Fernsten, Linda - Discourse & Difference

International Journal of Inclusive EducationVol. 9, No. 4, October–December 2005, pp. 371–387

ISSN 1360–3116 (print)/ISSN 1464–5173 (online)/05/040371–17© 2005 Taylor & FrancisDOI: 10.1080/13603110500147138

Discourse and differenceLinda FernstenDowling College, Long Island, NY, USATaylor and Francis LtdTIED114696.sgm10.1080/13603110500147138International Journal of Inclusive Education0000-0000 (print)/0000-0000 (online)Original Article2005Taylor & Francis Ltd0000000002005Dr LindaFernsten350 Lakeland Avenue, 7 ESayvilleNY [email protected]

This article contends that students whose discourses differ from the dominant academic discoursesof school may develop negative writer identities as a result of their language struggles in the acad-emy. Using Critical Discourse analysis, the study explores the writer identities of two college writersin order to understand how embedded ideologies and power relations shape understanding of writeridentity. The article goes on to suggest how the use of hybrid genres, acceptance of more multicul-tural discourses, and introduction of political discourse in the classroom can empower educatorsand students to overcome language policies that work against them in the academy.

The broad grin, confident stride and friendly demeanour of the striking young manapproaching my desk seemed to contrast with the words he spilled out that first dayof class. Worried about this required writing course, he said that he did not ‘hate writ-ing’, but certainly would not be here if it were not a junior year requirement. Some-thing about college writing left him frustrated and feeling less capable than hebelieved he was. Despite these concerns, he clung to the hope that this would finallybe the class that would ‘fix’ whatever was wrong so he would feel more competentand successful. Across the room, in the corner farthest from the instructor’s desk,another student gazed out the window. His body language told a story of frustrationand alienation. The university required a passing grade in this upper level writingclass in order to graduate, and he had put off taking it as long as possible.

Already painfully familiar with students whose writer identities suffered substan-tially in the academy, I mentally reached for my magic wand, desiring perhaps evenmore than they to produce the wished-for transformation to successful writer. Howmany writers had entered my classes hoping to exit ‘good writers’, that is, able to facethe challenges that teachers/professors put before them in written assignments? Overthe course of 20-something years, I had metamorphosed from the teacher whobelieved all students under my tutelage would learn to enjoy writing to the professorwho realized writing issues were intrinsically complex and layered, with no quick fixes.

Correspondence to: 350 Lakeland Avenue, 7 E, Sayville, NY 11782, USA. Email:[email protected]

372 L. Fernsten

Language and Struggle

A heightened awareness of these students’ plight would come to light though researchusing Discourse Analysis, especially as student understandings fit into the theory,history and practices of composition classrooms. Their stories would add anotherlevel of awareness to my practice, another piece in the complicated puzzle of teachingmulticultural students about writing more effectively. The knowledge that wouldemerge would not cure their writing frustration, but it would open a broader discus-sion about the politics of language with future students and make me an advocate forchange in traditional composition classrooms. What Harris (1997) discussed as aconflict issue regarding student writers and the academy would now have actual facesto focus my understanding.

The idea that certain students may be in conflict with language policies inacademia was clarified by Lu (1992), who writes of identity as related to issues ofrace, class, gender, and the social and political considerations of language. Luhypothesizes that the marginalization students feel when writing in the academycomes from the way they believe their own discourses have been received there. Thisjudgement of their writing as flawed creates conflict, struggle, and tension as theylabour to write within the institutional bounds of the university. Feeling uneasyabout the writing they have produced, students seek to explore their areas of compe-tence, embracing an idea that sounds like ‘I am competent, BUT …’. The ‘but’ sooften relates to requirements that conflict with use of language as these studentsknow it. Instead they explain why they struggle with grammar, organization ornumerous other differences in language. However, they remain without a discourseto help them stop blaming themselves.

Rose (1989) contends that ‘The discourse of academics is marked by terms andexpressions that represent an elaborate set of shared concepts and orientations: alien-ation, authoritarian personality, the social construction of self, determinism, hege-mony, equilibrium, intentionality, recursion, reinforcement, and so on’ (p. 192).Taking this concept into poststructural theory, Ivanic (1990) asserts that writers’encounters and experiences are both enabled and constrained by sociocultural factorsthat reflect their access to different discourses. It is through the discourses of thosewho critique and grade their work that the students in my classroom who were strug-gling to become more skilful users of academic language had come to see themselvesas deficient. Weedon (1997) argues that language differentiates and informs us aboutwhat is socially accepted as normal. Rather than simply reinforcing this notion ofnormalcy by insisting that privileged discourses represent the only correct standard,teachers and students can explore the way different discourses position people in theacademy. This, in turn, could enable them to better understand the personal andpolitical consequences of their participation in different discourses (Ivanic, 1998).The words of the two students in the case studies that follow provide insight into whatis too often a silent struggle. By tying the ideologies embedded in the language of theirstories to composition theory and the practices of writing teachers, I make explicit thepower of academic discourses to marginalize and label those who are different.

