What's in a Name?

As my fourth semester of teaching freshman writing at the college level draws to a close, I am faced with a conundrum that I had already written off in previous semesters: as a 25-year-old instructor teaching (usually) 18 year old freshman, how should my students address me?

I first started teaching in Texas while working on my Master’s degree. I decided early on that asking students to address me by my last name was the best approach. This was pretty much the consensus amongst my cohort of Graduate student teachers, as most instructors I knew went by their last names (at least, all the other women in the program did). I even discussed the topic with a few of my faculty advisors, who agreed that having students address me by my last name was my best course.

Mainly, I made this choice initially because of my age. When I started teaching, I was only 5 years older than the majority of my students. This formality fortified my authority and kept the distance between me, the young instructor, and them, the college freshmen. I still think this was the best choice at that time. This choice was also informed by my own undergraduate experience. When my professors asked me to address them by their first names, I was always somewhat uncomfortable with the informality because it did not align with my perception of “college professor.” That’s just not how I imagined this power structure to work.

Another factor in my decision had to do with an experience from my Sophomore Spanish class that highlighted the tricky gender dynamics at play. I still vividly remember one of my male peers repeatedly referring to the female, tenured professor who taught the class as Ms. He did this, seemingly unconsciously, every single class meeting, even though she corrected him and asked him to call her Dr. each time. I am almost certain that he would not have displayed this consistent refusal to remember his professor’s degree had he been addressing a male faculty member. Remembering this, it seems really important to me that my students address me by my last name, so that I command the same respect as male adjunct faculty.

When I got to my current institution, I continue to introduce myself with my last name, but it does not seem as clear cut to me as it used to. I am beginning to see some advantages to having students on a more familiar basis. I think this is partially due to the fact that several educators here that I highly respect have their students call them by their first names. I like this approach because it further troubles a relationship that I am already trying to disrupt as an educator: I the teacher have the correct answer, and the students are merely receptacles for my knowledge. This is not the way that I teach; I strive for a collaborative and interactive approach in the classroom. So if we are all calling each other by our first names, that further makes us participants in the same learning community, just at different stages in the process.

Last Fall, a male student began an email to me with “Hi Christine.” I had an immediate visceral reaction of irritation, and wrote the student back to tell them not to address their instructors by their first names. I responded so quickly and directly largely because I would never think of addressing my teacher by their first name without them asking me to do so. I think it also had to do with the fact that I felt this entire class had been somewhat disrespectful throughout the semester.

This Spring semester, my adherence to my title has broken down somewhat. One of my students -- who is much older than me and who I recently learned has college aged children – has been calling me “Ms. Z,” and other students have followed suit. This has not been bothering me. Additionally, a female student recently started calling me Christine in her emails. In contrast to my earlier experience, I find that I am not against this. The main difference for me is that I am very comfortable with the dynamic in my current classroom and that I have established authority with these students at this point in the semester. Also (justly or unjustly) this language coming from a female student does not have the same connotations as it does coming from a male student.

What I do know is that the same dynamic that has one student call me Christine, is probably the same dynamic that allows students to come to my office hours when they have concerns about their papers, or to voice dissenting opinions from mine during class discussions. It has another student seek me out for advice on their difficult roommate situation, because they “like and respect me as a person.” Or another student pick me as their guest for their sorority’s teacher appreciation banquet. If this level of engagement both in and out of the classroom is the outcome, then maybe the cost is having a student call me Christine once in a while.

On some level, having students call me Christine fits better with my teaching style. On the other hand, I wonder if the students calling me by my first name would have started addressing their male professors this way without an invitation. Is this just a perpetuation of the dude in my Spanish class, where students intrinsically assume a lower level of respect for their female teachers? I don’t know. But I'm sure as I continue in academia, I'll find out.

