEd about black dandies who are fashioning academic identities. I loves the self-conscious effort involved in the process of carefully constructing one’s identity – dress offers a practical, material way of stepping into a crafted persona. It provides a way of reaching out of oneself to effect change on one’s environment. I recognized Sharon Holland, whom I’d met before and whose style had made quite an impression on me. This isn’t surprising since I also love Elisha Lim’s Illustrated Gentleman and wish I had the courage to dress like that more often. I am reminded that one grows into a new social identity, but that the first moves can be taxing.
Back to Clarissa, who added that “the reason why academics so often get depressed is that they allow their identities to be molded by forces outside of themselves.” Although this is by no means specific to academics, it does remind me that unless one learns to be self-assertive, one will usually end up being manipulated into submissiveness. This is true, at least, for people on whom power was not imparted at birth, in other words, to those of us who want to make progress in life even though it strays away from what we were “meant” to be originally. As Joseph Jacotot once said: “L’éducation, c’est comme la liberté: cela ne se donne pas, cela se prend.”
I was looking at an issue of Adbusters that makes several mentions of buddhism and wondering about the many ways in which it’s been instrumentalized. Buddhism is largely institutionalized and often conservative. Can we divorce the practice of mindfulness from the historical weight of buddhism and its purport as an institutionalized religion? How can we make the practice ours without either engaging in acts of cultural appropriation or becoming part of a religious system which we do not necessarily support? At this point I cannot provide a definite answer or outline exactly what problems this question entails.
The Occupy movement uses mindfulness meditation in order to practice being present, and that is also the type of practice which I engage in. I want to learn to see things clearly and not be constantly blinded by my own constructions or the reactions of others around me. I want to be able to sit and just sit, to be in a fundamental way that is not defined by my actions. Sometimes your own sense of presence becomes part of larger presence, your sense of self dissolves and integrates your surroundings. This teaches you that you involve more than what lies beneath the surface of your skin, that there is no clear separation between you and the world, and this is an important insight.
I watched Heather Rae’s documentary on the Native American artist and activist John Trudell yesterday, and it never fails to inspire me. At some point Trudell says that authority is not the same thing as power. We confuse them when we think that the government or corporations have power, when what they have is only authority. Power is about our relationship to life, or the development of what Trudell calls the “human spirit”.
I’ve been thinking about postmodern theory and the issues that I have with relativism. Trudell seems to believe in the existence of an essence, an irreducible substance that defines spirit. I see postmodernism, on the other hand, as a disembodied theory which tends to obscure human experience. I sometimes wonder what a theory of the sensible world would look like. I like Lisa Brooks’s analysis in The Native Critics Collective’s Reasoning Together when she argues that “the concern to which we should turn is the need for thought that acknowledges its embeddedness in experience, which cultivates and expresses an intimate relationship with the world in which it thinks.”
Like Mictlantecuhtli who was told by a colleague to be a good prison guard, most of the advice I’ve received since I started teaching young adults is about discipline and how to affirm one’s authority, usually by being harsh and taking measures against students who fail to comply. I have a big issue with that logic, even though one of my classes is turning out to be difficult to deal with. The problem, as usual, is one of context. What I am made to teach in that school is not a stimulating programme: we follow a textbook which students do not much like and I am asked not to skip any of the exercises. This means that most of our time is devoted to grammatical drills (the textbook’s attempt to make them look like fun falls flat) while very little time is left for what I wish to teach them, which is reading and witing. I want real debates about themes derived from literature, not a discussion on “do you prefer parties with family or with friends?” I cannot blame students for getting bored and discouraged and concluding that English at their school has very little value. In the problematic class, this is clearly made worse by the fact that they perceive my status of substitute teacher as having little credibility. They believe that they can manipulate me, disregard what I tell them, and that their behaviour will be of no consequence. In addition to that, some of the students in that class seem to pose problems with other teachers, which indicates a generally dismissive attitude towards school.
I thus end up teaching material that I think insults both their intelligence and mine and having to discipline students who object to what I am asking them to do when, actually, I believe that it is a healthy reaction to oppose mindless teaching that disregards the humanity of teachers and students alike.
One thing I have learned recently is that one should always be wary of anyone who occupies a higher position in the hierarchy. Although I knew I should exercize caution, I wrongly assumed that the professor cared about my work and the consequences that their actions would have in my life. However, in Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Freire states that “Every approach to the oppressed by the elite, as a class, is couched in terms of false generosity” (133). It has become very clear by now that I do not matter and they only act in ways that protect their personal and professional interests.
Denis Rancourt’s advice: “Never accept overt intimidation or abuse from the professor. Stand your ground in such violent attempts to repress your agency in the classroom. Explain the nature of the unacceptable behaviour and request an apology.” I wonder why I find this so hard to practice. First of all, it is hard to acknowledge that you are being treated unfairly. I doubt myself, doubt my analysis even in the face of repeated offenses, find excuses for the offender, minimize damage. If everyone else accepts the situation, then surely it’s ok, or can’t be changed anyway, so shouldn’t I adapt and stop complaining? I’ve been trained to submit to figures of authority. I know I am not supposed to tell them why they are at fault. I can laugh, I can hint, give some clues, expose problems, but not challenge. Never challenge directly. Secondly, intimidation is seldom “overt” – it masquerades as paternalistic advice, false concern for your well-being, or a subtle indication that your judgement may not be sound.
Instead of supervision, I want collaboration. I must always be in charge of my work and will not blindly follow prescribed steps without knowing where they lead me. Instead of being told what to do, I want to consult with my supervisor. Decisions will remain in my hands. I will not be treated like a dependent. My supervisor does not know what is good for me or what is best for my work. As Rancourt writes, my first responsibility is not to my supervisor but to myself and my own dignity.