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Academic Discourses

Academic discourses, with their formality of tone and style and highly structuredparagraphs, are adopted by many colleges and universities and have been thedominant form of college writing instruction since early in the twentieth century(Berlin, 1987). Bizzell (1999) summarized this type of writing as typically using themost formal and ultra-correct form of language and treating as errors usage thatwould be acceptable or unproblematic in casual conversation. Its typical employmentof an objective persona (often difficult for students with dialectical differences)implies that emotions and prejudices do not influence ideas. Those who struggledwith the discourse were often labelled ‘basic writers’ (Horner, 1996), and definedvariously as novices, people with grammatical difficulties, immature thinkers, cogni-tively delayed and deficient, still popular characterizations today.

What followed this construction of deficiency was the idea of initiation, a modelwhose contention was that writers needed to be trained or socialized into thediscourse community of the university (Bartholomae, 1986). Struggling writers,unable to measure up to the expectations of the writing classroom, were seen asoutsiders to academic discourse, people who needed to take up academic discoursesand were struggling in their attempts to do so. The privilege of the required academicdiscourse was accepted without question.

Lu’s conflict view added an important new dimension. It envisions writers as exist-ing in a borderland, affected by institutional oppression. This view encompasses thepoststructuralist notion that identity is multiple and conflicting, flexible rather thanfixed (Sarup, 1989; Berlin, 1992). Academic discourse, itself, is acknowledged asprivileged, with a social and historical background. Importantly, this representationembraces the concept that all linguistic choices have political dimensions, acknowl-edging that writing for some is associated with struggle, diversity and privilege. Notsurprisingly, in some college composition, second language, and social justiceclassrooms, there are those who reject the view of ‘basic writers’ as deficient or devel-opmentally delayed. Instead, writers who speak English as a second language or anon-dominant dialect are viewed by as ‘skilled users of different languages’ (Davis,1988, p. 36). Like Vance and Len (pseudonyms for the students in the case studiesto follow) their discourses are infused with certain ethnicities, races, classes, andregions, and, in their struggle to adopt the discourses of the academy, they come inconflict with gatekeepers who brand them less able or less intelligent. Plunged into aworld that valorizes academic discourses, they submit to the marginalized identity of‘bad writer’ and remain, like Vance and Len, stuck on the idea that they need to be‘fixed’.

Having been a classroom teacher, I feel a need to answer the voices of colleagues(as well as those, at times, in my own head) that too easily dismiss the political conceptof ‘conflict’ and argue that ‘these kids just need to learn how to write’. Privilege is nota subject that finds a wide or comfortable audience in public schools. Dominantculture, whether related to race, ethnicity, (dis)ability, class or gender, exerts apowerful hegemonic influence and, under the guise of ‘common sense’, can silence

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many voices and work to keep oppressive situations invisible. As a teacher who haswitnessed hundreds of students leaving our educational system convinced they are ‘badwriters’, and, therefore, silenced to various degrees, I believe society has paid too higha price in the name of ‘good writing’.

My stance is not a rejection of Standard English. However, by explicitly acknowl-edging that the teaching of writing is a political act, we help demystify the power ofinstitutions to define and label what is ‘good’ and what is ‘correct’ (Fernsten, 2004).By redefining the variety of dialects as different ways to communicate, and by explic-itly teaching that use of particular dialects in certain situations represents effectivecommunication, we can help students further investigate the nature and politics oflanguage use.

Discourse and Identity

Students’ social and linguistic backgrounds can marginalize them in the academy,much as they did Richard Rodriguez in Hunger of Memory (1981) and Mike Rose’sstudents in Lives on the Boundary (1985). Len and Vance seek respect and successwithout quite understanding what it is they must surrender in terms of identity toachieve that respect in the institution where they study. Stuckey (1991), in TheViolence of Literacy, argues, ‘The truth is literacy and English instruction can hurt you,more clearly and forcefully and permanently than it can help you, and that schools,like other social institutions, are designed to replicate, or at least not to disturb, socialdivision and class privilege’ (p. 123).

How does one avoid contributing to the silencing of multicultural voices? Havingcome to the conclusion that their writing is inferior, many do become silenced,accepting the negative label of ‘poor writer’ as an absolute truth, rather than a socialand political negotiation reinforced by traditional practices in educational institu-tions. In institutions where valorization of formal academic discourses is the norm,marginalization of different discourses should be no surprise. Fairclough (1990,p. 90) writes, ‘Why then a struggle between discourse types? What is at stake? Whatis at stake is the establishment or maintenance of one discourse as the dominant typein a given social domain, and therefore the establishment or maintenance of certainideological assumptions as commonsensical’.

