progressive or hegemonic?

As a white writing instructor that considers himself “liberal” or “progressive” in the classroom and who strives for a democratic, socially-just pedagogy, it was with some trepidation that I read Delpit’s “The Silenced Dialogue.” After all, my brand of teaching—progressive, liberal, process-orientated, whatever you want to call it—has been generally smiled upon in the academic contexts I have found myself. I have been, so to speak, playing for the home team. So, when I read lines from Delpit like the following, it came across as somewhat of a personal attack:

“It was incumbent upon writing-process advocates—or indeed, advocates of any progressive movement—to enter into dialogue with teacher of color, who may not share their enthusiasm about so-called, liberal, or progressive ideas.” (pages 281-282)

After all, who wouldn’t be enthused by my teaching style?

But I was intrigued by Delpit’s argument. While I agree with her five points on the nature of power within the classroom institution, I have never considered the fact that avoidance of fundamental writing instruction was a method of denying access to dominant discourses. It rankled a bit; I have, after all, spent a large portion of my writing career trying to get beyond what I considered superficial, disconnected, skill-and-drill grammar exercises to “authentic” writing, in which the student had ownership and an authentic audience. This seemed liberating to me, a way to make writing matter. I hadn’t considered that doing so might disenfranchise a segment of my classroom.

I thought of the scenario I shared in class on Monday, the one where I had one African American student recently transferred from Indianapolis in my freshman English class. This student wrote and interesting essay, full of detail and voice, about growing up in an urban environment so different than the affluent suburban conditions he currently found himself in. It was original and insightful, but it was also absolutely riddled with spelling, grammatical, and syntactical errors. The department expectation was that I should grade this paper harshly; after all, half the grade was to be based on mechanics. Instead I fudged, made many positive comments on the student’s content, and ignored many of the errors.

I felt I was doing right by the student, showing that his voice and experiences and communication style were valued in my classroom. I also didn’t want to give a C to a student who wrote so honestly about his life. What would Delpit have said about this? Was I unconsciously oppressing this student by not explicitly giving him the tools he needed to survive in a world dominated by a hegemonic discourse? Was I praising his voice at the expense of his future? I don’t know, really. I need to further ponder these questions.