New York City, Rhetoric, Invention

An Idea for a Rhetoric Course that I’ve just never done

For several years I have imagined teaching a course where New York City would be the text that would serve as the readings, course content, the source of student projects, and the object of critical analysis/interpretation. This course I imagined initially many years ago under the title “Arguing New York” – which I still think could be a good way to model the course. Recently though I have become concerned about how writing is thought about among undergraduates. I’m now wondering if I can perhaps modify the course in ways that would serve as something that would de-escalate the intensity and difficulty perceived in writing and most importantly, the idea that writing has to be some final expression, something that will forever be “right” or “true” in terms of argument, perception, or idea.

Of course none of this has anything to do with writing programs or writing centers who do a phenomenal job for those who pass through those courses. The issue is in all other encounters with composition or putting together a text. These encounters in society, media, and the typical way professors talk about final papers in grim terms tend to overwhelm the healthy alternative narratives provided by writing programs. There’s not much more they can do to fight against the tidal forces out there.

Perhaps all faculty could de-escalate the importance of final papers and such, which would be great. But most faculty out there are interested in control, domination, and power, and conflate the idea of a good class with struggle, difficulty, and stress.

The idea of the class is to examine how people compose texts for others about their experiences and feelings in and around New York, as well as how the city is composed in similar ways to elicit certain responses. This hopefully will reduce the act of composition down to all the stress of sharing an experience.

I think the distribution of something like arguments, or even the idea of constructing a meaningful description of a time, place, or event can be a pleasurable experience for people if they start to think of it as the production and creation of meaningful relationships rather than the transmission of accurate historical moments. Too often I think that final papers or “the final paper” as a symbol or an utterance in college classes is described in a way that sucks all the joy and fun out of creating meaning from all these discussions and readings that have happened over the term. Lowering the stakes and inviting a creative evaluation of what that time was like will not only make the assignment less stressful but also probably produce papers that are more interesting to read since they will (hopefully) contain less regurgitated content from the course.

Thinking about what this would look like: Initially I thought that studying the public policy and public social debates of New York City’s history would be fantastic. But this roots students in that too comfortable and fairly useless role of making reports on the ideas of others. Then I thought that perhaps having them reiterate those debates would be good. But that brings with it the problems of role play in the classroom, and how role play often allows the replication of essentialism.

What I’ve finally decided to do is cast the students in the role of poet, or creator (poesis is “make” in ancient Greek) and give them places, scenes, and other such texts in order for them to tease out an attitude about it and offer that to audiences.

This picture that I shared at the top of the post is one I took and perfect for this class. What can be said about it? Someone might want to talk about the space design, or the urban “forest” of steel pillars. It’s also quite obvious that ideas about mass transit, the MTA, the subway experience will come to mind.

The topos of contrast: Maybe a feeling of loneliness in one of the largest cities on earth might be the idea. An empty transit hub – contradiction. Or perhaps the idea that we need to go anywhere. Or what we miss as we focus on our destinations and origins.

There’s history here – what is this station, when was it built? When did it open? What happened here? Perhaps a story of someone who has a significant moment in their life could be constituted from this photo. Fiction.

This creation not only lowers the stakes of writing but makes it a rhetorical challenge – how can I reach my audience; how can I get them to share this attitude – but also is the life of the city itself. A city is not the structures; it’s response and reiteration – when the everyday commute is interrupted by a glance or a stumble, a spill or a shock – and how we come to terms literally with that addition to our hermetic narrative of our lives.

I hope to teach this course at some point. I think it would be best for one particular venue – when students come together from another place to live and work in NYC – but more specifics on that opportunity later when – or if – it’s offered to me.

Planning a Course in Legal Argumentation

In planning a course, my mind tends to wander. I think about what it would be like to be in that course, and what it would look like as a failure and as a success. What do students say about it? What can they say? What options do they have after the course in terms of ways of thinking, doing, interacting with society and with other people?

Perhaps these questions are limited to my field of communication, but I’d risk saying that every course should consider these questions as it comes together. Thinking in terms of human action and ability is really a great way to think about how to use that class time when it comes around. Instead of offering up things that are essential elements of the course, or the thing that have to be “in there,” we can think of our course as the presentation of resources that will help the students change their attitude, feelings, or actions in relation to the world.

