Rescuing the Baby from the Bathwater

            Something precious has been lost amid the zeal with which composition professors since the 70s have privileged the students’ own writing as the sole text in composition classes.  In his article “A Relationship Between Reading and Writing:  A Conversational Model,” Charles Bazerman calls for teachers to reexamine the “interplay between reading and writing,” and he reminds us that all written communication is part of a broader “ongoing” conversation (157-8).

            My English 109 students have been working on a persuasive essay and have been given several professionally-written essays as models, yet these models were never discussed in class.  Inspired by Bazerman’s discussion of “reacting to reading,” I decided to have the class analyze the author’s argument in one of these models.  We weighed her evidence for accuracy, fairness, relevance, and sufficiency, and we looked for logical fallacies, which we had discussed in a previous workshop.  Finally, I had the class free write about how persuasive the author was, which of her claims were most persuasive, and whether or not their opinion had changed.  Most importantly, they had to state why they responded as they did:  What was their reasoning?  One student asked if he could write that he was offended by the essay; I told him yes, so long as he explained why he was offended.

            What I had asked the class to do was to “explore their assumptions and framework of thought,” as Bazerman suggests (159).  Only one student had read and annotated the text before class, yet the results of this exercise were encouraging.  Their free writes were some of the most logical, organized, and grammatically-correct papers they had produced in the two semesters we have worked together.  I feel that reading a challenging text, then asking and answering challenging questions about that text led my students to be successful on this assignment.

            The texts we ask composition students to read need not be Shakespeare or Chaucer (although that would make this Lit major very happy), but they should be challenging enough to elicit the kind of discussion and analysis that my students experienced in last Friday’s workshop.  There is room for all types of texts in the composition classroom.

Small Victories

For about three weeks, my students composed interview narratives. They first had to interview someone who had attended a four-year college, two-year college, trade school, or military academy. While they were conducting the interview, they recorded the audio and later wrote a transcript. Then they used the transcript to compose a narrative. 

When the transcripts were due, I was disappointed that about two-thirds of the class did not turn it in. Excuses varied from “My interviewee cancelled” to “I didn’t feel like doing it” to “I forgot.” I immediately began calling parents, relying on a few responsible students to translate my message to Spanish. The next day, two-thirds of the class had their transcripts. Victory…until it was time to turn in the narrative rough draft. Again, one-third of the class had their drafts; the other two-thirds had their garden variety excuses, the same blues songs they had sung to me a few days prior. I then did something I had never done before: I randomly selected one of their papers, blotted out the name, made photocopies and workshopped it the next day.

I was pleasantly surprised at how engaged my students were in reading their secret peer’s paper. They were generous and honest when they shared what worked well in the narrative, and they were thoughtful and direct when they shared their suggestions regarding character description and development, the sequence of events, transitions, and point of view. A few days later when the final drafts were due, about two-thirds of my students turned in their paper. In my period six, nearly ninety percent turned in a paper. Victory. 

Grammar Snobbery

This morning a prominent radio talk show host called attention to a video posted on YouTube in which the speaker labeled grammar correction "racist." The video has been taken down from YouTube (I wonder why?), but can still be accessed by typing this in your search window: Mona Chalabi/The Guardian.

In her video, columnist Mona Chalabi characterizes "grammar snobs" as "patronizing, pretentious and just plain wrong." She accuses them of using "an elite and increasingly outdated form of the English language", and argues that grammar "evolves." Chalabi attacks those who believe we need a "common language" and a "set of rules we can all understand." She notes that the people pointing out grammar mistakes are more likely to be "older, wealthier, whiter... than the people they're treating with condescension." Chalabi states that "grammar snobbery is often used to silence those who have less of a voice in society." She urges us to pay more attention to the message of the speaker or writer and to focus less on grammatical errors.

As writing teachers, we must be prepared to address this increasingly popular but flawed point of view.

First, we must make sure that we are not "snobs." A snob displays an air of superiority and treats others patronizingly and with condescension. In our classrooms, we must never forget to check our attitudes at the door. We should never say or do anything to give students the impression that we believe ourselves superior to them. We're not. The fact that we speak and write formal English does not mean that we are more intelligent or that we are better people. We're not. We must maintain a helpful, collaborative atmosphere and never embarrass or shame a student who makes a grammatical mistake. If our attitudes are properly adjusted and the classroom atmosphere is one of mutual respect, then we can never be confused with the "grammar snobs" Chalabi references.

