"Coach"

“The truth is, however, that the oppressed are not ‘marginals,’ are not living ‘outside’ society. They have always been ‘inside’ the structure which made them ‘beings for others.’ The solution is not to ‘integrate’ them into the structure of oppression, but to transform that structure so that they can become ‘beings for themselves.’”
- Paolo Freire, from Pedagogy of the Oppressed

I started a new job this past semester, working for the Teacher Education Advocacy Center here on campus. I was hired as a “writing coach,” to tutor provisionally accepted Teacher Ed. Undergrads who had for whatever reason shown weaknesses in their writing (via ‘Portrait of a Teacher’ application essay and writing prompt during an interview). Basically I was granted some authority on whether or not the students I saw were ready for the next step, to become fully accepted into the program. This was a very unfamiliar position, a destablizing irregularity, and an awkward pressure was put on me to “clear” the students whose writing is “ready.”

Inherently troubling this position is the fact that I don’t necessarily agree that writing predicts the value and worth of a student’s intellect. I believe that some students are “good” writers and some are “bad,” according to a rigid assessment, but I wouldn’t be so quick to use those categorizations in any punitive manner. One way or another, there is a genius behind every pen. Also, everyone struggles with their writing and has certain areas that will always need work. I am certainly no exception to this rule, and even though I assumed the position of "coach," I am very much an ongoing student to the writing process (forever). I underpin this rationale in my methodology- every student I see is a genius whether they know it (or show it) or not. I am simply a peer, or a friend even, who can only do what I know how to do in order to help.

At first, I was not convinced that I could have any long-term impact in the brief meetings I had with these students. Instead, I hoped to instill confidence in their writing, and tried my best to thwart an intrinsic drive for these students to repetitively write. Exposure is KEY. I utilized positive reinforcement and praised their writing, regardless of how “bad” it allegedly appeared, and I explicitly modeled my struggles in writing- I actually showed one student a completely red-marked essay I got back from one of my more dilligent English teachers. I made it clear that I certainly could not or would not fix their writing, but I would rather indicate what they could continue to work on. Just like most things in life, writing is a self-serving quest for transformation.

I was nervous of what to expect at first, but I grew accustomed to ways in which I could utilize writing exercises based on the obvious areas of their writing that seemed problematic. I also engaged with them in philosophical questioning on writing style, rituals and approaches to prewriting, as well as ways in which students structure their work. I initialized each of our discussions with “What do you think is wrong with your writing?” (I borrowed that from the TV show Nip/Tuck) I then provided examples of how I feel nothing is ever wrong with writing, how writing should never be graded, and how literacy involves much more than our ability to read and write under pressure. As Freire believed, these students come to me as “beings for others,” and it is somehow my dominion that dictates their future. I loathed the position of decision, and I believed that there was a certain decency in imperfection.

Everyone who came to me was in some way defiant. I understood this and sympathized completely with how they must be feeling. To break this ice, I told them a brief story about how I was placed in a “basic reading” course upon entering college. Here I had been, an avid reader all my life and an argably decent writer, in an 8am class with 15 football players and 10 stoners/drunks, trying my best to accept some humility and turn it into a beneficial situation. The class’s three credits would not even count for graduation, and I was not allowed the decency in knowing why I had been placed in it. What did I do wrong? Was I not able to read well? Was I not as smart as I thought? I was not marginalized, for I belonged to the system and acted within it, and yet I was still heavily discouraged by being categorized so.

When students came to see me they had most-likely been told that something was wrong with their writing, which has noticeably discouraged them. Their mannerisms were anxious; their tone appeared somewhat insolent and standoffish. Basically in their presence I could feel the strange aura in the air: “I would rather be anywhere but here.” I tried to reassure them that whatever was "wrong" was most likely fixable in time. However, I also let them know that if they felt comfortable with their writing, the way they transcribe their thoughts, and wish not to compromise the integrity of their voice, style, methods, etc., they could surely deny me the access to change anything if they wished to do so. I made sure they knew that I am only constructively critical and suggestive, but I am in no way the bastion of writing knowledge I may appear to be in this "coach" position. I gave them the option, something I don’t think they were accustomed to, to heed my advice or challenge it.

So what could I do? Here I was, differing greatly in opinion to the system- the standardized writing assessment and the literate authority figures above me (the ones who inevitably pay me and expect me to play by the rules). I wanted all of these students to pursue teaching, to become an active agent in their own path as an educator… Who was I to stop them? I wish to equate this to teaching in an urban area. The admonished and impoverished children who do not have a finely honed writing strategy and ritual need differentiated instruction and passionate coaches to work at developing their writing. They need teachers to model their own frustrations with writing. These children are fully capable of applying their intellect to the paper, if only they are granted the time and compassion indebted to the task.

I feel as if I have to act within the hierarchies of education, within the corporate frameworks, in order to exploit them. I would have to “creatively maladjust,” as Herbert Kohl puts it, and embody the art of not becoming what other people want me to be and learning, in difficult times, to affirm myself while at the same time remaining caring and compassionate. This concept, set forth by Martin Luther King Jr. adhering to social injustices of race and militarism, refers to the rejection of conforming to a system all while belonging to it. In Kohl’s recollections, the educational system much mimicks the structure of society, especially concerning privilege and racism. Differing from adjusting to a culture, which speaks more so of the harmony between the self and the environment, maladjusting is the ability of self to act within a dynamic and contradictory environment in order to integrate cultures. Students must not be the "beings for others," but must rather thirst for the ownership of their own minds. They must maladjust to the robotic expectations we push upon them, learn to become transformational and critical, and become "beings for themselves."