Small Victories

This weekend, I went with my parents to Boulder, Colorado to begin looking for apartments for my upcoming move. It was overwhelming to say the least, especially considering this is my second move in a year. Moving to New York where I did not know anyone was really scary and at times disheartening. There were certainly days when I really wanted to see my old friends for drinks, or advice or just to get out of my apartment. I feel really good about the friends I now have in Rochester, and moving to Boulder will be a reset in some ways. But on the other hand, being forced to figure things out on my own has given me a new found appreciation of what I am capable of doing myself.

This had been a pretty mild winter in Rochester, with only one major snowstorm that shut down roads and the Universities (pictures and news stories regarding this storm are available here). As a native Texan, I have never had to dig my car out of a snowdrift prior to this experience. I had a vision of snowplows clearing out the parking lot, and then just being able to back my car into the clear once I had cleaned off the windows. I realize now that this idea is laughable, but I did not know what to expect. On February 16^th, a Tuesday, the University closed because of the weather conditions, which was lucky because I was pretty sick: fever, aches, coughing. Classes were back on for Wednesday, so I would be going to work. The night of the storm after the snow had mainly stopped falling, I remembered that my apartment would tow vehicles that had not been cleared; otherwise, the snowplows would not be able to continue clearing the parking lots. Rather than dealing with this before going to work the next morning, I decided to clear my car off and move it to a snow free parking spot that night. I imagined this would take about twenty minutes.

At 11 p.m., I bundled up and headed outside. My car was buried midway up the doors (I have a Honda Civic, so the snow around my car was approximately thigh deep). The snow extended about two feet on every side of my car. Now, I will acknowledge that I made some mistakes. I had no idea how much snow my car could actually back up over, I didn’t feel well, and I wanted to do as little work as possible. So using a large hand shovel, I dug away the snow that was directly touching my car, cleared up under and behind the tires, and then dug two grooves behind my car for the tires to follow out. This was not effective. My car moved about 6 inches and then promptly got stuck. I rocked it back and forth, and then dug it out some more. Again, I cleaned up around the tires and cleared some (not all) of the snow behind my car. I tried moving again and got another 6 inches. I did this probably four times, until I finally got the back tires past the dense pack of snow behind my car. Then the front tires got stuck, and now my car was protruding out into the parking lot. Because my car had front wheel drive, I couldn’t move it back where it had come from, I still couldn’t get all the way out of the spot, and so I was faced with digging out more snow. It was now almost midnight, I felt incredibly weak and achy, and I just sat there for a few minutes hoping no cars wanted to drive through the lot. As I was sitting there, I asked myself “What if I can’t do this?”

“What if I can’t do this?” I weighed my other options. Being almost midnight, I did not feel comfortable calling someone to ask for advice or to come bail me out. Also, I live pretty far outside Rochester. I could not just leave my car and try again in the morning, because now I couldn’t get back into my parking space. I was also unwilling to call AAA and explain to them that I was stuck in a relatively tiny patch of snow in my own parking lot. When I thought about all those things, I realized that I had to do it myself. Grumpily, I got back out and got to work again. Around 12:30 a.m I finally freed my Civic and moved to a new spot.

This whole experience may not seem like a big deal for those of you that are experienced with snow, but for me it was definitely an ordeal. However, like most ordeal, I learned some valuable lessons from that experience. Concerning snow, I should have backed my car into the spot. I should have moved it earlier in the day before the snow plows made several passes and increased the amount of snow piled up behind my car. I should have used cat litter. I should have dug out all the snow behind me the first time, because it would have been way faster in the long run.

More importantly than all that, I learned that I could do it myself; I figured it out on my own. Now, there is nothing wrong with asking for help—everyone definitely should reach out when they need it. I lean on friends and family for emotional and physical support all the time.

But I did feel pretty empowered knowing that I had persevered and, by god, I moved that car myself!

Into the Wilde: Academic Micro-Aggressions

As a feminist, I am often asked, “Christine, what’s the deal with micro-aggressions? Why are they important? I mean, they are micro.” Ok, so no has actually asked me that, but the way that people talk about race and gender relations on the internet and in person often imply this question. And that’s the insidious thing about micro-aggressions. Individually, they aren’t always a “big deal” because they aren’t (usually) directly hostile or earthshattering (although they are often damaging on an individual basis depending on the situation). However, over the course of life, these micro-aggressions become a very big deal, not only because they happen to marginalized groups over and over and over again, but also because of the problematic results of seemingly minor events.

