For my Curriculum Issues class, I had to write a paper tying two young adult novels to what we had read/discussed in class. My professor gave us about ten novels from which to choose. I read most of them before I decided. I thought I'd break up my paper into its sections so no one has to read all of it--unless you want to.
“I am Outcast” (Anderson, 1999,
p. 4). “Wish there was some future to talk about. I could use me some future”
(Grimes, 2002, p. 8). What is the purpose of young adult literature? Does YA
have a place in the classroom? As its popularity increases and the market
continues to expand, many educators and literary critics have added their
opinions. An increasingly popular topic is whether or not YA should teach a
lesson to be useful or legitimate. But, why does YA need to be a fable or
sermon? Adults do not need to appropriate the genre so they have another
platform to preach to teens; rather, educators should use YA because of the
role it already fills: acting as windows, mirrors, and sliding glass doors
(Bishop, 1990). Yes, adults largely write YA, but students can see themselves
in characters, especially empowered characters—thus, in turn, teaching teen
readers empowerment and showing students they are not alone. There are many
reasons to use novels, such as Bronx
Masquerade and Speak: YA helps
dismantle systemic discrimination by showing students reflections of themselves
in literature, YA helps empower students by assisting them in finding and using
their voices, and YA helps teach students they are part of a larger society.
YA
Helps Dismantle Systemic Discrimination
The article
“Curriculum, Replacement, and Settler Futurity” helps explain why students need
books that mirror all of them. “Settler colonialism is the specific formation
of colonialism in which the colonizer comes to stay, making himself the sovereign,
and the arbiter of citizenship, civility, and knowing” (Tuck & Gaztambide-Fernandez,
2013). We see this played out every day in English Language Arts classrooms in
the choices of literature. Too many teachers continue to cling to the “Canon”:
the “dead, White men” who comprise most of the books read in ELA classes (such
as The Great Gatsby, Of Mice and Men,
Hamlet, and The Scarlet Letter).
Literature by women and some people of color become supplemental to the Canon,
making those men the voices of culture for American students. Those, mostly,
White male authors are the “arbiters of citizenship, civility, and knowing.”
When teachers speak of having a common knowledge
or heritage, those are the authors to
whom they refer. Tuck and Gaztambide-Fernandez argue that perpetuates an idea
of “fort pedagogy”: “everyone must be brought inside and become like the
insiders, or they will be eliminated. The fort teaches us that outsiders must
be either incorporated, or excluded, in order for development to occur in
desired ways” (2013). What literature do “insiders” read? That of mostly White,
male authors—with palatable women and people of color for support. Tuck and
Gaztambide-Fernandez continue their position by stating, “whiteness and white
subjectivity [are] both superior and normal…whiteness and settler status are
made invisible, only seen when threatened” (2013). I have seen this during
conversations among departments on what to teach: when anyone challenges that
status quo, teachers suddenly become fearful of jeopardizing that common knowledge and heritage. “But every child should
read those authors? They’ll be left out if they read something else!” Is it not
time to recreate what we push as normal
and superior in curriculum? White is
not a race; it is an ideology. Most of our students are made up of more “outsiders”
than “insiders.” Why do we continue to make them feel inferior because they do
not fit that outdated White ideology? The demographics of students continue to
fall outside the White, heterosexual, cisgender, Christian, male, wealthy
section. That is such a small slice of the America pie, so why do teachers
continue to oppress and alienate the majority of students by refusing to change
the curriculum to better reflect students? We do not need to continue using the
Canon as a mirror for students to see how they do not fit in and a window for
them to see what they will never have (as long as society stays the same). We
need literature that opens doors for students—not literature that slams doors
in their faces. It is past time we create a new common heritage, paradoxically
built with diverse voices.
