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Service
Learning, Social Justice,
and Hope: A Reflection on Some
Recent
Work by
Adam Renner
Recently, I arrived home from a trip to
In addition to speaking at the
EduVision conference I
continued some community organizing involving two local schools, not
far from
Rose Hall, and one children’s home, located deep in the hills of the
northwest
countryside of While this planning was successful on a
number of
fronts, I’ve mentioned it in order to build some context for the
following. This reflection serves as an
opportunity to more critically examine, in particular, this most recent
trip
(and past trips), making sense of the experience with three figural
themes/elements/issues that stood out throughout my time abroad: (1)
economic
inequities and absurdities; (2) the meta-narrative on Economic
Inequities and
Absurdities: The making of a mini-US Many years ago, I took a cruise. Rather uncritical, if perhaps wholly
ignorant, at the time regarding exploitation, oppression, and
post-colonialism,
I took this cruise to the These feelings came flooding back when
I entered the
Rose Hall Wyndham in All cash exchanges at the hotel were
made in US
dollars. No Jamaican newspapers (the Gleaner
or Observer) were apparent in the lobby. And,
tours outside of the hotel were closely monitored in
terms of
routes and destinations. The travel
agencies offering these all-inclusive packages were sure on every front
to
construct an unrealistic, uncritical, and nearly un-Jamaican
experience, as
this hotel could have been anywhere in the world with an ocean and
cheap
exploitable labor. Anticipating the response about hotel jobs, like the
one at
the Wyndham, I asked my driver, Tim [a pseudonym], who was giving me a
lift to
see my partners, about them. He
responded, “They are good jobs, but not good paying jobs.” That is, if
you want
work in a country marred by very high unemployment, you’ll sell
yourself out
for these jobs. While I still wrestle with my own sense
of hypocrisy
for staying there as a participant in this international teacher
education
conference, I am more poignantly ashamed as an American by the reaction
of my
friends in Jamaica who came to visit me while I was at the hotel. Sitting together in the outside courtyard
laughing at the mostly obnoxious behavior of the hotel guests, I sat in
my
T-shirt and tattered cargo shorts with my friends, the impeccably
dressed
Beckfords: a mother, son, two daughters, and son-in-law.
I’ve grown close with the Beckford’s
over my five years
in Jamaica and always enjoy visiting with them. Having
been a guest in their home several times I asked if
they would
like to visit me in a place where most tourists would stay. Happily obliging (and I think somewhat
interested, if a little fearful), they arrived anxious to reconnect and
talk,
in person, about what was going on with their family and in Jamaica,
generally.
Not sure how they might react, I asked
if they would
like to come in and see one of the rooms at this hotel.
Monique, the mother, quickly reacted, “Do you
think they’ll let us in?” I could only
respond that we would see, but that I would try not to put them in an
embarrassing situation. Fortunately, no one reacted to their
presence. We quickly ambled up to the room. While Monique and I talked in the room about
trying to bring the two youngest to the US for school, her children and
son-in-law chatted on the balcony, which overlooked a beautiful garden,
a golf
course beyond that, and the Caribbean for as far as you could see
beyond
that. Not long after standing out there,
Monique’s insightful and unassuming son, Michael, came into the room
and summarized
his experience of the view, “Mommy, I never knew Jamaica was this
beautiful.”
The
Meta-Narrative on
Americans: Accessing More Critical Scripts
As I walked
through the Wyndham buffet line by the watermelon on which was carved,
“Out of
many, one people,” I thought about the cooptation and commercialization
of
culture. Not really a true read on the
fractious nature of Jamaica—its economy, nor its politics—I thought of
the
message my fellow cruise-mates, rather, guests at the hotel, were
receiving. “Americans are great people”
On my third visit to Jamaica in
2000, I struck
up enough nerve to interview some of my Jamaican partners, attempting
to get a
read on our evolving service learning partnership.
Having grown critical of US foreign policy,
past and present, based on readings I had taken up and based on my
experience
and discussions with partners the first two years, I expected to sit
down with
them and get the Jamaican critique of US policy. I got the exact opposite.
Instead of criticizing the US for their assistive
role in Jamaica’s economic demise, I received comments like “The US is
a great
country and we are so thankful for their financial assistance.” And, “We could learn a lot from the US.”
Regarding Americans as people, my partners responded that we are
compassionate
and giving. Only in a few cases did I
receive any critique of America(ns). These
were cases for which the American ‘missionary’
behavior was so
outlandish that they were easily remarkable. However,
these sparse critiques were book-ended by
qualifying sentiments
like, “But, this was a very rare experience.” While not completely insensitive to the
fact that
individual Americans may do very good work in Jamaica.
I like to think we do good work in
Jamaica. And, not completely ignorant to
the generosity the US shows at times, I simply envisioned that these
knowledgeable and critical Jamaicans I had come to know would level
with or
confide in me regarding their feelings about the US.