Next, I agree with several points Chalabi makes: we shouldn't nitpick a student's grammatical errors to the point that we're overlooking the message. In our class discussions, many times we have emphasized that a teacher or classmate should closely scrutinize global aspects of a composition when sharing observations prior to the revision process (its content, organization, logical development, structure, and supportive evidence) and focus on grammar later during the editing process. It is also important for us as writing teachers to choose our battles. Chalabi makes a valid point about the proper usage of less and fewer versus other conversational lapses that obscure understanding. There is a proper time to clarify the difference, and a proper time to save that discussion for another occasion.

Chalabi is wrong, however, in assuming that correcting another person's grammar is "racist." If the interaction occurs as a learning and teaching exchange between parties viewing each other with mutual respect, as previously mentioned, and not between snob and lowly subject, then the term "racist" hardly applies.

And, while it is correct for her to note that grammar "evolves", I disagree with her stance against a "common language" and a "set of rules we can all understand." In my work, I often interact with Latino students who are more comfortable speaking Spanish, black students from Belize or Haiti or Jamaica who speak Creole, patois or other dialects, and American-born black students who are more comfortable speaking urban street slang. In each instance, I make it a point to converse with them occasionally in their native tongue. And they enjoy the fact, for example, that I sometimes order in Spanish at a restaurant. Students are quick to correct me when I invariably make mistakes in grammar and usage, and they help me to restate what I intended to say in the proper way. Often they are well-versed in the grammatical rules that apply and cite them to me. I readily accept their corrections in the spirit in which they were given. I want their corrections so that I can improve. Similarly, when I correct grammatical errors in student compositions written in English, I approach in a helpful spirit, and I make my explanations short and clear. They want me to correct them so they can improve. But, of course, I never make how they wrote it more important than what they wrote.

Students know the importance of a "common language" and of learning a "set of rules we can all understand." Teachers know this as well, and it's our job to help our students to internalize these rules. In classrooms where there is a proper teacher attitude and an atmosphere of mutual respect, Chalabi has nothing to worry about at all.

Idealism versus Pragmatism in the Community College Classroom

During class discussion last Wednesday night, a lightning bolt of reality struck as we were reviewing best practices for teaching writing in the classroom. One particular research article stated that the ideal size of a freshman composition class is twenty students. A classmate stated, however, that it is typical for such courses in the Los Angeles Community College District to have student enrollments between 40-50 students. As we discussed desk arrangements and other logistics to assist students in peer group conferencing and other forms of student-to-student interaction, we learned from this veteran professor that not all classrooms are situated for small groups to properly engage. As an example, we learned of a writing seminar held in a computer lab with limited desk space and an obstructed view. Other rooms with permanent arena seating are also ill-suited for optimal student interaction.

Ideally, a freshman writing course should consist of twenty students and should meet in a setting conducive to facilitating the writing process. Since these conditions don't always exist, however, what are some pragmatic solutions to these obstacles? Are there ways for a teacher to effectively manage groups in a class with 50 students with logistical obstacles? Are there ways for a teacher to effectively provide feedback on student papers -- to effectively handle the paper load -- with a class of this size? I'm sure that some professors do well in spite of the numbers and setting, and I'd like to know how they pull it off...

L2 Learners' Constraints

Zamel – The Experiences of Faculty and ESL Students Across the Curriculum

I was reading Zamel’s article about the experiences of faculty and ESL students, and to my astonishment I found that there might be a sort of intolerance toward ESL students from the part of professors.  But, before proceeding, I want to be very clear about the feedback I have received from my professors.  I’ve always been encouraged and received positive feedback from them.  On the other hand, to support some of the students’ comments on the article, I didn’t take ESL courses at the college level.  This might imply that my writing composition skills would suffer, and this is one reason why some ESL students are not strong enough to compete with native speakers of English, according to the article.  Should ESL students held accountable for such insufficient preparation?  When I was accepted at Harbor College, I’ve never write a paper.  I just have completed three levels of ESL, beginning, intermediate, and advanced.  Since then, I’ve been building my writing skill slowly, throughout my academic experience.  It is so painful reading what English instructors have to say, “ESL students are vocal but incomprehensible.”  The quote below comes directly from the data Zamel collected from faculty and ESL students:

