DOUGLAS MCCLENAGHAN
3. TROUBLING BOUNDARIES
Writing of the quality that James has produced reminds us of the important role that schools play in providing students with a space in which to reflect on their cultural practices and thereby make the criteria that they apply when judging films‚ videos and other popular forms available for scrutiny. James does not name the textual di- mensions that he explores in his review – indeed‚ there are surely good reasons why we would not encourage him to use literary theoretical language‚ as this would run the risk of conflating a capacity to mime a certain discourse with genuine under- standing – but he nonetheless reveals a relatively sophisticated appreciation of the complex ways in which texts are ‘framed’ (MacLachlan & Reid‚ 1994)) and how readers construct meaning through their engagement with texts. Sefton-Green argues that despite the differences between school literacy and out-of-school literacy prac- tices‚ there are ‘huge areas of overlap‚ where popular culture and schooling actually reflect back on each other’ (Sefton-Green‚ 2000: 15). James’s work reveals a very powerful way in which schools can ‘reflect back’ on the world in which teenagers live‚ providing them with an opportunity to develop a meta-critical awareness of the cultural practices in which they engage. He would not have produced this writing if he had not been required to do so.
We do not‚ in short‚ wish to idealize popular cultural pursuits in comparison with the dull routines embodied in school knowledge. We think it is lamentable that stu- dents in Victorian schools are currently obliged to sit for pen and paper tests‚ and to demonstrate their literacy abilities by writing essays according to a narrowly pre- scribed formula that fails to do justice to the rich semiotic environment they inhabit (cf. Teese‚ 2000). But this is not to deny that students benefit from making their in- formal knowledge of popular cultural practices explicit in relatively formal ways when they are given this opportunity by their English teachers. James is simultane- ously drawing on his out-of-school knowledge and producing what is‚ after all‚ an example of ‘school writing’ to be assessed by his teacher (Sheerin & Barnes‚ 1991).
To be sure‚ James’s review was also read and enjoyed by his peers – Douglas typi- cally emphasizes the value of writing for real purposes and real audiences (cf. Lang- don‚ 1961; Graves‚ 1984) – but he also had no difficulty in assessing this writing as a form of school knowledge. Indeed‚ it is a knowledge that James is only able to construct through school‚ through his interaction with his peers and a knowledgeable and an interested adult (Wells‚ 1999).
By crossing the boundary between school writing and students’ out-of-school pur- suits, we are also challenging other boundaries that currently shape English curricu- lum in Australian schools. The old notion of setting aside a discrete period of time for ‘composition’ was supposedly swept aside by Australian schools in the early 1980s, when many teachers (most notably primary school teachers) integrated writ- ing with reading, speaking and listening and began to run their classrooms as writing workshops. This was part of the ‘writing revolution’, which also promoted the im- portance of allowing students time to draft their writing on topics of their own choice (Walshe, 1981) and to ‘publish’ their work for their peers and even larger audiences. Since then, the English curriculum has once again been segmented, with the specification of a range of ‘outcomes’ for reading, writing, speaking and listen- ing, and an increasing emphasis on written exams in which students are required to produce formulaic pieces that supposedly reflect the totality of their literacy abili- ties. The notion of the classroom as a social space in which students are able to en- gage in the joint construction of knowledge (Mercer, 1995) has been rudely dis- placed by a narrowly psychologistic view of learning and a competitive academic curriculum that positions students as isolated individuals who simply swallow and then regurgitate information (Renshaw, 1998: 85).