This research emerged from my experience of watching the struggle of young writ-ers with negative writer identities, i.e. those students who had come to see themselvesas unable to successfully negotiate the writing tasks required of them. I began byasking my college student to reflect on issues that included the following: Who areyou as a writer? How did you come to this view of your writing self or what influencedthe writer identity you constructed? I asked them to tell a story about a pivotal writingexperience that they had had, positive or negative. In addition to this data, journals,portfolios, tapes of writing conferences, and my own field notes regarding observa-tions of their writing and workshop behaviours, and conversations from our requiredjunior year writing class were collected and analysed (Fernsten, 2002). From thiswork, Vance’s and Len’s stories began to emerge.


Discourse Analysis

Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA) provides a way of closely examining the use ofdiscourses and unpacking the social, cultural, and political influences that are workin language. Different specializations may approach CDA in diverse ways such aspragmatics, conversation and narrative analysis, sociolinguistics, and ethnography,among others. Discourses may be studied at the micro or macro level, but the analysisstill moves to the interpretative and explanatory. In the following analysis, I employ athematic view and use composition theory to examine the embedded ideologies thestudents use to discuss their writing and writer identities. The link between their textsand the social world of college composition is mediated by my understandings of thehistorical aspects of composition theory and what it means for students to write in andfor the academy.

Using a form of Fairclough’s methodology of CDA, I searched for themes relatedto composition and writer identity in the collected data. That involved searchinglanguage for embedded ideologies and power relations. Unlike CDA that emphasizesgrammatical and linguistic analysis, this analysis uses broad interpretations, moreakin to the case studies of Lather (1991), Fine, (1992), Willett et al. (1996), andKamberelis & Scott (1992). Ivanic’s (1998) work with adult learners, while notfocused on composition theory and having a sociolinguistic orientation, also involvedwriter identity and the way discourse use can position writers.

In working format, all texts were placed in charts and analysed as to the writeridentities students had constructed and the discourses they were taking up. Thesediscourses were then analysed for the composition ideologies, values and concep-tions of the world evident in the texts. What did Vance and Len accept as‘natural’? What were their understandings of the writing classroom? Of writing,itself? How did they construct their personal writer identities? The key function ofCDA in this study was to help uncover how discourses are implicated in producingand replicating the ideological interests of writing classrooms and, therefore, howthe discourse, itself, is a critical factor in shaping how students see themselves aswriters.

Vance’s story

Vance was an education major at a large university in the Northeast the semester heenrolled in my required junior year writing course. He was an outgoing, friendly,talkative young man with an easy-going manner and amiable sense of humour thatendeared him to his classmates. He was also a member of the university’s footballteam, which privileged him with tutors who regularly checked his progress to ensurehe was successfully keeping up with assignments. Vance was African-American andfrom a major urban area with traces of Black English Vernacular (BEV) in hisspeech. His mother had raised him and his brothers primarily on her own, the fatherhaving left the family when Vance was young. During the semester, Vance wrote ofthe poverty he faced growing up, the difficulty and violence of life in the projects, the

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disappointment he felt in his ‘no-good’ father, and the pride and love he had for hismother.

Ethnographically, his classroom behaviours, like his identity papers, demon-strated a mixture of identities, in tune with the poststructural concept that identityis, indeed, multiple and conflicting. A number of his initial assignments, bothformal academic and expressivist, were incomplete or showed little evidence ofcomprehensive rewriting. (Expressivism is a writing philosophy that espousesindividual control over textual meaning and production and is often viewed inopposition to formal academic discourses where form and correctness of text takeprecedence over expression of individual meaning.) On the social side, Vanceworked enthusiastically in response groups, both giving and seeking support. Heremained a favourite partner in small discussion groups, pleasant and loquacious.He was among the first to teach me how important it was to be heard in his ownvoice and how frustrating it was to accomplish that in a school setting. Unlikemany of my students with negative writer identities, no matter what the assign-ment or how difficult he found it, Vance’s attitude had a positive edge. He wouldinquire about steps to use to break down difficult writing tasks and regularly assureme that tutors would work with him. If he had to miss time because of travel withthe team, he would arrange to get assignments in on time. Vance saw a gapbetween his writing and that of many of his classmates, as did his responsegroup, and I believe that caused him some anxiety. Still, he did not appear overlydiscouraged or frustrated like so many others. His confidence and enthusiasm inthe face of roadblocks, whether an extension of family, sports, religious training orother factors, were unusual and uplifting.

Vance took up the identity ‘intermediate level writer’ in his initial writer identitypaper. However, he said he felt embarrassed about the quality and content ofsome of his writing and feared ‘not understanding’ the requirements of someassignments. The discourses he drew on had him articulating traditional academicwriting concerns about his grammatical correctness. He was, however, far morepositive when he drew on expressivist discourse, saying he wrote his best when hecould pick his topics, as he liked to ‘write from the heart’. Vance’s words lendunderstanding as to why expressivist writing can be so important in the writingclassroom. It allowed him to tell stories that people liked and accepted withouttheir getting waylaid from his ideas by form and structure. He could relate eventsthat helped his predominantly white classmates understand who he was and whatwas important in his life. This was not a student who had come to hate writing,but one who struggled with structural aspects of it. He brought a sense of prideand confidence to his work despite unsuccessful experiences, and, while he didenact some resistance to academic assignments, he did not appear defeated by thesystem’s negative critique, as did many others. On the other hand, he realized hiscontinued efforts had not solved his writing issues, and though he was ‘not givingup’, I remain unconvinced that he sincerely believed his writing would significantlychange. Earlier repeated experiences kept him playing a writing game with littlehope of winning.