“Teachers need to be more sensitive to ESL students needs for education…face with the demands of cultural adjustment…teachers must give flexible considerations…”

 I am currently taking pragmatics, which is about how people use language and how we understand and make meaning of it.  I see sensitivity when it comes to explain unfamiliar terms, also, information and instruction are presented in simple ways that all of us, ESL students, can understand.  One of the students’ comments is about how easier is for ESL students to understand written instruction.  They rather want instructors to write it on the board, instead of just verbally delivered it.

As a way to conclude my blogging contribution, the author points out that students understood their efforts as serious attempts to overcome language difficulties.  Additionally, they expect instructors to assist them in their language needs and classrooms that encourage involvement and inclusion for ESL students.  Giroux suggests that there is the need for instructors to look into their own value system, and by doing so, students and instructors will have new opportunities for learning.

Kudos for my English professors and my fellow native speakers who enthusiastically find ways to negotiate meaning with us, ESL students.

The Best-Laid Plans of SILs Often go Awry

            For last Friday’s Workshop, I came up with a solid lesson plan that included several paired and group activities, including what I imagined to be a useful and fun quick-writing assignment.  I think it was inspired by a comment by someone in a class – I no longer remember whom or in which class – who said that most of our students will not need to write after college.  I emphatically disagreed and came up with the following:

Complaint Letter Scenarios

Choosing one of the following scenarios, write a letter of complaint to your City Councilperson 1) requesting action or offering your solution to the problem, 2) giving logical reasons for your position, and 3) refuting likely opposing arguments.  Be sure your language and tone are appropriate to your audience and purpose.

A.     There is a deep pothole in the center lane of a major thoroughfare in your neighborhood.

B.     The sidewalk on your street is buckling in several places due to trees planted by the city on the parkway, but not maintained.

C.     Your street is being used as a staging area for construction trucks and equipment belonging to a nearby commercial complex.

D.     A rental house on your street is being advertised on Airbnb as a party facility.

My ultimate goal with the assignment was to show that making logical arguments is a skill that stretches beyond college into the real world.  I also thought that civic involvement might be of interest to the class.  Before they began writing, I demonstrated how to find their councilperson using lacity.org, and I projected a sample that modeled how to organize the letter.  We talked about using a respectful tone and not writing angrily or making threats to a public official.

Results were mixed.  Two students chose their own topics, illegal dumping and safe crosswalks, and I realized that I should have had a choose-your-own option from the start.  With one exception, all of the letters lacked the detail and support that students’ academic papers typically lack.  With all our previous discussions of providing evidence and concrete examples, I was surprised at the vagueness of their writing.

So what went wrong?  I feel the prompt clarified the variables noted by Lindemann:  student interest, purpose, audience, the student’s role, form of discourse, and criteria for success (217-8).  Was there something culturally insensitive in the prompt?  After all the personal writing that the class has done with me, I know them and the neighborhoods in which they live.  Is this kind of civic engagement not relevant to them at 18 or 19 years of age?  Is there suspicion of public officials?  I welcome your thoughts.

Creating Effective Writing Assignments

The article "Creating Effective Writing Assignments" and Lindemann's chapter 13 "Developing Writing Assignments" contain helpful tips for teachers designing prompts that produce optimum student responses. I particularly appreciated Lindemann's assertion that an assignment involve the following: 1. student interest and understanding, 2. purpose or aim, 3. audience, and 4. role for student to take regarding subject and audience. Her chapter ends with a five-step list that helps teachers develop effective writing assignments.

I read with interest the anecdotal experiences of Brian (narrative assignment), Margo (argument paper), Linda (research paper), Todd (students couldn't understand the task), Greg (top five greatest hits assignments), and Chris (Anna's porno essay).

I couldn't get past a basic assumption, however, that both readings are founded upon: new teachers have the responsibility and the liberty to create their own curriculum.