Of course, I was incredibly naïve. On one hand, I ignored the hierarchical power
dynamics at work in the relationship of researcher and researched
(particularly
with tape-recorder in hand). How did
they know what I was really going to do with this information? On the other hand, I also presumed a much
closer relationship with our partners than actually existed. Who was I to them? Was
I really any different than some of the
outlandish missionaries who visited them? They
obviously had much more to lose than I did. After talking with colleagues and
growing closer to
these partners over the next couple of years, I understood these
earlier,
mostly uncritical, responses to be portions of a script—a script that
is
partially revealed and/or evolved over time. The
limited script issue played itself out again this year
while in
Mexico City. Confined mostly to the
hotel during the conference given its tight schedule, I ventured out
only
occasionally. When I did, I mainly
frequented the Starbucks coffee shop in the lobby.
Realizing a prick of hypocrisy and economic
colonialism every time I entered the store, I felt strangely
comfortable in
this foreign country, amidst familiar coffees, pastries, and sandwiches. The same coffees, pastries, and sandwiches
that are accessible to me two blocks from my home.
Although the drinks were described in a
different language and prices were enumerated in pesos, the smell,
taste, and
ordering order for drinks were the same: “Grande hazelnut cappuccino,
please.” On my third or fourth trip into the
store, I asked a
familiar face at the cash register, how she was doing.
The barista, Marlena, responded that she was
fine and asked if I was in Mexico City on business or pleasure. I told her I was attending an education
conference at the hotel and that I was a teacher back in the US. “Can
you teach
me to speak better English,” she inquired, hardly allowing me to finish
my
sentence. I explained that I was not
that kind of teacher and made some inane comment regarding how much
better her
English was than my Spanish. After a little more conversation, I
thanked her for my
coffee and sat down to do a little reading. A
short time later, she sat down in an adjacent chair and
occasionally
looked over my way. Sensing that she
wanted to continue the conversation, I asked her why she was interested
in
learning better English-speaking skills. She
explained it was the only way to move up at Starbucks,
and,
potentially, to land a job in the US. Seizing
the opportunity, I asked what she thought about
Americans. She enthusiastically responded,
“They are
great people and very friendly. They leave
tips and clean up after themselves.” Asking
what she thought she might do once she got to the
US, she
indicated that she hoped she could work for Starbucks or maybe work in
hotel
management. Warming quickly to our conversation and
hoping to learn
more about life in Mexico, I inexplicably launched into a diatribe on
Starbucks, big business in general, and my countries’ policies abroad
(particularly NAFTA and its effect on Mexico). Apparently responsive to
my own
eagerness to talk frankly, her script expanded a bit. She talked about
the
difficulty of finding good work and the conundrum of wanting to stay in
Mexico,
but realizing that she would have a better economic opportunity in the
US. Toward the end of her own diatribe,
she
whispered, “You’re not one of those, you know, gringos.” Nodding with
understanding, but feeling like a gringo, I thanked her for the
conversation,
as her apparent break ended. I returned to my book and cappuccino and
considered what life might be like for her in the US.
I thought about the fact that our entire
conversation was conducted in English. I
thought a lot about my privileged life.
The counter-narrative What
may be even
more damaging than this meta-narrative on America(ns), though, is the
formation
of a dangerous and destructive counter-narrative. Over the years,
alongside
comments regarding how great Americans are, I’ve heard how selfish
Jamaicans
are and how Black men cannot be trusted—all comments, of course, coming
from
Black Jamaicans. Although my reading of
Freire and McLaren theoretically warned me of this debilitating
possibility,
where the oppressed buy into their oppression, I never envisioned it to
be so
blatant and adhered to in reality. Although
these sentiments about selfishness and
untrustworthiness may only
be a portion of the script, these are dangerous words to throw about,
particularly to mostly ignorant and uncritical visitors to the island. Marlena disclosed the same
counter-narrative. Along with telling me
how unselfish and
friendly Americans were, she also indicated how lazy Mexicans were. “Mexicans never leave tips and always leave
their place dirty. I can’t wait to get out of Mexico. Mexicans are so
lazy.” Might there be lazy Mexicans? Of course. But,
proportionately more than anywhere else? I
doubt it. Did this understanding come from
her direct experience with other Americans or Mexicans?
Or, did it emerge through a mediated
understanding of culture promoted by the US and other First World
countries. The hegemonic power of the
colonialist, indeed. Desperation/Trust & Hope(lessness): Toward a More Critical and Emancipatory
Future
There are no
easy answers to accessing more critical portions of the script or to
dismantling the damaging counter-narratives constructed around US-Other
relations. What I have noted in my trips
abroad, though, is an incredible sense of hope and trust that contrast
feelings
of desperation and hopelessness, which result from these
counter-narratives. As a middle-class
American, it is difficult to imagine not being able to find any
job, not
having access to medicine or doctors, and not having a way out of a
given
situation. These circumstances, though,
characterize many lives in Jamaica and Mexico (as well as the US). This understanding unsettled me when I
arrived back in
the US after my first trip to Jamaica in 1998. I
realized my visit was only temporary and how easy it was
to layer back
into life at home. I was changed
somewhat by the experience, but I seamlessly wove my way back into
middle-class
America. Receiving regular collect phone calls (sometimes at 3:00 in
the
morning) the year after my second visit, though, from a young man,
Thomas,
asking for fifty dollars for this medicine and fifty dollars for that
doctor
visit, was a constant sobering reminder of my privileged life—even as a
graduate student, living on a stipend of $10,000/year.