Texts selected for microanalysis

The following texts were selected from Vance’s completed portfolio and represent asampling of ideas and discourses pertinent to this paper’s issues. His first assignment‘Who Am I as a Writer?’ demonstrates competent and confident aspects of Vance’sidentity while pointing out his acknowledged difficulties with academic writing tasks.It was when he took up this traditional discourse that he also took on a stunted ordeficient identity. The numbered lines that follow are Lance’s own words, divided,generally, into sentence units. Following each of Lance’s texts is the microanalysis.

Vance’s paper on ‘Who Am I as a Writer?’

1. The type of writer that I am is that I am a straight forward writer2. Whatever is on my mind that’s how I write3. I write like the way I talk4. If someone was to ask me about the way that I write and if I am confident in my

ability then I would have to say yes5. I was always told that I have a vivid imagination6. I know that I am not the best type of writer7. But I am not one of those writers who would get you to lose interest and fall

asleep as you read something that I wrote8. When I get the chance to write abut things that I like I seem to excel in this situation9. It’s like a river the ideas keep flowin and flowin out of my mind10. My ideas just flow and I might misspell things here and there11. And the grammar may be slightly incorrect12. But the effort is there and I try to do my best

Analysis. Vance’s construction of writer identity assignment brings up three themesthat echoed throughout his work over the semester. These are his deficiencies in rela-tion to academic writing, his strong preference for expressivist assignments, and hiscontinued efforts to do well. He also points out his struggles with spelling and stan-dard grammar (lines 10–11). Without knowing it is a recognized writing ideology, healigns himself with expressivists when he calls for writing from one’s feelings abouttopics that interest him and letting the ideas flow (lines 7–9).

Vance says he excels when he writes about things that he likes. However, respond-ers to personal writing quite often focus more on the ideas of the piece rather thanform and structures. His poignant expressivist prose could have affected his audiencedifferently than his struggling attempts to adapt to the discourses required in someacademic classes. While both class readings and classroom discussions opened thedoor to a wider understanding of what shapes people’s use of language, a politicaldiscussion of language was left out of our writing conferences and my written feed-back. I learned too late to help Lance that a simple introduction of political conceptsis not enough to change my students’ years of experience. The language of deficiencythat comes through in his text is the discourse of stunted growth, the predominantideology in many composition classrooms.

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The mixed identities that seemed to be the norm for most of my students arerepresented by the different identities Vance assumes in this piece. He feels that he isan excellent, imaginative writer (lines 5–8) when the topic interests him, for examplewhen he can share his strongly held feelings about family and the trials and tribula-tions he has experienced. He likes to write about topics that are important to him ina language he finds comfortable. Expressivists, certainly a minority in college compo-sition teaching, would support the concept of writing about what is important in alanguage that is most accessible to the writer.

While expressing confidence about his writing, Lance acknowledges difficulty withspelling and grammar. The required standardization and formality of more academicdiscourses highlight his language difference. Here, the ideology of stunted growth isclear. He has been told he does not measure up to the ‘standard’, and without quiteunderstanding all that implies, he repeats the mantra of writing teachers.

Another of Vance’s recurring themes is that of effort. Tempering the idea that read-ers may not see his writing as good, he writes that he is putting out a strong effort andtrying his ‘best’ to get it right (line 12). This may be related to a ‘best effort’ athleticdiscourse or even a holdover from the grade school concept that ‘giving one’s besteffort’ is what really counts. In the elementary grades in the USA, students arefrequently told a ‘good effort’ is what is important, but by college, that ideology hasall but disappeared.

The other of Lance’s texts that I would like to share is his midterm letter. Mid-semester all students were required to review their portfolios and peer/teacherresponses and write a letter, the instructor, reflecting on their work in the course.Vance’s ‘Mid-term Letter’ discusses aspects of academic writing and demonstrateshow he moves between a deficient and a competent identity, depending on thediscourse. He also shares aspects of his personal life which may have put him ‘in themargins’ in terms of traditional formal tasks

1. Dear ________________2. The way that I view my writing may not be the same way that everyone else views

their writing3. As I sit back and look through my portfolio I realize that I really need to work on

my mechanics and grammar4. It’s not like I don’t know what I am doing it just the simple fact that the way that

I write my papers is the way that I speak5. The thoughts just come running out of my head like a waterfall6. I realize that my thoughts and everything is all their but my organization and

grammar can use some fine toning7. I also realize that I am not one of those people who chooses to use those big words8. I am a straightforward person so I tend to get right to the point and I don’t dilly

doodle around the point9. I like the fact of getting feedback either from my peers or a teacher10. I rather it be a teacher because you would not be a teacher if you don’t know what

you are capable of doing


11. By my being able to sit down and read a response on my paper or for someone tosay it to me it just makes me try to work that much harder so I will not get aresponse back

12. Even though I learn from the responses I want there to be a time in which thereis no response on my paper, that it is an excellent well-written paper

13. That right there is my goal to achieve14. The times that I felt really good about myself in writing was when I write about

something that means a lot to me or I feel very strongly about15. Like when I wrote the story about my mother16. I love my mother with all my heart17. She is my role model and I want to be just like her18. When I was able to display the feelings I had and the struggle that my mother

went through raising three boys, getting robbed and evicted from the projects inBrooklyn, New York.

