Queer Pedagogy: Praxis Makes Im/Perfect (an analysis by James Sheldon)
Queer Pedagogy: Praxis Makes Im/Perfect - an analysis by James Sheldon
Mary Bryson and Suzanne De Castell
In Radical inventions
http://educ.ubc.ca/faculty/bryson/gentech/queer.html
“It seems that a worthwhile avenue for the elucidation of a queer praxis might be to consider the value of an actively queerying pedagogy-of queering its technics and scribbling graffiti over its texts, of coloring outside of the lines so as to deliberately take the wrong route on the way to school-going in an altogether different direction than that specified by a monologic destination.”
Mary Bryson and Suzanne De Castell explore what a queer pedagogy would mean. They are both professors from Canada, and their work is the first known usage of the term “queer pedagogy,” having been written in 1993. As to the purpose of their article, they write that their it “examines tensions between poststructuralist theories of subjectivity and the political/pragmatic necessity of essentialist construction of identity, not from the standpoint of their theoretical resolution-but from the standpoint of their insistent irresolvability in the context of pedagogical practice” (269). But what exactly does this mean?
Essentialist theories of identity suggest that there is an essential, concrete, and discrete sexual identity-in particular gay or lesbian. By contrast, poststructuralist theories of identity value fluidity and the amorphous and slippery nature of sexuality-“Carnival, transgression, and parody are in, and essentialist appeals to an unproblematized or coherent identity are out” (270). The political/pragmatic necessity of essentialist constructions of identity refers to what Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak calls “strategic essentialism”-the idea that a concrete, definitive identity is often necessary for political organizing and political purposes-that identifying a specific constituency is necessary in order to achieve political victories.
Bryson and De Castelle ask what it means to be queer in the classroom, and indeed what being queer means. They observe that a “heavy cloak of willful silence continues to shroud sexualities as important sites for the production and reification of difference both in the textually constructed subjects of educational discourses and in the actual embodied subjects who in/habit the contexts of institutional schooling” (271). In other words, they want to explore how queer identities and queer discourses influence the academy, the school system, and the process of teaching and pedagogy.
In order to explore these issues, Bryson and De Castelle write about an undergraduate “lesbian studies” course, WMST 666, which they co-taught in 1991 at a Canadian university. They intended this course to “teach against-the-grain”, to enact a radical queer pedagogy within the “heterosexually coded spaces of academic women’s studies programs” (272). In doing so, they hoped to “forge a kind of queer praxis” by engaging “simultaneously with issues of sexuality, identity, difference, and pedagogy” (272).
WMST 666 was entitled “Lesbian subjects Matter: Feminism/s from the Margins.” In developing the course, they engaged with the contradictions between deconstruction and agency, citing Rosi Braidotti’s remark that “In order to announce the death of the subject one must first have gained the right to speak as one” (272). In doing so, they asked whether essentialism was inevitable and whether a politics of identity was a viable strategy. They questioned whether “occupying a place at the margins” would entrench boundaries and limit possibilities (273).
One of the more interesting things that Bryson and De Castelle found was that students who came from a white, heterosexual background had difficulty engaging with course material. They found that “white, straight-identified women” did not reflect on their own identities, but rather were academic consumers of the texts. Unfortunately, they found that an us/them dichotomy was created within the class that “made working together across difference/s a seemingly unreachable goal” (276). They found that the majority of their energies were “consumed by the problem of accommodating the white heterosexual women’s discomfort” (278). They conclude that “as long as even just one student held the line… all our discourses, all our actions… were threaded through, with the continuous and inescapable subtext of white heterosexual dominance” (279). Sadly, because of this, they found that lesbianism is “always marginal” and “that lesbian identity is always fixed and stable” even in a supposedly transgressive course such as this.
Bryson and De Castelle write of their attempt to create a space where “the hitherto unsayable could be uttered”, where “deviant images could be represented”, and “where conscious efforts could be made to rethink forms of subjectivity and relations” (281). This is reminiscent of Foucault’s work on discourse, about the rules regarding sayable or unsayable in different contexts and how power to control speech and silence works in various situations. They observe that in the 1993 lesbian sand gay studies reader, “not a single entry… deals explicity with the educational implications or applications of these new discourses.” They are, indeed, treading new ground here with this article. They ask what a queer pedagogy might be-a curriculum taught by gay and lesbian educators, a curriculum for gay and lesbian students, education about queers, an agitation of identity, or even a pederast fondling boys on the way to school. Instead, though, they use the definition of queer as “to spoil, to put out of order, to put into an embarrassing or disadvantageous situation” (Concise Oxford English Dictionary, cited on 284). They hope to “queer the technics” and “scribble graffiti” over the sacred texts of pedagogy.
They hope that dialogue across differences might occur, but instead they find that it is more “intellectual tourism” (286) and less a journey into deconstructing oppression. Based on their experiences, Bryson and De Casttle conclude on a pessimistic note that “in trying to make a difference we seem only able to entrench essentialist boundaries which continue both to define and divide us” (287). They conclude by issuing a challenge, “to let those who still believe ‘queer pedagogy to be possible tell it like it is, or, at least, how it might be “(287). I hope that by illuminating and making accessible their ideas in this work, it will provide a vehicle for those interested in queer pedagogy to begin, perhaps, to make this dream a reality.