As a teacher at a high school in the Los Angeles Unified School District, I must adhere to the curriculum guides and course outlines developed by district specialists for each grade level and each particular class. Beyond that, I am also beholden to Common Core, Springboard (developed by the College Board), and the AP English curriculum guide (also designed by the College Board). Most of these guides come with a suggested sequence and with specific units of study. Of course, teachers have the freedom to be creative within those constraints, but in most cases we do not have to dream up assignments from scratch or come up with a syllabus based upon our particular whims. With experience, I have learned how to make adjustments regarding the pace plan in order to suit my student clientele, and I often have to make other adjustments because of a lack of materials, school calendar conflicts, etc. At no time, however, am I allowed to fly off the reservation and do whatever I please for an entire semester.

Brian, Margo, Linda, Todd, and Chris did not seem to have much informed, experienced guidance; they only had each other to rely on as a peer group. Greg had faculty adviser Louise Roth, and she steered him properly. Although I have a knowledge of young adult students and pedagogy from years of secondary teaching and countless professional development workshops (and therefore have more background than did Brian, Linda, or Margo), I wouldn't DREAM of transitioning to the community college classroom without guidance and mentoring. I wouldn't dare to be presumptuous enough as a rookie to design a curriculum based upon what I thought best for students at this level.

Thankfully, I have met a number of classmates here at CSUDH with community college experience. There is no need for me to reinvent the wheel. In English 575, Kalunda-Rae has given me valuable insights into course outlines, syllabus design, classroom operating procedures, and hints regarding how to successfully interact with community college students. With this orientation, I won't have to take stabs in the dark like Brian, Margo and Linda. Of course, I am capable of tailoring the curriculum to my teaching style and personality and I would do so.

In class discussion, Dr. Cauthen pointed out that some colleges have strict course outlines to follow and other colleges give adjunct professors great latitude in what and how they teach. If I were hired at a campus offering complete autonomy, I would not rely solely on my own beliefs as I designed a syllabus; I would seek guidance from an experienced colleague and tweak as necessary.

Deciduous Philosophy

It seems as though my teaching philosophy changes every few years. I wrote one over thirteen years ago when I was looking for a teaching position. I don’t even remember what I wrote. But I am for sure that my ideas have changed since then. And frankly, my philosophy today — whatever that is— will probably be different once I finish my master's degree. Speaking of a master's degree, I have a confession to make: The more I learn about rhetoric and composition, and sit in different professor’s classrooms, soaking up their respective teaching styles, the more I feel confused about what to do and what not to do in my classroom. There are so many different theories (Elbow vs. Bartholomae vs. Otte), acronyms (SRTOL, AAVE, WE), and ways of doing things (Student contracts! Alternative writing? Academic voice solemente, por favor!) that my head feels swollen and wobbly like those silly looking bobble head figures that sit on car dashboards. I know… I'm the grad student, and it’s my job to sift through all this information and conjure a coherent curriculum. But good lord, that’s a lot to sift through.