19. Having a no good husband who took off when the going was getting tough20. Never saw her kids except on Sundays when it was time to go to church and give

thanks to the man upstairs for making a way out of no way21. When I get to express my true feeling like that, I believe that I am one of the best

writers, and my chances of making mistakes (are) really low because that is allcoming from my heart and when your are coming from your heart there is no wayI can make a mistake

22. Now the times I feel like I am an average writer is when I listen to other peoplewritings and they are using their extended vocabulary, and that they have such animagination that makes me not even want to raise my hand and read my story

23. Not saying that I am not proud of it because I am proud of whatever I do but Iguess I feel inferior or even timid

24. Well I guess that I have learned to have more patience in my writing25. That change will not come unless I work hard at it then it will come26. Also that it would be nice to be one of those profound writers but since I’m not,

I don’t give up27. And that it is not bad at all to be one of those laid back kind of writers who keeps

you interested and not wondering what does this and that word mean28. But I really notice myself working a whole lot more on writing so that I change a

lot

In this text, Vance moves between a competent and stunted writer identity. He makesclear that formal writing is both unappealing and difficult for him and reiterates hispleasure in expressivist assignments, especially when he is able to share personallymeaningful experiences with his readers. He believes he views his writing differentlyfrom the way others view their writing (line 1). While he does not elaborate, many ofmy students who say they do not write well feel they are ‘unlike other writers’, withoutrealizing how many others also feel isolated and unlike others when it comes towriting ‘well’. When using a formal academic discourse and discussing areas likemechanics, grammar (line 3) and organization (line 6), he consistently takes on a

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writing-deficient identity. However, the fact that he chooses not to use ‘big words’(line 7) and ‘dilly doodle around the point’ (line 8) are not problems in his writing,as he sees it, but a choice that reflects familiarity with a different type of discourse. Heidentifies as a ‘straightforward person’ (line 8), as he did in his initial piece, and thatseems to be a part of his identity he does not want to relinquish. In line 4 Vance assertsthat it is not a matter of not knowing what he is doing, it’s just a matter of writing theway he speaks. Again, expressivists would support his choices, as would compositiontheorist like Lu (1991). Unfortunately, difference in writing is equated with ‘incor-rect’ in most academic arenas.

Gee (1990) writes that all discourses are ideological and embody viewpoints andvalues at the expense of other concepts and viewpoints. The formal academicdiscourses of universities come at the expense of non-dominant discourses in theculture and Vance’s words bear witness to those tensions. He implies that assumingthe formal tone and language of academic discourse would mean changing a part ofwho he is, a part in which he takes some pride. He associates his language with beingstraightforward and honest. In Lu’s terms, Lance is in conflict with the university’srequirements. Without a discourse to politicize his situation, however, Vance ends upseeing himself as not only different, but also inadequate, assuming other students donot share this struggle.

Vance says that he would rather have the teacher review his work (line 10), as s/heis more capable. Other students who have echoed this preference let me know theyfelt threatened by sharing work with peers. Unlike Len, however, Vance also reportsliking feedback from both peers and teachers (line 9). Initially, it came as a surpriseto me that so many disliked and feared peer response groups. Naively, perhaps, I hadassumed peer groups would be welcomed as a place to find an interested audienceand discuss a variety of writing issues. Their previous experiences seem to haveemphasized mechanics, however, and too many with language differences come awaybattered by their peers’ critique. This finding has provided the impetus to focus moreon helping students respond to ideas rather than language structures, though chang-ing old patterns is not easy. Many of my students want to do what their teachers havedone to them — point out errors in grammar and format. During one responsesession, two women in Vance’s group came up to me when he was out of the roomand asked what they might do with a paper that had as many ‘errors in it’ as his did.They felt that it was impossible to work with ideas before addressing the mechanics.Vance came into the room as we were speaking and, though he did not hear theconversation, I assume he had some sense of it. Language difference, whether it is theresult of race, class, education, or other factors, is an issue Vance understood. Want-ing to write a ‘good paper’ and discovering all his efforts did not seem to change howhis papers were received, remained a problem for him, no matter how positive he triedto be. Even in this process classroom, Vance’s stated goal remained to write a paperand ‘get no response’ (lines 12–13), as, ironically, no response would mean to himthat it was a good paper. Clearly, too often language difference had overshadowedimportant ideas for his audience of white middle class instructors and peers. In line21 Vance articulates what expressivists have long espoused, that being able to express


his ‘true feelings’ makes him one of the ‘best writers’, because when one’s work comesfrom the ‘heart’ there is no way one can make a mistake.