Sidebar: To be transparent, this post is talking only about micro-aggressions as they relate to gender. I have no personal experience with racial micro-aggressions beyond the theoretical and I do not pretend otherwise. This post is obviously a very brief and inadequate discussion of micro-aggressions, so if you want more on the subject, you can check out a much more detailed discussion of micro-aggressions done by the University of New Hampshire.

To illustrate the importance of micro-aggressions and the consequences of them, I’m going to talk about a small conference I attended a few weeks ago in New York State. This conference focused on the life and works of Oscar Wilde and, as someone whose MA thesis focused on gender performance in Wilde’s literature, I was pretty excited about this conference. However, I was ultimately disappointed because of the dynamics at work between the youngish (late twenties, early thirties) women and the elderly (early sixties) white men in attendance. It is incredibly important to note that, even though six of the conference’s ten presenters were women, I and other women I interacted with still left the conference feeling like we had been largely excluded from the conversation; this was largely due to the discussions that took place following each batch of presentations. Regardless of who presented, the Q&A following each group of presentations was dominated by the elderly, white male Wilde scholars that were present.

Me at the Symposium

Let’s take for example the discussion following my presentation. My presentation was about queer themes in Oscar Wilde’s fairy tales and how they mirror those found in his novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray (here is  the Wikipedia entry for those of you unfamiliar with the novel or the fairytales). While my topic did deal with public perception, the majority of my presentation dealt with close readings of the texts in question. George* (names have been changed for the purposes of this post, but you get my drift) asked me whether I thought Wilde was writing in code out of necessity, or if he just enjoyed writing with hidden meaning. Now as far as my presentation was concerned, I don’t know the answer to this question, nor do I care on some level. While I do think the authorial intent is important to an extent, I had really come to this conference to talk about queer theory, and the content of the works (also, I think the question is somewhat pointless, because whether Wilde enjoyed writing in code or not, he had to disguise his sexual orientation as a matter of his own safety). I tried my best to answer the question, but rather than talking about my presentation, the conversation quickly continued on this trend of authorial intent. Obviously, the conversation is going to reflect the attitudes of the audience, but I felt very much like the conversation had been hijacked. I use the term hijacked because these scholars were, by their own admission, unfamiliar with the fairy tales as well as my theoretical lens; rather than trying to learn something new, they purposely reverted to a topic they were familiar with at the expense of mine and the other presenters’ body of knowledge. I also felt very purposefully excluded because these older, male scholars would specifically address each other and talk over the other (female) scholars. For example, as George was expanding on the question he brought up, he then turned to an elderly, white man sitting next to him and asked, “well what do you think, Bob?” effectively cutting the rest of us out of the conversation.

The presenters

Despite the fact that more than half the presenters were younger women, throughout the course of the discussion, only one woman, the MA literature student Claire, managed to ask a question. She and I talked at some length about the interactions happening, and at lunch, she expressed her frustration with the other attendees: “I really wanted to elaborate on that question I asked early because I was really interested in what she [the presenter] had to say about it. But there was never a gap in conversation again once the older scholars started talking.” As female scholars, we had a strong presence at this conference based on the number of presenters; however, because of the unwillingness of the older scholars to acknowledge their privileged position in academic discourse, Claire and I both felt that we as women were excluded from contributing.

While this is just one instance of academic discourse being monopolized by a privileged group of people, these kinds of interactions happen all the time at conferences, within University departments, and in the classroom. Again, nothing said at this conference was openly hostile: no one told me I had no right to be there, or that what I had to say was not worth hearing or debating. But I still felt that message very keenly after leaving this conference. I was really excited going into it, but I don’t feel like I contributed anything to these proceedings despite my best efforts to do so. Or rather, I put my research out there, and then was ultimately rejected by a privileged group of people that refused to respect or discuss my ideas.