Mary Bryson and Suzanne De Castell
In Radical inventions
http://educ.ubc.ca/faculty/bryson/gentech/queer.html
“It seems that a worthwhile avenue for the elucidation of a queer praxis might be to consider the value of an actively queerying pedagogy-of queering its technics and scribbling graffiti over its texts, of coloring outside of the lines so as to deliberately take the wrong route on the way to school-going in an altogether different direction than that specified by a monologic destination.”
Mary Bryson and Suzanne De Castell explore what a queer pedagogy would mean. They are both professors from Canada, and their work is the first known usage of the term “queer pedagogy,” having been written in 1993. As to the purpose of their article, they write that their it “examines tensions between poststructuralist theories of subjectivity and the political/pragmatic necessity of essentialist construction of identity, not from the standpoint of their theoretical resolution-but from the standpoint of their insistent irresolvability in the context of pedagogical practice” (269). But what exactly does this mean?
Essentialist theories of identity suggest that there is an essential, concrete, and discrete sexual identity-in particular gay or lesbian. By contrast, poststructuralist theories of identity value fluidity and the amorphous and slippery nature of sexuality-“Carnival, transgression, and parody are in, and essentialist appeals to an unproblematized or coherent identity are out” (270). The political/pragmatic necessity of essentialist constructions of identity refers to what Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak calls “strategic essentialism”-the idea that a concrete, definitive identity is often necessary for political organizing and political purposes-that identifying a specific constituency is necessary in order to achieve political victories.
Bryson and De Castelle ask what it means to be queer in the classroom, and indeed what being queer means. They observe that a “heavy cloak of willful silence continues to shroud sexualities as important sites for the production and reification of difference both in the textually constructed subjects of educational discourses and in the actual embodied subjects who in/habit the contexts of institutional schooling” (271). In other words, they want to explore how queer identities and queer discourses influence the academy, the school system, and the process of teaching and pedagogy.
In order to explore these issues, Bryson and De Castelle write about an undergraduate “lesbian studies” course, WMST 666, which they co-taught in 1991 at a Canadian university. They intended this course to “teach against-the-grain”, to enact a radical queer pedagogy within the “heterosexually coded spaces of academic women’s studies programs” (272). In doing so, they hoped to “forge a kind of queer praxis” by engaging “simultaneously with issues of sexuality, identity, difference, and pedagogy” (272).
WMST 666 was entitled “Lesbian subjects Matter: Feminism/s from the Margins.” In developing the course, they engaged with the contradictions between deconstruction and agency, citing Rosi Braidotti’s remark that “In order to announce the death of the subject one must first have gained the right to speak as one” (272). In doing so, they asked whether essentialism was inevitable and whether a politics of identity was a viable strategy. They questioned whether “occupying a place at the margins” would entrench boundaries and limit possibilities (273).
One of the more interesting things that Bryson and De Castelle found was that students who came from a white, heterosexual background had difficulty engaging with course material. They found that “white, straight-identified women” did not reflect on their own identities, but rather were academic consumers of the texts. Unfortunately, they found that an us/them dichotomy was created within the class that “made working together across difference/s a seemingly unreachable goal” (276). They found that the majority of their energies were “consumed by the problem of accommodating the white heterosexual women’s discomfort” (278). They conclude that “as long as even just one student held the line… all our discourses, all our actions… were threaded through, with the continuous and inescapable subtext of white heterosexual dominance” (279). Sadly, because of this, they found that lesbianism is “always marginal” and “that lesbian identity is always fixed and stable” even in a supposedly transgressive course such as this.
Bryson and De Castelle write of their attempt to create a space where “the hitherto unsayable could be uttered”, where “deviant images could be represented”, and “where conscious efforts could be made to rethink forms of subjectivity and relations” (281). This is reminiscent of Foucault’s work on discourse, about the rules regarding sayable or unsayable in different contexts and how power to control speech and silence works in various situations. They observe that in the 1993 lesbian sand gay studies reader, “not a single entry… deals explicity with the educational implications or applications of these new discourses.” They are, indeed, treading new ground here with this article. They ask what a queer pedagogy might be-a curriculum taught by gay and lesbian educators, a curriculum for gay and lesbian students, education about queers, an agitation of identity, or even a pederast fondling boys on the way to school. Instead, though, they use the definition of queer as “to spoil, to put out of order, to put into an embarrassing or disadvantageous situation” (Concise Oxford English Dictionary, cited on 284). They hope to “queer the technics” and “scribble graffiti” over the sacred texts of pedagogy.
They hope that dialogue across differences might occur, but instead they find that it is more “intellectual tourism” (286) and less a journey into deconstructing oppression. Based on their experiences, Bryson and De Casttle conclude on a pessimistic note that “in trying to make a difference we seem only able to entrench essentialist boundaries which continue both to define and divide us” (287). They conclude by issuing a challenge, “to let those who still believe ‘queer pedagogy to be possible tell it like it is, or, at least, how it might be “(287). I hope that by illuminating and making accessible their ideas in this work, it will provide a vehicle for those interested in queer pedagogy to begin, perhaps, to make this dream a reality.