Writing Assignments for ESL Students

My teaching philosophy is thought for an adult ESL classroom.  Its core principles are supported by the principles I’ve learned so far in my teaching composition class, but also, by my ESL personal learning experience. I believe that language instructors should be aware of language sensitivity.  As points out by Lindemann in chapter thirteen, (Developing Writing Assignments), it is important to know students to anticipate possible problems that may arise in the process of developing a story/narrative.  In this sense, I expect to be working in the ESL classroom environment.  You cannot teach creative writing to ESL students, if I'm not wrong, but, I can teach them how to use inventiveness and their imagination to describe or narrate stories, through which they may reflect their own lives experiences.  When I think ESL, I think on individualizing topics.  For example, if Maria likes nature, well, she can write about going to a park experience.  Giving students the opportunity to decide what to write is a way of guiding them through the writing though process and promoting creativity, regardless of their academic level.  I just cannot hold it! I need to say it again, going back to my junior college experience, I wished I'd had a teacher to teach me and guide me.  She just assigned general topics, for example, about the "social and economic issues," that were going on at the time.  Well, the topic sounds very pretentious, but I was just a newly ESL learner, how in the world I could've been able to write, or even make comments on such a topic.  Lindemann suggests that assignments should assess what students can DO or what they KNOW.  Of course, my teacher probably assumed that all students in the classroom had the specialized knowledge regarding US social and economic issues to write a persuasive argument.  On the other hand, the assignment topic wasn't appealing at all, why, because I was completely unfamiliar with the cultural context and have no idea about what was going on in the US society.  I certainly believe that she should've presented a list of choices created through a class discussion, then, students could pick what best matches their interests.  I just don't even know why I’m writing about that experience, but, I do know that it left a strong mark, which it's still showing on my transcripts.  But, I cannot explain it to academic authorities that I was never offered a simple writing guideline.  I'm very positive that Lindemann was completely unfamiliar to her and that effective teaching may include integrating or adjusting school/college curricula to the needs of students was an unthinkable concept.  I understand that for some teachers doing so may be impossible, as I noticed, while I was working on one of my teaching methodology assignments.  It happened at an ESL program for adult learners at Torrance Unified School District.  I noticed that the teacher was using a textbook that was beyond of being the right book for the level he was teaching.  Anyway, I commented, that, to my perception the book was to advance for that level, then, he explained that he didn't have a voice to suggest changes to the course.  I don't want to work for a school like that, but, for a school that allows flexibility concerning students' learning needs.

Teaching is Easy!

My fellow SILs and I often compare notes and share teaching resources.  We talk about what works and what fails miserably, and I rarely talk about teaching away from Dominguez Hills.  However, not long ago I had an unusual conversation while getting a haircut.  First, it was unusual because the person speaking with me was not Nicole, my stylist, but another client, which seems to me a violation of the unwritten beauty salon code.  My haircut is ME time, and I generally don’t want to make small talk with complete strangers who require me to explain my life.  After a decade or so, Nicole just knows.  It was also unusual in the trajectory of the conversation.  After learning that I am a teacher, this woman, a retired teacher herself, remarked that many people think that teaching is easy; they believe that anyone with a modicum of patience and a smattering of general knowledge could walk into a classroom and just start molding young minds.  We had a good laugh about that.

I liken those people to my well-intentioned neighbors who believe that they could competently parent a child based on their ownership of two highly-strung Bichon Frise.  While house-breaking may be similar to potty-training in ways I’d rather not go into, entirely different skills are needed to nurture lap dogs vs. children.  For one thing, when a human child gets restless, you can safely put them outside.  But I digress.

Berlin’s article on pedagogical theories highlights many of the difficulties I’ve experienced as a supplemental instructor.  He asserts that teaching composition is “teaching a version of reality,” and therein lays my greatest problem:  the professor for whom I work and I exist in parallel universes (766).  I used to think that our pedagogical differences were due to his being an education major, whereas I studied and wrote about Literature, but that isn’t the issue.  He is a Current-Traditionalist, and I am on the wobbly fence between Expressivist and New Rhetoric.

Here is how this difference plays out in the classroom:  There are weekly grammar drills that are never gone over in class, and those students who tend to omit articles or pair disagreeable subjects and verbs continue to do so.  The class is expected to read about the structure of various forms of composition, compare and contrast for example.  Next, they are asked to read one or two examples of that mode, some written by professional authors and some by students.  We rarely discuss these readings in class.  Finally, they are given a prompt and a due date.  There is no mention of invention techniques.  Sometimes, there is peer review, and all students are required to have conferences with both the professor and me.  All too often, students attend both conferences on the same day, less than 48 hours before the paper is due.  As the subordinate in the room, I cannot argue with his methods; my only recourse is to supplement like hell during my Friday workshops.

Here is how I’ve been subtly subversive:  I introduce selected literature to talk about voice, style and syntax, develop vocabulary, and challenge their critical thinking.  Guess what; they liked it!  I’ve introduced them to Burke’s Pentad, the rhetorical triangle, and a variety of heuristics swiped from Lindemann to develop the content of their essays.  Knowing that they hate grammar work and desperately need it, I try to come up with paired and small-group activities that won’t put them to sleep.  I encourage students to see me multiple times for feedback, and to do so early in the process.  In conferences, I ask the question “Why?” a lot, encouraging them to examine their thinking and writing processes.  As a SIL, I have experienced moments of blissful inspiration and horrific train wrecks.  Writing may be easy, but teaching is not.

