A few months ago, Stanley Fish came to speak to students at Teachers College, Columbia University. I was in attendance. His talk consisted of his reading from a manuscript that was to be published this year and taking questions from the audience occasionally. The thrust of his argument has been repeated many times before and since in his op-ed pieces and blogs for the New York Times. It goes like this: “there are some college and university teachers who mistake the classroom lectern for a political platform and thereby substitute indoctrination for instruction. But, I argue, this need not happen — it is not an inevitable consequence either of our fallible natures or of certain subject matters — and when it does happen, it should be labeled as wrong and regarded as a reason for discipline by the school’s administration” (http://fish.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/06/08/politics-and-the-classroom-one-more-try/). This argument, which Fish has resurrected in the wake of the University of Colorado’s raising of funds to appoint a Chair in Conservative Thought and Politics, states that the classroom is not a political forum; it is a place of knowledge acquisition, of objective discourse. On that evening, something bothered me about Fish’s argument. I couldn’t put my finger on it then, and it was only after a few glasses of wine with my wife and our friend that it occurred to me. It seems to me that Fish’s position falls apart when applied to public school classrooms. His audience that night was made up of mostly secondary school teachers (current or pre-service) and the difference between the private college setting and the public classroom went unsaid.
So, I’ll say it now.
Fish’s primary concern is that there are a breed of professors who pass off their political views for course content, or, who prey upon their students’ captive attention. The classroom is not place for politics. The professor’s job is to convey his expertise to the students, who are to study it, grapple with it, and produce some original response to it. It is apolitical. Now, this group that he was talking to, remember, were soon-to-be public school teachers, many of whom express a desire to change students’ lives or even society through their teaching. For many, and one such friend sat beside me on the edge of his seat with near anger at what Fish was saying, teaching is necessarily political--the books you choose to use in your classroom and the way you read them, how you assess students’ learning, and even how the students address you. All is political. And the self-aware teacher uses the politics of the classroom for good instead of evil.
The college student is not the public school student. The public school teacher is necessarily political, that is to say, the public school teacher works for the city or state and, as such, has certain responsibilities that extend well beyond content expertise. From taking attendance (for which a teacher can be held legally accountable) to reporting certain observations to guidance counselors or the police are just a couple examples. Let’s look at the latter more closely. Imagine Professor Fish giving a lecture on Book II of Paradise Lost, in which the various fallen angels debate how to retaliate against God for ousting them from heaven. A student walks in late and sits in the first row. As she sets up her place for note-taking, Professor Fish notices that she has a black eye. In such a scenario, the professor may continue his lecture, which, again, is his job: to convey knowledge. He might ask her to stay after class and ask her about it. But it’s not his job.
A public school teacher must report it. Legally. This is a crucial point of difference between Fish’s no-politics-in-the-classroom argument and teaching in a public school. My students aren’t yet adults.
That having been said, I’m not in favor of rampant political manipulation (or intellectual manipulation for that matter) in the classroom either. Teachers have tremendous influence on their students. The wearing of political pins, sharing of personal anecdotes, and even likes and dislikes must be considered professionally. Recently, I sought to teach students about allusions in Milton’s writings. In order to explore the concept before applying to the literature, I played an excerpt from Jay-Z’s song “A Dream” in which he samples his predecessor Notorious BIG’s voice, and repeats lines or snippets from BIG’s song “Juicy.” My point was that when one artist alludes to another artist or text, the allusion carries with it history and even culture. You get two texts for one, and you get it simultaneously.
The next day, one student showed me that he had bought “A Dream” and had it on his iPod.
Is this political? Not necessarily. But does it point to the subtlety of influence that teachers have on their students? Yes, it does. Influence, however, does not mean politics. Granted, Fish has certain blatant scenarios in mind—University of Colorado, currently. But short of professors or teachers using explicit political language in their classrooms, aren’t we talking about basic professional responsibility? Pedagogues should model thoughtfulness for their students. Fair enough. Perhaps if politicians had better models of thoughtfulness our students—in New York City, for example—would have the attention, resources, and physical space to learn. Perhaps Professor Fish could advise those politicians. In an op-ed, of course, not his classroom.
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