I’ve never taught legal argumentation before and I don’t have any formal education in the law. My focus in this class is going to help the students realize that any belief, any substantive value that they have in the law or the Constitution of the United States is a construct that is established and maintained by the principles and practices of argumentation and rhetoric. We are persuaded that the Constitution should govern us, and that persuasive work started at ratification and is adaptive and ongoing.

This is in contradiction to what students expect I bet. I think they want to make lawyer-style arguments – the kind they’ve seen on TV – and perform the sort of oratory in the name of justice. This is a great image, but most people who perform such arguments are not lawyers but actors portraying lawyers.

The powerful centerpiece of this course planning, for me, is the desire to get students to appreciate and understand that the reason people have such faith in the Constitution is due to rhetorical argument. It is incredibly flimsy when you think of it that way, but the payoff is that rhetorical argument can constitute other relationships to and with the law, as well as the law itself. This might gain deeper appreciation for the idea that the conversation doesn’t “end” when the “right” has been determined, but the right must be constantly rearticulated and defended in order to have value. To not be able to speak about something and provide reasons that reach others for one’s point of view is not democratic in nature. Repetition is not democratic speech.

So with this in mind, I hope the students are able to find, through the course, a way to consider their opinions and arguments about the law valuable as is, whether they are lawyers or not. Learning how lawyers argue might demystify the authority they have when they realize it’s very limited in scope, limited in ability and for particular purposes. But arguing about the law is everyone’s duty in a democracy. This is much more expansive, normative, and comprehensive I’d say.

So half the class will be about arguing like a lawyer, the other half arguing about the normative status of the law, the function of the law, and the like. That’s the plan so far. I will update my progress as it goes as I think it might be interesting to pull back the curtain a bit on course design, at least my method, in hopes that it starts a conversation about it, or perhaps encourages you to see how easy it would be to design a course for yourself or your friends.

Speaking Into the Air

Stealing this title, sorry John Durham Peters

One of my favorite (yet scary) childhood films is 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, a movie that thanks to Disney Plus has recently re-entered my life.

The scene I would like to show I can’t find, but it’s when the harpooner Ned Land (played by Kirk Douglas) prepares a number of messages in a bottle giving the position of the Nautilus away. The ending of the movie is of course, the U.S. Navy showing up and blasting the submarine to bits. Of course, I could write a lot here about how the militaries of the world united against Nemo and his campaign to end the production of weapons by sinking ships that were transporting the materiel of war just so they could conduct more war, but that’s a different topic.

Instead, I think this idea of Ned Land tossing all these messages into bottles in the sea is a better vision of what I’m doing on the internet these days than the much more admirable and academic treatment of “speaking into the air” as special and magical as that act can be. Speaking into the sea doesn’t really cut it, and speaking into the air makes sense if there are some interlocutors out there that you are aware of and can see. No point shouting AHOY at the waves.

We’ll see if any of these Ned Land bottles reach anyone. Hopefully you are not going to be persuaded to come send my Nautilus to the bottom of the sea.

Moved!

Moving is one of these things that is so disruptive it’s hard to consider it as anything other than disruption itself. There is no way – at least for me – to put things where they go since there is no where they go when you are in a new spot. Luckily I have a new roommate who is excellent at organziational skill, planning, and vision, and has made this place pretty suitable so far.

Still trying to figure out where to work. Uncharacteristically, I type this on my PC at my desk – not where the blog muse used to live (perhaps the muse has moved simultaneously?). Traditionally, I write blog entries on my chromebook at the kitchen table, or on the couch while watching the local morning news and weather. Now that is a historical location for invention that doesn’t seem to have been packed or perhaps was damaged during transit.

Moving Day, May 2021 (My photo)

There’s nothing like the auspicious, creepy, odd feeling of standing in your old apartment, free of all your things that made it yours, wondering about it. Same feeling in a new place as your boxes are coming in slowly. What is this space? That feeling is a rare one so I like to stand around and feel it, just to be able to remember.

The biggest thing about this old apartment is how much it creaks when there’s no furniture in there. I guess perhaps we could say that the weight of hundreds of books took a toll on the floor. I will erase this line if I learn that my old landlord reads my blog.

The new place is coming together and feeling good, but the most difficult thing to move in is practices. This is my attempt at starting up the weekly blogging practice once again, something I really love and enjoy but is so hard to make space for in the day. Why is that? Why are practices so hard to pack up and move?