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Cynthia Bateman
Ecocomposition
I recently watched Disney/Pixar’s 1998 smash hit, A Bug’s Life, and couldn’t help
but see the faces of my first-year writing students when anxiety-ridden Princess Atta
mumbled, “They come; they eat; they leave,” over and over in an attempt to calm herself.
Awaiting the annual invasion of hungry grasshoppers, Princess Atta thought of the pests
as nothing more than empty vessels who mindlessly invaded her ant colony, devoured
piles of harvested seeds, and then flew away temporarily full but never really satisfied.
The fledging princess reminded me of myself awaiting the arrival of my first class of
writing students. As a new teaching assistant, I was not sure how to engage the room full
of bodies who parked themselves in front of me; I wasn’t sure I wanted to engage them.
In a way, I, like Princess Atta, just wanted them to come to class, soak up the information
I think most teachers fear the angry student and dread the tearful one. No teacher
says her goal is to have a boring classroom, and yet that is what most of our pedagogies
aspire towards. As educators, we feel comfortable with students who do not speak their
minds. We cautiously keep some topics off limits, strategically dodging the hard
questions concerning race, class, gender, and environment. Sure, we’ll talk about the
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Civil War or the Civil Rights movement, maybe throw in a conversation about
homelessness, but we will do it superficially at best. We will not ask students how they
participate in oppressing one another. We will not confront the clearly misogynistic
student about the origins of his anti-female views. We will not challenge the white,
middle-class student who declares all homeless people are either drunks or drug addicts.
In a writing class, such an apathetic pedagogy lends itself to assignments like the
dreaded “What I Did Over the Summer” personal narrative or other similar writing
projects that ask the student to look no further than a mirror and write about what he sees
reflected in it. These are the types of assignments students expect from a first-year
writing class. These are the assignments that serve to silence our students, to fulfill our
requirements as writing instructors while maintaining calm waters in the classroom. Ira
Shor writes that after years in transfer-of-knowledge classrooms, students become non-
participants. They become silent because “…they no longer expect education to include
the joy of learning, moments of passion or inspiration or comedy, or even that education
will speak to the real conditions of their lives…” (122). Bored, detached, and isolated, a
writing curriculum that mirrors the kind I suggest above breeds apathetic students; and,
My goals in this essay are threefold. First, I argue that a writing course designed
opportunity to break free from typical, one-sided writing assignments that alienate
students and disenfranchise educators. Second, I argue that the way to best teach
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embraces emotion but capitalizes on it. Last, I suggest that by teaching students to
appreciate how they interact with their environments—both living and non-living, human
and non-human—through discourse, writing classes may not only produce more socially
World and human beings do not exist apart from each other, they exist in constant
composition studies towards teaching the “solitary writer” (183). Through cognitive
process-oriented writing assignments, a student is isolated from the social world. His task
is to work alone; his goal is to produce a text. Cooper writes that this isolation from the
social world “…leads him to see ideas and goals as originating primarily within himself
and directed at an unknown and largely hostile other” (184). The student may be
successful in completing his task of producing a text but he will most likely remain
unengaged with his product—his finished work another item to check off of his busy to-
do list. He will neither be affected by his writing nor will his writing be effective in
systems, to investigate the ways in which the structure and content of writing are
constantly changing. Students may start off believing that they write in a vacuum, but
Cooper explains, “One does not even begin to have ideas about a topic, even a relatively
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simple one, until a considerable body of already structured observations and experiences
has been mastered” (188). Ecocomposition seeks to redefine writing as a search for
identity. Weisser writes, “…certainly much of our identity emerges as a result of our
relationships with particular environments…We are essentially grounded in, and bonded
to a non-human world” (86). By instructing students to examine how they negotiate their
their identities are shaped by their surrounding worlds (Weisser, 81). Such an
investigation forces students to engage their writing, to question why and how they
construct not only the physical space of their work but the ideas and opinions that fill that
space.
One of the benefits of ecocomposition is that it offers students and teachers the
ecocomposition to focus on natural spaces but any space, be it real or imagined, is open
to exploration. For example, students may be asked to endeavor into the ways in which
discourse, their own and others, constructs the spaces—physical, social, and political—of
their own college campus or of their childhood homes. Dobrin and Weisser write that
ecocomposition highlights the impact of the spaces in which discourse occurs, suggesting
that “…most inquiries into these relationships do not fully account for the degrees to
which discourse is affected by the locations in which it originates and terminates” (9).