When Vance listened to his peers’ papers in response group (line 22) he felt he wasonly an ‘average’ writer, ‘inferior and timid’ (line 23). While he has learned in life tostay ‘proud’ (line 23), he feels he is not doing as well as others and, again, falls backon the hollow bootstraps mantra that hard work (line 25) will make the difference.His wish to write so people will stay interested and understand his vocabulary is surelya reaction against the dominant discourse he tackles. Formal academic discourse canshut out some audience members, so he appreciates writing that he finds moreinclusive, that he is accessible, and that he believes others will enjoy. He associates hislanguage choices with being straightforward and honest and intimates that thelanguage of school is not his way. With no discourse to politicize his situation, hisexplanations lack power.

Len’s story

Len was Haitian-American, in his senior year and, like Lance, planned to enter thefield of education, but was still unsure in which capacity. He was clearly uncomfort-able in the writing classroom and, though trilingual and bright, found writing formalEnglish difficult. Len had an uneasy relationship, stated and observed, with aspectsof the academic discourses he had been required to adopt and concerns about peerresponse that further reflected his fragile relationship with academic writing. Ofparticular interest to me, as instructor and researcher, is the surprisingly positive rela-tionship to writing I discovered when Len participated in expressivist as opposed totraditional formal writing. Information about his difficult earlier life in another coun-try and problematic school history cast a light on how difference can have its price inthe academy. He had put off until his senior year this required course and was afrequent ‘resister’, advising me that his papers were too incomplete to discuss or‘forgotten’ at home, though his attendance was excellent. Len’s class journal revealeda strongly held view that learning another language should not make one forget his/her native language tongue, whatever it may be. He commented that this was not easyto do in the USA.

Because of his classroom silence, many students did not realize Len was trilingualor Haitian, assuming he was African-American. Even when other bilingual studentsshared personal experiences, he did not openly reveal those aspects of his identityuntil the end of the semester. Whatever had silenced him was powerful. In conversa-tion one day, when I told him how important it was for others to hear his voice ofexperience, he told me solemnly that many did not want to hear opinions very differ-ent from their own.

I would like to report that by the end of the semester Len had gained confidence inhis ability to write. Unfortunately, I do not believe that is the case. In his final letterto me, he reiterated many of the themes you will find in the microanalyses that follow.These include the idea that he is ‘different’ from others, still fears the comments ofthose who read his writing, and, despite the fact that peer response may help him

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complete a better paper, he would choose not to do it. This was the discourse he camewith, and, despite discussions on the complexities and politics of language, it is thediscourse with which he left. I am left wondering if the ideas of social and culturalinfluence and the power of academic discourse to both free and oppress had touchedhim — and realize, as is usual with my students, I will probably never know.

Len’s history, set beside the analysis that follow, tells a story of identity that couldbe missed in an instructor’s need to ‘get through curriculum’ and prepare studentsfor ‘writing in the ‘real world’.

Len’s response to ‘Who Am I as a Writer?’

1. It is very easy to explain the type of writer I am2. I never thought of myself as a good writer3. I do not know why but I never liked writing very much4. But there are times that I enjoyed writing certain topics that catch my interest and

most important my readers5. I am a better writer when the topic will catch my audience interest6. I favor topics like comedy, sports and subjects that reflect and relate to adoles-

cents7. I like writing about things that happened to me as a young adolescent8. First of all, I am a bilingual student that never like favor writing much from the

first time I had to write a paper.9. I am a strange student that has many views of doing things10. One day I might like to write my ideas, views on paper and other times I might

want to let my views out orally

Len’s words remind me of the painful difficulty some students have in writingsuccessfully for the academy. As he tells it, he is not a young man who hates writing.He is someone who has felt unsuccessful in writing academic papers. In line 2, Lenmakes his claim that he has never thought of himself as a good writer, drawing hisidentity from the deficient writer construction familiar in many classrooms. He alsoclaims not to know why he doesn’t like writing (line 3). In lines 4–7, he attempts toexplain, however, that there are some kinds of writing he actually enjoys and attemptsto uncover what kinds of writing that encompasses. It is here that, like many otherstudents in the class, expressivist discourse, i.e., writing that values personal voice andstory, is the discourse he draws on. These statements signal Len’s attempt to establisha positive identity that reflects the competence he has felt at times in writing andlanguage. He is a writer, but feels unsuccessful when people focus on his formalconstruction of language.

