The Future of Hyperbole

I had a professor once who, in criticizing the manuscript that eventually became my book, commented that historians of universities always see a crisis somewhere. I think that’s true, and I think that writers always have to be aware that in their pursuit for persuasion they don’t fall into an unnecessary hyperbole. The “crisis” trope might get you attention, but it also can distort.

I also think that the last three decades have witnessed profound changes in employment practices and funding that warrant the notion of crisis. So I left the trope in my book. On the other hand, I think that it is true that the emergence of new communications technologies has far too often pushed or pulled writers into unnecessary hyperbole. The solutions are not easily found.

One (subtle) example is, “Florida Virtual School: Is This What the School of the Future Will Look Like?” on Read/Write Web. The trope in question is, “the future of.” I can’t help but wonder if that phrase encourages less technologically enthusiastic readers to worry about the loss of the physical classroom. In fact, the Florida system maximizes flexibility without weakening traditional methods.

“The future of..” has an Orwellian ring, as if the future described was not about using technology to maximize potential but that Orwellian boot smashing individuality. I’ve heard more than one professor suggest something similar about new communication technologies. So I say we just drop that trope, “the future of,” altogether and try to create something more widely appealing.

Rhetoric

There’s a certain irony in the juxtaposition of the Martin Luther King holiday, and the discussions about the use of violent rhetoric, now often described euphemistically as a problem of “tone” or “civility.” We celebrate MLK, at least nominally, because he used language to reinforce the idea that political change– even revolutionary change– could be achieved non-violently. I don’t think anyone questions the effectiveness of his rhetoric. Words led to action.

Yet after a decade of violent imagery in evangelical right wing politics, too few seem able to recognize the emerging dangers that have arisen from a rhetoric that constantly draws on violent tropes. Not too long ago members of the Tea Party carried weapons to political rallies as symbols of seriousness. “We came unarmed. This time.” In the Arizona legislature, representatives want to allow students and teachers to bring concealed guns to school.

The idea of a simple cause and effect relationship between a violent assassination and this political rhetoric is a red herring. Even sane human beings are full of contradictory, even irrational motivations. The evangelical right, though, is not simply using violent imagery and language; it is openly calling for the expanded use of guns in the public realm, encouraging its followers to take up arms, to display them as warnings, and to use them if necessary. It’s not just words.

Slow Learning

The not-so-secret secret behind the standardized test is that it is in effect the fast-food of learning and assessment. Everything from the SAT to the “Race to the Top” tests have their roots in the same economic and social desire to deliver a product as cheaply and efficiently as possible to as many people as possible. In the food industry it can only be called successful if you ignore the resulting obesity epidemic. In education, it can only be called successful if you ignore the deepening social inequities.

One solution to fast food, to keep the metaphor alive, is called the slow food movement. The idea seems simple: try not to do much to your food before you eat it. Don’t cook it too much; don’t raise it too far away. It’s an old-fashioned, almost pre-modern idea: don’t eat too much meat and do eat lots of fruit and vegetables grown nearby. If we had a government willing to pass laws and regulations to encourage it, it would engender a slow revolution in just about every part of our lives.

As it turns out, as at least one high school has shown, writing can be thought of as a kind of slow learning analogous to slow food that can replace the empty calories of the standardized test. The key is to integrate writing thoroughly into the curriculum, using it both as way to tie seeming disparate subjects together and to reinforce knowledge. Just like slow food, the idea is old-fashioned, if not pre-modern. It’s a much more individualized, personal process, a richer, and so more effective non-standardized assessment.

Long Live Concentration

Whenever I hear something about the end or the continuing life of reading and writing I always try to remember that the kind of reading and writing matters as much as the quantity. That’s why it’s important to look carefully at the ongoing research into literacy reported in the Washington Post piece, “Teens are still reading for fun, say media specialists.” The details matter.

It’s not that Facebook and phones are bad for literacy– in some cases, they can reinforce creative and critical thinking– but that the sustained attention and concentration required in some kinds of reading and writing– novels, essays, memoir, — is important to the personal and intellectual transformations that are a necessary part of being educated and informed.

This is the sort of common sense pedagogical idea that’s beginning to emerge– or to re-emerge– out of all of the fog surrounding new media technology. In effect, the media doesn’t matter as much as the type of reading and writing, as the Frazier International School in Chicago illustrates. Lots of writing and well paid, supported teachers. Who knew that’s the key to a good school?