Daniel Raines: Reflections from the Classroom and Beyond
Daniel Raines is a PhD student in rhetoric and linguistics at the University of Houston, where he focuses his research on Critical Discourse Analysis—or power relationships in how people communicate in a society. He identifies publicly as neurodivergent, and spent the majority of his childhood growing up in the country of Morocco where he learned to speak Arabic, French, and Spanish.
The purpose of the current project is to connect people to traditions of using language and living well. I write poetry in my private life, and have recently found the idea of poetic tradition to be powerfully informative for how I write. This also extends to my scholarship, and I have recently been heavily influenced by reading Gloria Anzaldúa book Borderlands/La Frontera, in which her discussions of multifaceted and contradictory identities resonated with me as an individual who grew up in two vastly different cultures.
I believe it is incredibly important for individuals to be able to connect themselves with a tradition of some sort. Without a historical or social guide, life can be incredibly isolating and unmooring as people try to find a way to do life and language well. Having that connection to a tradition can help orient people in life, and it can be a powerful reassurance of their own identity even when the world around them tries to deny or erase that identity. I think this is why people sometimes entrench themselves too deeply in a tradition they have connected with, be it religious, political, ethnic, or generally social. Letting go of an identity, of the narrative you have built around your life, can be really difficult to the point where it is preferable to reinforce a narrative that you know is harmful.
This project has connected me further to the importance of literacy ancestors, of having that connection to tradition that moors you to the world. Denying people that tradition which speaks to them is incredibly harmful, and in my opinion is the height of linguistic justice. We can rectify this by reconstituting the erasures that marginalized people have experienced in the archives and literary canons, exposing people with marginalized identities to traditions with which they can enthusiastically connect. It is my goal here to help professors teach their students to connect with these literacy ancestors, and to warn of the dangers of misreading these literacies by imposing your own ideas onto an individual based on how they look.
Pedagogical Example for Linguistic Justice
Linguistic racism is an ideology based in the perceived hierarchy of language, often framed as a separation between “formal” and “informal” language uses, or “academic” language vs. “vernacular” or “slang,” or restricting students from using “private” or “home languages” in the classroom. Occasionally, we might critique “academic” language by referring to it as overly specific “jargon,” but even this word suggests a right way of speaking that is not considered “too specific.” The idea of a “right” way of speaking is the core of linguistic racism, both because it assumes one correct way to use language above others and ignores that this supposedly “right” way of speaking is usually based in White language.
To combat these premises of linguistic racism, students must be exposed to varieties of language use other than their own in academic settings. English teachers, especially in university First Year Writing classrooms where curriculum is not strictly enforced, can help students find literary works or writing styles that speak to their respective identities by teaching written works outside the established White literary canon. For example, students might read the ebonic prose of Black authors such as Zora Neale Hurston, or contemplate the poetry of multilingual Chicanx authors such as Gloria Anzaldúa, or any other author who uses language in a way other than how it is prescribed by traditional handbooks of formal or academic style.
I am reminded here of a time when I introduced one of my First Year Writing classes at University of Houston to Anzaldúa’s Borderlands/La Frontera. There were, of course, plenty of students who were confused by Anzaldúa’s translingual writing, and only the Spanish-speaking students understood the majority of the text. Even some of the English portions of the text could be difficult to understand for the students who thought of themselves as inhabiting a single culture, but multiple Latino students approached me after class to mention how Anzaldúa’s ideas resonated with them as living across borders. In Anzaldúa, these students found a literacy ancestor who could describe their life experiences—possibly in a way they may never have encountered in school previously.
I am influenced here by Eric Darnell Pritchard’s idea of literacy ancestors: Visible or erased historical figures who share similar personal experiences or identities with an individual, and from whom that individual can create a sense of tradition through which they can relate to these ancestors in profound ways to find words to describe their life experiences. Pritchard describes their journey and that of other Black queer individuals of finding Black queer ancestors in the margins of the civil rights movements of the 1960s, and the struggle of relating to those movements before finding the works of their literacy ancestors such as Audre Lorde, Pat Parker, and Bayard Rustin.
My hope is to be able to help First Year Writing students find literacy ancestors of their own by expanding the canon of works that they read while taking the course. This process takes an incredible amount of intellectual labor because it requires me to have an expansive and diverse knowledge of literacies outside of the academic norm. This is not achievable on my own, and I will have to rely on students to help me locate some of these literacy ancestors for them. For the students who have similar life experiences to me, it will be simpler for me to point to literacy ancestors who have influenced me and hope they also find a connection with that ancestor. But for students with vastly different experiences than my own, I will have to intentionally search and encourage that student to do the same. It is my hope that students finding these literacy ancestors will help them better understand how they can relate to the world, and lessen the impact of historical erasure on particularly marginalized groups.
Now that the importance of literacy ancestry is established, I would like to dedicate the rest of this post to an activity that can be used in First Year Writing classes to help students identity their literacy ancestors. Early on in the semester, perhaps on the first day of classes as an icebreaker, have the students reflect on their various social and political identities. This can be done as a full-class activity where students verbally state the identities they affiliate with, or it can be done privately as an exit ticket or reflective writing. The downside to asking the students to state their identities publicly is that they may be nervous to do so in front of a group of strangers, or a particularly controversial identity may spark early controversy in the class if not handled carefully, but their public statements may also help some students connect with each other early on in the semester to support later class discussions.
Once students have reflected on their identities in a reflective writing or full-class discussion, another class meeting early on in the semester can be used to discuss the idea of literacy ancestors. Pritchard’s article might be a bit complicated for students of a First Year Writing class to read, but I believe the ideas can be explained fairly simply as historical figures that the students can relate to or consider to be a role model. I might use myself as an example, citing Palestinian peace activist Elias Chacour as an example of a literacy ancestor I have looked up to since I was a child. I could bring in his autobiography, Blood Brothers, and discuss how it encouraged me to seek peaceful resolutions to public conflicts even when there is a tremendous amount of resentment between two sides. Students could then write a short reflective piece on a historical figure they look up to and consider that figure in light of the idea of literacy ancestry, or if they are struggling to identify an individual then allow space for them to discuss that with the professor.
While it might be difficult for undergraduate students to fully engage with Pritchard’s writing, it is important for professors to read their text fully and reflect on their own literacy ancestries before leading a class in a discussion on the subject. Professors should engage in a similar activity of reflecting on their own identities and literacy ancestors, preparing enough information to be able to share with a class of students. This can be a very personal reflection that might initially be uncomfortable to share with a group of students, but I believe it can also be very rewarding when a student finds that connection with a literacy ancestor that they otherwise never would have encountered. Helping marginalized students connect with these traditions can reorient them in a world that has tried to erase their identities, and partially rectify the oppression they have experienced through that erasure.