Gina R.J. Patterson, Ph.D.

231 Rentschler Hall ! Hamilton, OH 45011! Phone: 513-593-6981 Email: pattergr@miamioh.edu! Website: drgpat.org

TEACHING PHILOSOPHY Rhetoric + Queer Theory, or Jim Berlin and Judith Butler at a Coffee Shop Because of my training in rhetoric and composition, women's, gender, and sexuality studies, and literary and cultural studies, I wear many hats. I've taught everything from children's literature and creative nonfiction to technical writing. And when I'm lucky, I get to develop courses in queer rhetorics or in transgender studies. Regardless of the classroom I enter, I always consider myself a rhetorician and a queer pedagogue. But what does rhetoric have to do with queerness? How do these two theoretical perspectives play themselves out in the classroom? Or, put another way, if Jim Berlin and Judith Butler were to grab a cup of coffee (as I sometimes like to imagine), what might that look like? Answer #1: Some scholars, like Tatiana de la Tierra (2000), Laurie Wood (2005), and Karen Kopelson (2003) have examined the complexities of teaching English as LGBTQ-identified people. Richard Miller (2000) and Danielle Mitchell (2008) have suggested that the work of queer pedagogy might include developing ways to interrogate heterosexism and cissexism in the classroom. Still others like Harriet Malinowitz (1995) and Jonathan Alexander (2008) have argued LGBTQ issues are tied to questions of literacy, in the sense that one's identity markers influence how one reads the world. These, I think, are valuable explanations. But this is not the entire story. Answer #2: Queerness isn't always attached to LGBTQ issues. Queerness can also refer to the lingering things that make us feel uncomfortablethings we'd rather not look at. In this sense, queerness has a lot to do with the business of teaching and learning. Informed by scholars like Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick (2003), Jasbir Puar (2007), and Lisa Duggan (2004), I believe that queer pedagogy offers teachers a more general lens for interrogating normalcy, community, and discussions of the good. And as Deborah Britzman (2010) and Susanne Luhmann (1998) contend, because of its roots in psychoanalysis, queer pedagogy can also shed some light on how we come to knowledge, as well as what we cannot bear to know. More importantly for the purposes of the classroom, queer pedagogical perspectives can highlight for students that we are accountable to each other for the stories we tell and the stories we refuse. For teachers, it shows us that, beyond learning outcomes, the practice of pedagogy boils down to the proliferation of human relationships. As a teacher, putting queer and rhetorical theories into conversation allows me to examine public discourse and at the same time interrogate the potential violences of discourse. Because queer theory is also an ethical stancea means of being in relation toit affords me a lens for interrogating rhetorical theory. Rhetoric, in turn, helps me ground queer theory at the "everyday . . . level of talk" (Hauser 46). As a result of this theoretical friendship, I am able to develop curriculums that encourage "active participation . . . in the public sphere," while encouraging students to ask "what forms of community have been created, and through what violences and exclusions have they been created?" (Berlin 101; Butler, Precarious 225). As a teacherscholar, this means that while I encourage civic participation and push for social justice, I am ever mindful that mainstream publics are normative spaces. Praxis, Praxis, Praxis So, what might a queer rhetorical pedagogy look like in practice? It first means that I'm a bit of a Pragmatist. Whether constructing a course syllabus, prepping for class, or developing a writing assignment, I ask myself what difference my course will make in people's actual lives. For this reason, I start with students' experiences as a point of reference for the class. I start with what they know. This might mean that I construct a course that speaks to campus issues, as I have with courses like English 113 Advanced Composition. This might also mean that I ask students to contribute to course material by bringing in documents from their community, as I have in English 111 Rhetorics of Placeor as I have in English 323 Creative Nonfiction by asking students to contribute their own work for analysis. I might also begin a course with familiar information. So, for instance, in English 165 Literature and Sexuality, I framed the course around themes of water, ghosts, and motherhood as a means to examine the stories we tell about

sexuality and gender. And in English 112 (De)Constructing the Fairy Tale, in addition to examining newer works, I also asked students to revisit childhood fairytales. In short, I find that students are invested in courses where their ideas and their lives mattereven if their initial perspectives might be interrogated along the way. Of course, examining one's beliefs isn't easy. Our lives are bound up in the stories we tell. Looking at how language constructs identity, belief, and notions of community can be challenging. As a way to help students negotiate unchartered ideological waters, I rely upon Wayne Booth's notion that rhetoric isn't about winning or proving someone wrong, but rather about hearing one's opponent and examining the values behind those arguments. Borrowing from Gloria Anzalda, I explain to students that we are all potentially threatened by new ideas, because when we encounter new ideaslike it or notwe change. We no longer can claim deniability. Finally, informed by bell hooks, I assure my students that I'm not holding onto some secret Book of Answers. I acknowledge when I don't know something, and I suggest that we think through troubling concepts together. Perhaps most importantly, I encourage my students to see themselves as scholars. I explain to them how their work fits into larger academic and community conversations. These things seem to keep students engaged even when dealing with potentially challenging material. This type of transparency also informs my approach to teaching writing. I acknowledge that writing produces anxiety for all of usthat we all must struggle through many, many drafts before getting to something that looks like a feasible paper. Students see this exemplified in my classes in several ways. First, I distribute writing assignments at the beginning of the sequence, so that, as we all are reading, we can discuss ways that we might approach the eventual writing assignment. In addition to that, for each sequence, I devote two back-to-back classes to the revision process. The first of these classes looks like a writing studio, where students examine two or three samples of students' works-in-progress. In these sessions, I talk students through my responses to the sample essays. Not only do students leave knowing what I'm looking for in their writing, but they also have a model for how to respond to their peers' papers for the following class, where we engage in a more traditional peer review session. Finally, when students attend my office hours to discuss their papers, they get an opportunity to see me muddle through writing along with them. This seems to give them a sense that if their teacher must muddle through writing, then revision isn't about being a "bad" writer. Writing must be difficult stuffreal-deal work. The Good Stuff Finally, and I think this is a good place to end: I'm an advocate. When students want to meet with me to discuss papers for a business class or a history class, I don't turn them away. When a student tells me that he needs basic writing instruction, I don't send him off to find a tutor. In both of these circumstances, I ascertain that students have come to me for a reason. And so, we tackle a paper together, sentence-by-sentence, and concept-by-concept. Even if this means scheduling extra office hours or conferencing via Skype, I make time for my studentspast and present. Aside from writing instruction, I encourage students to make use of my open-door policy. When students swing by to talk about their academic career, I'm delighted to hear stories about students' aspirations: law school, early childhood education, nursing, or even (gasp!) to one day become an English professor. Where I can, I introduce students to helpful university resources, relevant scholarship that might inform their work, or fellow colleagues who might also mentor them. In class or via the course website, I'll often announce relevant scholarships, coursework, student groups, calls for papers, and other campus opportunities that might interest them. I also invite students to make similar announcements. It's incredible to hear what they've got going on: debate club, Stage Left, fashion shows, student publications, Big Brothers and Sisters, etc. In short, I emphasize to every student who crosses my path that they have something valuable to contribute. And the best part of my job is being there when students realize that what they have to say really does matter. !