James’s writing has not, however, sprung fully formed from his head, but is the product of talk (both classroom talk and the talk in which he engaged with his com- panions after viewing The Ring). It is also noteworthy that his writing is something that he has been prompted to write in response to a film, and is therefore an excel- lent example of what can happen when we combine reading (or viewing) with writ- ing. But we especially wish to emphasize the ways in which a productive writing classroom allows students to engage in small group discussions and thereby benefit from sharing their ideas and making their knowledge public. Recently, Australian English teachers, in an attempt to develop professional standards for accomplished teachers of English in primary and secondary schools, have affirmed that ‘talk is at the centre of English curriculum and pedagogy’ (see www.stella.org.au). This sounds like a brave statement within the context of the utterly sterile policy and cur- riculum environment in which Victorian English teachers are currently obliged to operate, but nonetheless remains an eloquent attempt to affirm the importance of providing students with classrooms that are interactive and democratic, a site for the exchange of ideas and the joint construction of knowledge.
Such classrooms promise to provide a space in which students can engage in lit- eracy practices that match the complexities of the practices in which they engage outside school. It is not simply a matter of setting up an environment in which stu- dents can freely engage in speaking and listening and reading and viewing in an ef- fort to produce writing, but of recognizing that their ‘writing’ itself is likely to take a multi-modal form. The literacy practices in which they engage outside school are typically multi-media texts involving juxtapositions of written text, images and sound. The ‘writing’ they produce in school should likewise take a diverse range of forms and combine a diverse range of modes.
CLASSROOM VIGNETTE THREE DOUGLA
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MCCLENAGHANI am sitting with my Year English 9 class in the Textiles room (great place for teaching Eng- lish!) period five on a Friday afternoon. This is a compulsory English class, consisting of students with a wide range of abilities who evince varying degrees of engagement in school- ing, not the special elective class that I have described in previous vignettes. We have man- aged to shoehorn a TV and VCR in between some tables and have re-arranged the room so that everyone can see. Three boys are about to play us a video of their ‘crime story’. The class has been writing crime stories for several weeks and today is the day for submitting them. All the other students have submitted written pieces but these three boys decided to make a video:
David, who does little but talk to his mates and wander around the room – his parents despair of him; James, who is clever, wants to do well, and will work at home, but mainly socializes in class; and Georgi, who is irritatingly garrulous and inattentive, bugs other students about what they’re doing, and only ever partially completes tasks. The boys had filmed their video on weekends, while their class time was used to ‘plan’ and ‘script’ (their words, not mine) the piece and to reflect on the previous weekend’s filming adventures.
The video is loosely modeled on the Arnold Schwarzenegger film Predator. The boys play three soldiers who are in the jungle on a secret mission to find and destroy a drug baron’s hideout. Along the way they are ambushed, have to struggle against the harsh elements and the terrain, and suffer wounds inflicted by their enemies. The twist in the plot is that Georgi’s character is a really a traitor who is leading them into a trap. The climax happens when he is eliminated and the drug baron (played by a student in another class) is killed. At the end the two remaining comrades limp away, bloodied but victorious.
Ostensibly the video portrays a very limited and stereotypical masculinity and a simplis- tic, predictable plot. The boys are dressed in army gear, they brandish weapons and most of the action involves stalking, shooting, screaming, flexing muscles, with the goodies finally triumphing over the baddies. At first sight an outside observer might deplore the video, the students, and their teacher for such superficial and unenlightened educational practice.
But a glance around the room while the video is playing suggests other possible readings.
The class are all watching intently and laughing. The video’s creators provide a running commentary. There is plenty of self-mockery as well as ‘insider’ observations on the making of the video. Everyone is involved in the experience; authors and audience alike are part of a community event. Far from passively watching the video, the audience is jointly constructing meaning. They are reading the video as a parody: David does a good Arnie accent, the toy guns are hilariously inadequate in size and sound. One could easily mount an argument that the video is subverting a sexist stereotype, and that the boys have exploited familiar generic conventions to comic effect.
I am especially impressed by the manner in which the three boys have stuck to this task – a first for Georgi and David. They’ve found a way to engage with the English curriculum on their terms, making use of a particular textual form to create and present a sense of self. Their work is as much about social identity as it was about telling a crime story. They have effec- tively explored a popular stereotypical notion of what it means to be a male and opened it up for public scrutiny.