Bronx Masquerade by Nikki Grimes exemplifies
the type of literature needed in today’s schools. Bronx explores the voices of eighteen different teens (different
ethnicities and genders) through the use of first-person narration and poetry. It
does not represent all voices, but it does a better job than the Canon. The
premise of the book has a teacher giving students a chance to read their own
poems to the class each Friday. Before each poem, we get a brief chapter
introducing us to the student, giving the reader an intimate look at the
student’s life. Then Grimes communicates an even more honest and personal
portrait through the poem the student writes and shares. Grimes does an
exemplary job of creating unique styles for each character, allowing the reader
a chance to meet different people,
people who could act as mirrors or windows. Grimes also uses one character
(Tyrone) to react to each poem, filter his new knowledge about the classmate,
and act as that “sliding glass door.” Through Tyrone, the reader can also learn
what it is like to have to change opinions about another person, to reassess
preconceptions and give that person another chance. Raul, a Latino artist,
thinks about using his art to “show the beauty of our people, that we are not
all banditos like they show on TV…I
will paint los niños scooping up
laughter in the sunshine…I will paint Mami…Mami’s beauty is better than a movie
star’s” (2002, p. 21). Latino students will connect to the use of Spanish; other
students will see the use and have a glimpse of Latino culture. All students
will understand the desire to show they are not stereotypes: they are rich and
layered individuals, who need not feel shame for their language and culture and
race. Tyrone understands Raul’s passion through Raul’s poem, and Tyrone ponders
this truth, “Forget who white folks think you are, ‘cause they ain’t got a clue” (p. 23). Our students know this,
so why keep pushing them into the “whitestream,” forcing them into the “fort” (Tuck
& Gaztambide-Fernandez, 2013)? After a few weeks of sharing poems, Leslie,
a classmate, remarks, “I’m starting to feel like I know Janelle, at least a
little. And Lupe. And Gloria. And Raynard” (Grimes, 2002, p. 51). The same
could be true for all students if we would have the courage to highlight their
voices, the voices of a diverse range of people, in our curriculum.
While Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson focuses
on a White girl, it does provide a chance for others to look through the window,
maybe step through the door and into the shoes of a girl who was sexually
assaulted at a party. This is yet another voice overlooked or silenced by our
use of the Canon. For example, readers hear about what a whore Curly’s wife
(who is never given a name) is in Of Mice
and Men, we hear Hamlet’s assault of Ophelia, we hear Othello accuse
Desdemona, we hear about Daisy’s adultery in The Great Gatsby, we hear about Abigail Williams sleeping with John
Proctor in The Crucible…we hear all
these women’s stories through men. We hear and judge these women. Through Speak and the narration of Melinda, we
can begin to hear, and understand, what women go through at the hands of more
powerful men. Rather than force these women into the fort, we can leave that
narrow-minded place and see their trauma. No, Melinda cannot, and should not,
speak for all assaulted women; however, she can open the door and help us start
conversations about consent and rape (conversations especially timely in 2017).
Melinda begins her freshman year (after the rape) by not speaking. All of her
friends have deserted her for calling the cops on the party, where the rape
happened. “It is easier not to say anything…All that crap you hear on TV about
communication and expressing your feelings is a lie. Nobody really wants to
hear what you have to say” (1999, p. 9). When victims of assault and harassment
finally tell their stories—if they ever do—many times they express this same
sentiment: I did not think anyone would believe me or listen to me. They fear
the system set in place to benefit men, plus the centuries of people teaching
women are to blame for any sexual transgression. As the novel progresses,
Melinda loses sight of herself, does not even recognize herself: “It looks like
my mouth belongs to someone else, someone I don’t even know. I get out of bed
and take down my mirror” (1999, p. 17). Her struggle needs to be told in
classrooms. While Melinda refuses to look at herself in the mirror, we need to
use the book as a mirror for our teens to discuss assault. We need to open the
doors to the fort and meet our teens where they are. We can no longer call ourselves
“educators” as we silence our students by only teaching the settler colonialism
of the male experience. Both men and women need to read Melinda’s story and examine
it. Then, maybe, we can begin changing a misogynistic culture into one where
Melinda could have told her story—or never have been raped.
Sources for this section:
Anderson, L.H. (1999). Speak. New York, NY:
Square Fish.
Bishop, R.S. (1990). Mirrors, Windows,
and Sliding Glass Doors. Retrieved from
Grimes, N. (2002). Bronx
Masquerade. New York, NY: Dial Books.
Tuck, E., & GAZTAMBIDE-FERNÁNDEZ,
R.A. (2013). Curriculum, Replacement, and Settler
Futurity. Journal
of Curriculum Theorizing, Volume 29 (Number 1), 72-89.
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