Take, for instance, the “What I Did Over the Summer” essay. In response to that
assignment, most students will produce a narrative text that serves no further purpose
than to regurgitate the highlights of a vacation in Hawaii or a trip to Europe. What Dobrin
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and Weisser suggest is that we challenge our students not to relay “facts” about the world
as they know it but to look deeper into how their constructed worldviews of place allow
them to see one aspect of place while remaining blind to another. Ecocompostion pushes
students to understand the social nature of language and texts, not just as they are
interpreted after the fact but in their very production (Cooper, 184).
assignment would be one that asks the student to describe the environment he visited in
vivid detail. For instance, if he stayed at a beach resort, an ecological assignment might
ask him to describe the resort, his room, the beach, the area surrounding the beach, the
employees of the resort, and the other vacationers he saw. Such an assignment might
expect the student to include what kinds of foods were available, whether he left the
resort (and what he did and saw if this is the case), and how he traveled around the resort
area. The idea behind this assignment is that as the student mentally explores this place
he visited, the place becomes less of somewhere he went and more of something he took
part in. The resulting piece of writing serves not as a reflection of his trip but as a catalyst
for further exploration. For example, a follow-up assignment might ask the student to
research the history of the place he visited—the resort, the native inhabitants, the history
of the land itself. An educator might ask the student discourse-related questions like what
word the indigenous population assigns this place the student knows as “resort”? How
might the meaning the locals assign the resort differ from the meaning the student assigns
environments, students will come to have a greater understanding of their own ecological
have not yet recognized that the whole spectrum of the non-human physical environment
centered, that is, we only understand the world and ourselves in the world from our
connections to various ecologies, not only do their conceptions of self become extended
and inclusive but their actual identities do as well (Weisser, 88). For students, this
recognition is the difference between merely writing to fulfill a requirement and writing
to wander through a journey of retrospection that seeks connections more than it demands
conclusions.
world beyond the human (Plevin, 147). By examining how environments are constructed,
students must examine how they, themselves, construct. They must ask themselves what
factors contribute to the creation of their personal worldviews. They must trace the
origins of their ideas and beliefs if they are to come to understand how and why they hold
specific views and interact in specific environments. Plevin writes that a move to
does not come without strong emotion. If educators are to be successful in teaching an
ecocomposition course, we must be willing to embrace such emotion, that is, we must be
willing to allow discomfort—both our own and our students—into our classrooms.
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Beyond good and evil lies the possibility, at least in educational transactions, to inhabit
Redmond writes about an experience she had while working as a teaching assistant in a
graduate level social work class. Redmond reports on an incident that occurred between
her students when they disagreed about an issue regarding race and feminism. Rather
than allow the students’ dialogue to play out on its own or guide the students along a path
of dissection to trace the roots of the ideas they had, Redmond ignored the interaction by
allowing a guest lecturer to continue her presentation. Redmond admits that the situation
made her uncomfortable. She writes, “…I just wanted it all to stop. Knowing that this
subject matter is often difficult for students to engage with did not help me. I was
uncomfortable with the discordance between students, and I cringed away from conflict”
(9).
Looking back, Redmond recognized that the best thing she could have done for
her students was pause the guest presentation and call attention to the conflict that arose
between the students. She writes, “As an educator, I missed the opportunity to
reproblematize the specifics of that classroom encounter” (12). Had she embraced her
own discomfort and challenged the students to trace the genealogies of the emotions that
fueled their opinions, Redmond may have been able to transform an awkward moment in
her classroom into a truly teachable one—one in which the students came to view
themselves as part of a system that shapes their feelings and ideas. Speaking ecologically,
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Redmond missed an opportunity to allow the webbed nature of the world to reveal itself,
to plunge her students out of their isolated identities and situate them in constructed
knowledges.
discomfort is about bodies, about particulars, about the ‘real’ material world we live in.
Beliefs are ‘embodied habits,’ dispositions to act in a certain way in a given context”
(196). Boler argues that by tracing the genealogies of particular emotional investments
one can come to recognize the emotional selectivity she refers to as “inscribed habits of
inattention” (186). Put simply, by tracing the origins of our emotions we can come to
understand how and why we develop certain opinions about certain environments.1 A
pedagogy of discomfort invites students to examine how their modes of seeing have been
shaped by their cultures, specifically the dominant culture of their time (Boler, 178) and
asks them to appreciate the situatedness of knowledges that arise from such modes. 2
16). As such, educators must be conscious of the possible discomfort that may develop in
students when pushed to explore their relationships with various environments. Indeed,
educators must demand that students experience such discomfort, for it is only within that
uncertain, uncharted territory that true growth may occur. Shor writes, “Negative
1
By environments I mean places, real and imagined, and all that occur within them.
2
Donna Haraway describes situated knowledges as “…partial, locatable, critical
knowledges sustaining the possibility of webs of connections called solidarity in politics
and shared conversations in epistemology” (191).
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teacher is to get authentic information at the levels of student thought. Racist and sexist
remarks have to be drawn out as legitimate objects of study, as authentic parts of student
consciousness. How can you study anything kept silent?” (183). As writers in an
ecocomposition course dissect the ways in which their discourse constructs, and is
constructed by, their environments, they will undoubtedly experience emotions regarding
their attachments to certain places, people, and positions. Asking students to not only
embrace those emotions but write about and trace them back through a web of
development may leave some students feeling vulnerable. A pedagogy of discomfort asks
educators to appreciate the necessity of such emotions and welcome them into their
classrooms.
a way that reveals the relationships that construct it. To help accomplish this goal, Boler
offers the distinction between “spectating” and “witnessing”. Boler describes spectating
as the act of seeing through one’s own eyes. She argues that spectating “…signifies a
the ‘anonymous’ spectating crowd and abdicate any possible responsibility” (184). In
regard to student essays, a student spectates when he writes about his summer vacation as
if he watched the vacation on film and then described his actions in the film.
others, and in relation to personal and cultural histories and material conditions. To honor
web, of personal experiences, beliefs, and emotions falls directly in line with
student seeks to understand the complexity of the vacation environment and recognizes
that his experience of that environment is not the experience to be recounted. The
witnessing student understands there exists no one truth of experience, no fixed certainty.