Teaching Is Not Teaching

Much of the "teaching" ( or the job of teaching) that is done by full time community college faculty and entrenched adjunct faculty is not actually teaching. At some point, one's efficacy in the classroom becomes a given, and so much more activity takes place outside of the classroom. A lot of people have awesome ideas for the classroom, but how many of them can write curricula, can engage and play nicely with others (very, very important because many heavily tenured faculty will not play nicely with noobs) while serving on committees, have grantwriting ability, show leadership potential, yaddayaddayadda?  I have come to see these things as paramount, in fact, because they drive the department's goals (and I've never met an English department that wasn't power hungry). Community college English departments tend to be heavyweights on campus; they tend to have formidable faculty rosters, and their faculty members' names are followed by powerful campus titles, like Academic Senate President, Professional Development Coordinator, and Student Success Center Coordinator. In fact, English faculty in most CA districts teach fewer classes than the rest of the college's faculty (4 classes vs 5), and they get release time for these roles they fulfill. As I think of how to distinguish myself as a faculty member, I return to the idea that so much of what will set me apart will, unfortunately, have little to do with what I actually do in the classroom and much more with the economic value I bring to the department and the college as well as campus politics. Is this a dirty little secret?

When I was full time before, I was narrowly focused on being a rockstar in the classroom. When I began to feel the tug, pulling me into work outside of the classroom, I was resentful. I was an adjunct in my mindset. Adjuncts may be paid less, but they have the privilege of being able to simply teach and to focus their energies entirely on teaching if they so choose. (Many choose to involve themselves on campus, but this is all voluntary; some of the work is paid, but it is still voluntary.) Now that I am putting my hat back in the ring, I come in with a shifted focus. Great teaching is the minimum expectation; an ability to affect change on campus and to increase the department's power and authority on campus are the most highly sought after qualities that no one states overtly and very few people respond to on a resume, which is partly why full time pools shrink so rapidly.

Writing in Harmony?

Writers, for the most part, are soloists. We like our work to take center stage, to stand in the spotlight. We love to bask in the glory of our genius. We don’t particularly enjoy collaborating with other writers. For those of us bold enough to join community writers groups, we still, while in a room surrounded by our fellow scribes, stake out a private space and buckle over our laptops, typing feverishly until the end of the session. And if we’re feeling really adventurous, we might even share our future Pulitzer Prize winning pieces aloud. Many of us are scared of criticism and judgment. Our writings, after all, are extensions of us, demonstrations of our intellectual prowess or lack thereof. At least, this is how many of us feel. 

For me, this is the sad part about being a writer. When I was an active musician and dancer, I had to collaborate with my fellow artists. I had to harmonize. Sure, I had to go solo every so often, but I still needed a band, a choir, or a dance company to perform with me, to back me up. Musicians and dancers are always seeking out others who are better than them because they know that one of the best ways to become a better artist is to hang around better artists. Camaraderie is a necessary skill, and if you can’t master it, no one will want to work with you, and your success will hang in the balance. Don’t get me wrong: There is plenty of competition to keep the agilest ballerina on her toes. But it’s a competition steeped in the tradition of co-production. 

Can the writing culture change to mirror this kinship? I know that writers co-author books and scripts. But what about something similar on a more pedestrian level that can start in our classrooms? This might help take the edge off young writers who are scared to share their work. 

Scenarios for Teaching Writing: A Problem of Ethics (Betsy Roche)

In class, when discussing this scenario from Responding to Student Writing, several students correctly criticized the teacher for her written response to student James Addickes' proposal on abortion and for allowing her personal subjectivity to interfere with her ability to successfully facilitate this assignment on an ethical issue. I won't revisit that here. Instead, I'll offer several miscellaneous thoughts on this scenario that occurred to me after class ended.