Oscar Wilde

"I am not concerned with the ignorance of others" --Oscar Wilde

A Political Revolution

Sanders Campaign Rally, taken on my Galaxy S5

Today, I attended my second ever political rally. Bernie Sanders came to speak on Monroe Community College’s campus, so I asked a coworker to cover my tutoring shift (shout out!) and set out for the rally’s location, the Bill Gray Iceplex.

My first political rally was four years ago when Bill Clinton came to Lamar University’s campus in 2012 to campaign for local Democratic candidate Nick Lampson. I went to the rally largely because I wanted to see a former President, and also because my friend Zach (a staunch Democrat) talked me into not missing it. I was really only interested in the spectacle. At the time I was a Republican, mainly because my parents were, and I hadn’t formed strong political opinions yet. My friends and I got signs, cheered at the appropriate moments, and then dispersed. I don’t even remember what Clinton said, because I was only there to see what he looked like and spoke like; let me tell you, campaign rallies are way different when you feel passionately about the candidates and their platforms.

At the 2012 Lamar University Nick Lampson Rally, Featuring Bill Clinton

Today, as a left-leaning Democrat, I was excited when I heard Sanders would be coming to Rochester. 2012 Christine would not have awaked before dawn and stood in line from 6am until 8am in 35 degree weather. She certainly wouldn’t have done it alone. But that is exactly what I did today – and for those of you who know me well, you know how much I hate getting up early. It was cold and unpleasant, but I was ultimately glad that I went for two main reasons.

First, I gained a clearer understanding of Sanders’s campaign platform. Hearing Sanders’s stance on the issues from various sources pales in comparison to the passionate delivery of those principles in person. After participating in this gathering, I feel solidified in my support of Sanders. Although of a large portion of his speech was targeted towards labor issues because of Western New York’s labor demographic, Sanders took time in his speech to speak to different marginalized voters, talking to and about Latino, African American, and Native American voters specifically. He proclaimed, “This campaign is listening to a group of people whose voices are very rarely heard, and that is the Native American community.” Even in a predominantly Caucasian audience, the human rights of minority groups became a focal point of his speech, in addition to economic and student loan issues. Additionally in a campaign season loaded with pervasive, sexist rhetoric, hearing a candidate state unequivocally that we need a change in our professional treatment of women was incredibly important to me. On Equal Pay Day, significantly, Sanders highlighted that women across the country make $.79 on the dollar compared to men, concluding that “They want the whole damn dollar!”

Quality not Great, but Still Bernie

Secondly, I am encouraged by the sheer number of people committed to attending this rally. In my experience on the internet and in person, people are sometimes hesitant to stand up and say that they support equal pay for women, or that we should treat undocumented immigrants as people with basic human rights. Being surrounded by such an energetic crowd of supporters restored some of my faith in people’s compassion. The majority of the supporters there seemed invested in witnessing Sanders and his platform. I arrived at 6am, but some people had been in line since 4am! I heard attendees saying that they had missed out on shifts at work to be here, or that they had skipped classes to come to the event. I also spoke with a supporter who said that she had not been to a political rally since 1974, but she was in line today. Multiple times throughout the speech, the crowd drowned Sanders out with chants of “Bernie! Bernie!” and stamping on the bleachers.

In comparison, while Donald Trump has many staunch supporters, there are also many of his event attendees who are only interested in him as a spectacle, in a similar way that I viewed Bill Clinton’s rally in 2012. As a result, many people going to his rallies don’t actually support his platform. We can also see this in the astonishing number of protests to his events; Twitter user @Jordancentola highlights this difference, tweeting “I find it awesome how no one has to say ‘stay safe’ at Bernie rallies.” At this rally, I never felt unsafe, I saw no protestors, and the entire audience, as far as I could tell, was actively participating and very energetic about the message.