In Line 8, Len establishes his bilingual identity and may be intimating that he hassituated himself as a writer ‘on the borders’, someone affected by difference. By call-ing attention to his difference in lines 8–10, he embraces the uncertainty that affectsthose who do not seem to ‘fit’ in the social milieu in which they have found them-selves. Here he sees himself as (line 9) ‘strange, ‘ unlike the other writers, similar tothe way Vance constructed himself as ‘different’. Some days he just prefers expressingideas orally. He, too, offers no political discourse to establish an identity that may


further understanding of his writing situation in the academy, but takes up thediscourse more common in schools that there is something ‘strange’ or wrong withhim because he does not fit the system’s idea of ‘good writer’.

Len’s response to ‘ What has been your best or worst experience with writing?’

1. My worst experience with writing is the remarks that I get from people evaluating,correcting my writing

2. The first evaluation is always full with numerous remarks on how to improve thewriting

3. I hate watching someone evaluating my writing because of the remarks andcomments that I expect to see

4. I’d rather have them correct it without me being present5. Many times I get response back from people who evaluate my writing like how to

make my writing more accurate, need more details and they always tell me that Ihave unnecessary information in the paper

6. It makes me feel very low meaning unable to write anything well7. I am a student that needs serious help writing a paper of any subject8. I am an individual that has strong feelings for my writing9. It hurts me most of the time when I get my evaluation paper back10. I decided to start ahead of times because of the numerous corrections that I feel

that I might have to do to do an accurate writing assignment11. Through out the semester I like to improve my writing abilities so I can be a

better writer12. I look forward to quitting the weakness that I have in papers13. I also know that all the problems and weaknesses may be taken care of at once14. But I feel I can improve those weaknesses

Examination of what he was saying in this ‘worst experience’ paper indicates Len’stremendous struggle and his clear awareness that writing for him in the academy wasa landmine of problems. Academic writing created frustration as he had discoveredthat no matter how much time and effort he put in, he had had little success. At theend, Len says he understands ‘all the weaknesses and problems may not be taken careof at once’, but will there be any progress at all? Even though he is hopeful that thiswriting class will be useful, as a senior, he has had writing classes before. He has triedhard before — and still his writing is a ‘problem’.

In line 1, Len makes a decision to focus on a ‘worst’ experience, having had achoice to tell about his best or worst experience with writing. If we reflect on the waymany papers in the academy are reviewed, i.e., correct and return, it becomes clearerwhy students like Len become frustrated. Focused on his lack of ‘proper’ or ‘correct’formal discourse, many instructors miss his ideas. The cycle continues as Lenbecomes more convinced he is a ‘bad writer’ and spends extra time trying to writeformally rather than focusing on the ideas. He becomes trapped in the language maze.

In the past, others have positioned him as an immature writer with grammaticaldifficulties, and here we see he both accepts and subtly resists that identity. Theworst thing, he says, are ‘the remarks’ of those who read his work. The fact that

384 L. Fernsten

the ‘first evaluation is always full with numerous remarks on how to improve thewriting’ (line 2) is problematic for him. This demonstrates both a lack ofunderstanding that writers, novice and professional alike, are commonly dissatis-fied with first drafts, and a repetitive pattern of responders to focus on what iswrong. He personalizes the responders’ comments and interprets them as areflection on his personhood. The fact that he hates being present during response(line 4–5) calls attention to the complexity of his writer identity. Is it oppression hefeels? Why does he feel fearful and powerless when it comes to a discussion of hiswriting?

In line 5 Len reveals the types of critique he has received. The work needs to bemore ‘accurate’, needs more ‘details’, and needs to eliminate ‘unnecessary informa-tion’. In a process classroom these would not be untypical or harsh responses. ForLen, who feels battered by the responses of others, however, they are crushing.Convinced his writing is deficient and positioned as an outsider after trying long andhard to improve, he’s concluded nothing works to the satisfaction of those judging hiswork. He feels ‘low’, ‘unable to write anything well’(line 6). Len now positionshimself as others have positioned him, someone who does not write well in school. ‘Iam a student that needs serious help writing a paper of any subject’ (line 7). Thisconstruction relates to the historical composition positioning of ‘basic’ writers,describing them as stunted in growth or cognitively delayed.

Len never points out that second-language speakers often struggle with the gram-mar of their second language. He does not mention that being unable to write ideas‘well’ in the academic discourse of a second language is common. He does not evensay that appropriating the conventions of academic discourse may be difficult foranyone who had had little access to it. He lacks the political discourse to do so, andso assumes the discourse of those who have labelled him a ‘poor writer’.

In line 8, Len says he cares deeply for his writing, as if a reader might assume thatsomeone who writes as he does must not care. How many times in the traditional class-room have teachers made the assumption that ‘errors’ indicate carelessness, laziness,or a lack of effort? He refutes this by saying he spends much time writing and starts‘ahead of times’ (line 10) to make sure he completes an accurate assignment. Noteacher suggestions have worked, however. He feels bad, ‘low’, and believes the prob-lem is within him. He looks forward to ‘improving his writing abilities’ and ‘quittingthe weakness’ (line 12), as if it were a choice and a matter of self-control. Len, like somany others who struggle, typically blames himself for being a poor writer.