With this understanding often comes discomfort. In fact, the aim of a pedagogy of
discomfort is that students explore their beliefs and values, assessing when habit and
emotional selectivity have become rigid and “…to identify when and how our habits
harm ourselves and others” (Boler, 185). Boler argues that by learning to determine how
and when one spectates or bears witness, it becomes possible to “…inhabit a more
ambiguous sense of self not reduced to guilt or innocence. In this process, one
acknowledges profound interconnections with others, and how emotions, beliefs, and
actions are collaboratively co-implicated” (187). By teaching students to assess their roles
establishing those roles, ecocomposition instructors can provide students with a platform
by creating a culture of critical inquiry within a classroom. Boler suggests that educators
may start by asking students to participate in critical inquiry regarding the students’
values and beliefs. Students may be asked to examine their self-images in relation to how
they have learned to perceive others. Boler adds, “A central focus is to recognize how
emotions define how and what one chooses to see and not see” (176-177).
are initially certain of but upon evaluation will inevitably come to doubt. Letting go of
pasts views or simply suspending them to entertain new ones if a difficult process for the
most experienced human being. Pratt writes, “Each of us carries around those growing-up
places, the institutions, a sort of backdrop, a stage-set. So often we act out the present
against a backdrop of the past, within a frame of perception that is so familiar, so safe
that it is terrifying to risk changing it even when we know our perceptions are distorted,
limited, constricted by that old view” (17). Students cannot be expected to relinquish
these views lightly. It is easier for students to question the assumptions of someone with
questions to lead the exploration and analyses (Gaard, 174). Educators will need to
carefully guide students towards the task of tracking their opinions and emotions, but
students can and should be allowed as much freedom as possible to move within the
quest. The role of the educator, then, is to ensure that students do not stall along the way,
choosing to spectate rather than witness the topics of their writings. Freire writes,
“Authentic education is not carried on by ‘A’ for ‘B’ or by ‘A’ about ‘B,’ but rather by
‘A’ with ‘B,’ mediated by the world—a world which impresses and challenges both
parties, giving rise to views or opinions about it. These views, impregnated with
anxieties, doubts, hopes, or hopelessness, imply significant themes on the basis of which
the program content of education can be built” (93). The way to prevent students from
stalling along their paths of interconnectivity is to keep them grounded in their emotions.
Emotions are so personal to us and yet they hold such social and cultural relevance. The
way in which we determine what an emotion means is structured by our cultural systems
—systems that are, themselves, structured by our discourse. Lutz writes that talk about
emotions is simultaneously talk about society—about power and politics, friendship and
marriage, moral and immoral (6). And while emotions are personal in that they are
situated within a person, they are social in that their effects are often triggered by an
challenging students to understand how their emotions trigger events and are triggered by
events, ecological writing moves them towards recognizing how discourse works to
shape not only what they believe in but also how they feel about that belief.
shied away from the opportunity to confront alternate worldviews in her own class,
educators who successfully implement a pedagogy of discomfort will welcome it. It is the
educator who is willing to confront students regarding their positions and to question
students about the origins of particular emotions who will succeed in teaching students to
recognize the relationships that exist in the world and how those relationships are
only interested in the discourse of natural spaces or environmental causes. The benefits
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that come with viewing the world as a series of ecological relationships transcend our
because education ought to bind human beings to one another, but because it should bind
us to the natural order of which we are a part” (182). Ecocomposition seeks to do just
that. When combined with a pedagogy of discomfort, that is, a pedagogy that rejects a
notion of absolute binaries like right and wrong, black and white, good and evil,
ecocomposition pushes students to explore their own emotional biases as the foundation
Just as Princess Atta had to learn to embrace her fears of the hungry grasshoppers
in order to alter the course of her colony’s future, so must we, as educators, learn to
embrace emotion in our classrooms. Students come to class expecting to sit comfortably,
to reap the seeds of knowledge we have so dutifully harvested for them. But if we are to
truly educate them, if we are to inspire them, if we are to awaken them, we must first
make them squirm in their seats. We must throw at them what they are not expecting.
Yes, we must ask them to analyze. Yes, we must ask them to evaluate, but first we must
ask of them what no educator has asked—we must ask them to feel.
Works Cited
A Bug’s Life. Dir. John Lasseter. 1998. Walt Disney Pictures, 2003. DVD.
181-197. Print.
2002. Print.
Print.
178. Print.
162. Print.
Print.