First, I noticed that Betsy Roche let her "animosity" toward James begin to grow to "palpable proportions" when the class "considered together some issues surrounding public housing" (57). James offered in class that public housing was nothing more than a way to "allow pimps, prostitutes, and junkies to live on the dole and avoid getting a job." Betsy had to restrain her inclination to snap at him. Instead of being so hypersensitive and taking James' opinion as a personal affront, Betsy should have used his comment as an opportunity for a "teachable moment." To begin, she should have acknowledged the validity of James' point of view; his comments represent a common perception and a point of view that has an element of truth in it. She should have reviewed the intended purpose of public housing and acknowledged that it is indeed being abused by a certain percentage of residents there. Next, she could have elicited from the class -- or from James himself -- practical steps to alleviate the problem by discussing laws and procedures already in place (which may not currently be effectively enforced) and legislation needing to be enacted. Once this had been covered, Betsy could have discussed the many law-abiding, hard-working (but low-income) residents and reviewed the various life circumstances that qualify applicants for public housing. She could have asked James: "Should the public housing service provided to the majority be discontinued because of abuses by a minority of residents? Should the baby be thrown out with the bath water?" If time permitted, this could have led to a broader discussion about empathy and a healthy debate about the role of government in providing assistance to those in need. Bottom line: Betsy should never let a student's confrontational attitude, hostile tone, or myopic view derail a discussion or interfere with opportunities to involve students in effective critical thinking exercises whenever they present themselves.

Next, I think Betsy's students should have been guided more purposefully in the selection of their topics. When several recalcitrant students "wondered why they could not simply do some more reading and thinking for a couple of weeks and then write a paper about 'something that's really interesting, not all this boring stuff'", this indicates that greater teacher intervention is required. In my classes, we use butcher paper and brainstorm topics in six or seven categories. We don't stop until there are at least ten suggestions under each category. Students roam from place to place in the room, posting their ideas on each category taped to the wall. The last time we did this, the categories were the following: Education, Science/Medicine, History, Sports, Arts & Entertainment, Politics & Government, and Current Events. Students have to compose their topics as questions: Is euthanasia ethical? Should school uniforms be mandatory on campus? Were the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki good decisions? Do movies and video games with violent content harm society? Should football be discontinued in view of medical findings regarding concussions? With 70 or more topics posted, chances are high that every student will discover a topic of interest to research and write about.

The topic of abortion, I have found through experience, is a convenient topic that comes to mind almost immediately for students. Some students genuinely care about the issue, but others select it only because nothing else came to mind. After the teacher helps students generate as many as 70 topics as possibilities, many students will probably choose a different topic, one that they will pursue passionately. If James Addickes considered a range of other topics and remained adamant about selecting abortion, he should have been allowed to do so. I don't see how declaring that certain topical issues are off-limits encourages critical thinking.The narrow thinking revealed in James' proposal could have been addressed during the pre-writing process, so Betsy Roche should not have been unduly alarmed; it is to be expected.

I think it is helpful to use graphic organizers, such as a T-graph, during the pre-writing  process. On one side, the students can list Pro arguments, and on the other side Con. A student is not allowed to continue until both sides are completed. If a student cannot fill out one side or the other, he or she should consult a classmate or the teacher, or do independent research. Once a student can come up with three or more separate arguments on each side of the fence, the student is now acknowledging that there are valid points of view on both sides. At this point the student is better prepared to choose a side, recognizing that there are valid counterarguments on the other side. I use another graphic organizer to help students add supporting evidence to each argument and counterargument. Using this format, students now have a basic structure in which to follow. They can compose an introduction which orients the reader to the relevance of the issue and includes a thesis statement which definitively establishes their position on the issue. Next, they can outline their strongest arguments and use relevant supporting evidence as they develop each separate claim. Then, they can discuss counterarguments and specifically respond to each one while defending their own position. They can conclude by supplying practical, specific suggestions regarding how the issue should be handled.

In class, a few students expressed reservations about the use of the Bible as an argument or as supporting evidence. Personally, I've never had a problem with this. I allow the Bible to serve as one argument (of the three or four required total), with specific scriptures cited as supporting evidence. The student must, however, provide a counterargument to the Biblical point of view on the graphic organizer and in the essay. By considering and responding to this counterargument, the essay achieves balance.

Interesting article. It resonated with me during spring break, so I decided to blog about it.