Implications for Teaching

While these cases review Vance’s and Len’s stories, their voices echo the expressedfeelings of many others in my classes. CDA gives a way of both studying composi-tion’s power relations and understanding the embedded ideologies that shape howthese young men have come to see themselves as writers. Examining how theirlanguage is the language of composition classrooms and coming to understand theirstruggles have helped transform my practice in a number of ways.


Now expressivist genres are a part of every course I teach. When running writingworkshops, I am careful to include a number of alternative ways of responding, suchas pointing, summarizing, or analysing major points so responders do not focus onmechanics, especially in initial readings. I take more time training responders by role-playing the types of responses that can be helpful and those that might silence writers.Previously, I had not realized how much more competent and satisfied writers feltwhen allowed to write in an expressivist mode. In expressivist pieces, both Len’s andVance’s sense of success and acceptance of self as competent author were dramati-cally different from the stunted writer identity they took up when required to usemore traditionally formal discourses. Spigelman (2000) argues that compositioncurriculum must shift away from its emphasis on product and give students access tothe epistemological discussion of competing models of teaching writing, whether theybe the classical models of rhetoric, expressivism, or other competing forms.

Even in required formal academic assignments, I allow for hybridity, which blendsgenres and discourses and encourages a personal connection to the topic wheneverpossible. It is my sincere hope that students with negative writer identities will learna new view of writing, one that allows a view of self that is neither deficient normarginalized, but one that is empowered, even revolutionary in the academy. Ratherthan fearing how others may respond, and therefore becoming effectively silenced, Isuggest they ask professors for models of ‘good papers’, discuss how a different dialectmay affect a paper, and encourage them to request the opportunity rewrite paperswhere language use is an issue. If students respond to assignments thinking theypresent a challenge that can be met by a variety of tactics, paper roadblocks will notas easily silence them. Pedagogically, it is reasonable to set expectations that are clearand challenging. Students convinced that they are ‘bad’ writers, however, may fallvictim to the inaction that preys on people convinced that past ‘failures’ predict thefailure of future efforts. Helping students understand writing expectations andassisting them in the goal of attaining them may involve different strategies for diversestudents. It may mean, for example, introducing a process discourse within theclassroom and helping writers work through multiple drafts. Murray (1984) explainsthat traditionally writing teachers would evaluate writing as if it were a finished prod-uct of literature. He contends that students learn better if they are taught that writingis a craft and that moving a paper to a form acceptable to one’s instructor involves aprocess or series of steps.

Wider acceptance of more multicultural discourses and more freedom of presenta-tion in academic writing may help diverse students move more effectively throughrequired writing tasks. If multiculturalism is truly a part of the pedagogical goals ofan academic community, we can explicitly discuss writing strategies for students whoare linguistically and socially diverse. We can teach academic discourse, if that is thegoal, in ways that do no leave second language students (and others) feeling colonizedand marginal to the dominant discourse.

I advocate taking up a political discourse, one that empowers instructors andstudents to discuss language difference openly, rather than pretending it does notexist. A political discourse invites teachers and students to talk openly about their

386 L. Fernsten

conflict with the system, without blaming themselves. It accepts that struggle,conflict, and tensions arise when individuals do not feel included in institutions andhelps people understand the concept of invisible privilege. This last recommendationhas particular importance, as without access to certain discourses, one is unable tochange identity. Having students read articles on the political nature of language, asI did in this course, was clearly not enough. Brodkey (1992) believes that teachers andstudents can reconstruct themselves in relation to political realities via discursivepractices that resist those representations that work against them. Teaching aspectsof critical language awareness in our classrooms helps in this reconstruction andbecomes an avenue for more inclusive, culturally competent environments. Gainingmeta-knowledge regarding how dominant discourses affect us in society is importantin helping students who speak a different dialect feel less marginalized. Inclusiveclassrooms are a human rights issue, and viewing difference as a resource rather thanan obstacle is a way to help overcome present barriers. It is possible to increase thesuccessful participation of multicultural students by re-examining the policies andpractices of teaching and responding to writing in our schools. By doing so, we alsobecome more culturally competent instructors.

More must be done and, I admit, my own practice remains in process in this regard.With students, I explore writing fears and exchange ideas regarding how they asfuture teachers will enhance writing practices in public schools. We examine socialjustice issues in regard to high stakes writing exams that demand conformity of textfrom children. Because most of my students are future educators, reflecting on theirown writing practices, examining where they are, how they feel about writing andworking with young writers, and where they stand in regard to the familiar dominantpractices in the academy is critical Fairclough’s (1990, p. 90) words guide my prac-tice. ‘Some … teachers already see their role in terms of empowering their students,in the words of one practitioner, to ‘deal with communicative situations outside theclassroom in which institutional power is weighted against them, preparing them tochallenge, contradict, assert, in settings where the power dynamic would expect themto agree, acquiesce, be silent’. This educational process must be grounded in adialogue about the meaning of power and its encoding in language’. Silence isunacceptable.

Notes on contributors

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Fernsten, Linda - Discourse & Difference