Curtain up

Good riddance Eid! It's so good to be back in the classroom.

We're starting a new unit in the 11th grade: What sort of language do we use to talk about the "other"?

Margaret Mead at her site for field research in the Samoan Islands. Photo used to introduce the idea of Anthropology and talking about "the other". 

As part of this unit we'll be reading Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart, paying close attention to his use of language.  

I taught Things Fall Apart (TFA) last year. It's a pleasure to return to a text and get to teach it using the techniques that worked well and trying new approaches as well. 

This weekend I read a load of teacher support material for TFA, most of which recommended having students read Achebe's essays on the problems with how Africa is represented by non-African writers. The goal, I suppose, is to teach students that "the image we have of Africa is not accurate, and it's not ok." But I think we ought to have more faith in the students' abilities to determine what is OK and what is not. Role plays often reveal the nuanced opinions students have about morality, and where the line denoting what is "acceptable" lies. 

I decided to have the eleventh graders start their exploration of African literature by looking at anthropological research done in Africa, and noting how language is used in a scientific context to describe something "other". We read excerpts from:

We pointed out the use of quotes to identify new, unusual or difficult to define words like "good" "evil" and "witch". They noted that the scientific language was non-emotional, didn't convey any opinion, depended on facts, referred to other research, relied on statistics, offered concrete examples from interviews with subjects, and used fairly simple language that a reader unfamiliar with anthropology or the studied culture would be able to understand. Hazem, who has a way of moving the conversation ahead by leaps and bounds, noted that anthropologists place a lot of trust on the words of their subjects. "The little boy they interviewed said some pretty crazy things," said Hazem, and then read aloud from his excerpt: "At night, I changed into a cockroach to get out through the bars and meet up with my uncle, who had changed into a cat (Bangui, December 2008)." Hazem then continued: "The researcher just took his word that it was true." We discussed whether the researcher necessarily agreed with or believed everything he was told. We concluded that he was presenting the data and withholding judgment about whether it was true. We also discussed the quality of data in anthropology - Hazem had raised the point that the data points are only as reliable as the sources are. That little boy might say something different to another researcher tomorrow. So yes, trust in the human impulse to tell the truth underlies anthropological research. 

At the end of the session we talked about the occasion for the study: Why had researchers looked at this topic now? Because there had been an in crease in the frequency of accusations of witchcraft in the past 60 years. I asked the class why they thought there might have been a rise in witchcraft accusations during this period. More good ideas: changes in wealth distribution might have led some people to be jealous of others, and accuse them of witchcraft (Zein); a rise in poverty might cause more people to be seen as suspicious or "different" (Mutaz); the witches are often accused of having caused diseases, so a rise in disease might be to blame (Nada); a change in the rule of law in post-colonial states might play a role: people who were "other" used to be put to death at the first sign of dissent by the ruling European powers intent on keeping order. Those people are now living in politically unstable countries where they are not controlled by an oppressive colonizer (Hazem - see what I mean?) 

That was when the bell rang. Tomorrow we'll look at how Achebe talks about Africans differently from white writers, and differently from anthropologists. The goal for the lesson is to establish the stylistic choices that describe Achebe's Nigerian English. 

In the Twelfth Grade we are starting our second of four pieces of drama in our genre study. A Raisin in the Sun will be proceeded by The Doctor's Dilemma by George Bernard Shaw. The play is a commentary on the debaucherous medical industry of 19th century England, where, in Shaw's words, "the medical service of the community, as at present provided for, is a murderous absurdity."

In the play, a doctor who believes he has found a cure for tuberculosis must choose between saving two patients, a moral friend who has made little of his life, and a brilliant artist who is also a died in the wool rapscallion.

We started class by imaging that the cast of A Raisin in the Sun were ship-wrecked and the life boat could only hold four. In groups they decided whom they would save, and defended their choices before the class. We discussed what we value a human life for, and we noted that "likeability" and "entertainment value" were surprisingly common justifications. Are our choices about who to save rational, we asked? Hardly. They were also perceptive to the degree to which we romanticise the promise inherent in youth. Everyone, for instance, saves the 12 year old Travis because "his whole life is ahead of him," even though we have no indication of his character or his likelihood to contribute to society. In fact many groups that saved him left his father, Walter Lee, to drown because Walter had not been successful in life. Here's to the hope that the son will outshine his father.

We read the first conversation between the affluent doctors in Shaw's piece, and can already perceive that Shaw is not a fan of these people. The most humorous indicator, is the way he identifies one of the doctors: Leo Schutzmacher, L.R.C.P.M.R.C.S.

What the heck do those letters mean? They acknowledged that those letters were surely used to make him seem smart to potential customers, without really indicating anything of substance. Yasmin pointed out that hey, maybe he is smart. He's the one who's sign outside his office says "Cure Guaranteed."

A shot from the opening scene of the movie, featuring all five doctors in Ridgeon's cushy reception.