A major downside of this Democratic primary cycle has been how the candidates talk about each other on the campaign trail. As a Sanders supporter who would also cheerful vote for Hillary Clinton, I am distressed by this in part because the Democratic Party, if it wants to win in November, will have to come together behind one candidate at the end of this primary. While both candidates are definitely guilty of these attacks, rhetoric against Clinton (including that used by Sanders) frequently has a gendered component. Luckily, I didn’t see much of that in the speech Sanders gave today. Instead, he focused on their different positions on the issues as well as their different fundraising strategies – although, I think even this comparison isn’t completely devoid of gender bias, and I may talk about that in a later post.

Like anything, there were definite drawbacks to this experience. While the people in attendance made this an awesome experience, there were also some troubling aspects to the crowd as well. While I found Sanders’s discussion regarding Clinton fairly respectful, I cannot say the same thing for the audience. Many people, mainly women, were yelling things like “traitor” and “fuck her” during this portion of the speech. This vicious hate from the audience is, at least in my opinion, wildly misdirected. There were also the ever-present “BernieBros” waiting in line. A pair of high school seniors behind me were repeatedly referring to their classmates using homophobic slurs, in addition to their discussing one female classmate who they “wouldn’t fuck with because she’s so ugly.” I truly don’t understand how someone who actually supports this candidate could have these kinds of opinions; rather, I don’t see how they could not identify these opinions and words as fundamentally harmful to the idea of equality that seems to be at the heart of the Sanders campaign.

If you would like to read more about the rally I attended, links to news reports on the event are available here and here. You can also check out the hashtag #rocfeelsthebern for firsthand tweets and posts from the event.

Intro

Hey y’all! 

I’ve been debating what to do for my first post, and I’ve decided that what might be most helpful is for anyone reading this to learn a little bit about me. My name is Steen, I am currently living in Western New York, but I am originally from Austin, Texas. My family still lives in Texas, although I have extended family in Idaho, Massachusetts, Illinois, South Carolina, New Mexico, and Newfoundland. I'm still adjusting to the cold and snow, because I've never had to actually drive in it before. So I'm growing my skills, I guess. 

Thinking about me as a person, I identify as Latina because my father is from Mexico and his family hails from Spain. While this part of my identity is important to me, I think it is also important that my light skin and lack of Spanish language skills often make other people read me as white -- a fact that definitely influences how I interact with and am treated by the world around me. I was home schooled, although not for religions reasons, which also effects how I interact with people. I noticed this most especially when I first started my undergraduate degree, but it continues to influence the way I view education.

My Southern roots are probably just as important an aspect of my character as anything else. I don't think my drawl is too strong, but I do use expressions like “all y’all.” I know this is mainly force of habit, but I'm also really glad that this is my default because "y'all" is so inclusive of all gender identities.

It’s probably obvious at this point, but I am a feminist and I view the world with a social justice lens. Part of what motivated me to actually take the time to create this blog is because I see the terms “feminist” and “social justice advocate” getting a bad rap on the internet. I also see some of this negativity spilling over into classroom interactions; when students talk about their experiences with gender they often start by qualifying, "I'm not a feminist, but..." Don’t get me wrong; there are certainly people who claim to be invested in social justice, but who are actually doing real harm. In my experience, these people aren't the majority of feminist or social  activists, but are instead a very vocal minority. In this way, they mimic the racism and sexism that they are struggling to undo.

Uncomfortable as it may be, acknowledging our privileges is a really important step to having productive conversations about race, sex, and gender. And if there is anything I love, it's productive dialogue about gender! I have been teaching and tutoring at the college level for about three years, and in August, I am moving to Colorado to start my PhD in Education, focusing on literacy. I am very motivated to improve the way educators interact with students, especially students that have been marginalized because of their race or gender identity.

So that’s some of the really serious stuff I want to tackle with this blog. I also want to explore other, less serious things -- talking about books and movies, sharing  my travel experiences, and discussing my continuing education, my work, and (most importantly) my cat.

So if you are interested in any of these things, you are in the right place!