I had access to the money. There was a payoff
for me at the end of my studies. No such
access or payoff existed for Thomas (or most, if any, of my other
Jamaican
partners). Whether they were using me (or playing
on my
sensitivities) or whether these requests were even genuine or not are
fairly
immaterial in a structural sense. I had
it. They did not. Part of it was effort. Most of it was circumstance.
I was fortunate. They were
not. My country sometimes exploits others
based on
this circumstance. Many missionaries coming out of the US
capitalize on
this circumstance. Although I am not
attempting to draw a definitive line of collusion between mission
groups and US
economic interests, I remain, nonetheless, frustrated by fellow
Americans
traveling to the Caribbean spreading messages about accepting this lot
in life,
working hard, and seeking the kingdom of heaven. All the while, the
missionaries/evangelists propagating these absurdities return to their
comfy
suburbs, enjoying this life and, apparently, the next one.
This nonsense only sets the stage for
exploitable labor as desperate and increasingly hopeless people accept
this
tragic life as God-given and work hard for a better life in the next
one—supposedly run by the same cruel God that put them in this
circumstance. These missionaries ignore
the constructed nature of this lot in life, fashioned by structural
adjustment
policies which disable foreign economies and make the foreign worker
subservient
to capital and its corporate agents. This is not to say, however, that
Jamaican (or Mexican)
workers sustain no agency or uncritically buy these evangelical
absurdities. As we know, hegemony is
negotiated. However,
Jamaican workers operate from an extremely weak position in the global
scheme
and are terrorized daily by structural adjustment policies. Re-enter the script. To what extent do my
partners understand this dynamic? Or,
are willing to reveal their understanding to me? To what extent do they
accept
it? Rebel against it?
As far as I can tell, only time will permit
me more access to broader script revelations. I do understand now, though, that my
partners have an
incredible amount of trust and hope. As
the years go by, I am let into their lives, little by little. Reciprocally, I offer more and more of my
life to them—focusing my academic, fiscal and personal energies to
their needs
and causes. The most poignant example of
where this trust and hope has led occurred on the most recent trip in
my visit
with Mrs. Matthews. Sitting in her
three-room home, which also serves as the basic neighborhood school she
teaches
in and administrates, we discussed the future of education in her
community. Not sure whether to move
ahead with the school as a public or private entity, Mrs. Matthews and
I had
had several phone conversations in the year preceding this visit to
discuss the
possibilities. Having met with the
Ministry of Education on her behalf during my trip, we subsequently
discussed
what each of us thought was possible regarding the standards for public
schools
required by the Ministry. Up to this point, Mrs. Matthews
regularly sought my
approval regarding many decisions involving her school.
Although I believed I had never given the
impression that she needed to seek my approval on any decision for the
school,
Mrs. Matthews called me often on issues such as school personnel,
parents late
with their fees, when to hold school-related events, etc.
After the meeting with the Ministry and this
most recent discussion, though, the partnership went to a new level. At the subsequent board meeting, which she
had organized to take place during my visit, Mrs. Matthews began to own
the
decisions at her school. Referring to me
only occasionally during the meeting, she explained how she was going
to move
ahead with her school—her plans, the timeline, and what it would be
like in the
future. As the room dimmed during the evening
meeting, Mrs.
Matthews’ husband appeared in the darkening doorway with a light bulb
in
hand. Having removed it from the room in
which he and their children were sitting, Mr. Matthews twisted in their
only
light-bulb in the ceiling socket located in the center of our meeting. While standing on a desk at the center of our
attention with the genesis of a grin at the corners of his mouth, Mr.
Matthews
told us it looked like we could use the light more than he and the
children, as
it was evident the meeting would not end anytime soon.
The Matthews gave a knowing look to one
another. I looked away and smiled. On the ride home, offered by a reporter
at the meeting,
I thought about the meeting, the trip, the academic conferences I
attended, my
past work in Jamaica and the work to come, my work as an education
professor,
and the future of my students. After a
little more conversation, I bid the reporter farewell and rested for
one final
night at the Wyndham, pampered by my surroundings, missing home, and
wondering
what is next. What is
Next? Back home now, reflecting over the
experience and preparing
for my trans-cultural experience course and service learning trip this
summer,
I entertain many concerns. I worry over
the proliferating standardization of education, the increasing
regulation of
knowledge, and the narrowing purposes for obtaining an education. What counts as critical thinking anymore? Are
students (at any level) permitted to engage critically with US policies
that
terrorize its most vulnerable constituents, bolster its most powerful,
and erode
economies abroad? If I present
this critical view, am I un-American? Or, just a critical American? Am
I being
too provocative? Do I risk treading on
sensitivities? Do I risk presenting an
unbalanced approach to issues (as if a balanced one was really
possible)? If presented, why do some students seem
not to
care? Have we created a system where
getting a job is the only purpose for an education (and maybe
propagating a
little patriotism along the way)? Can my
students draw a connection between their lives and the lives of the
disenfranchised here or abroad? If they
are among the disenfranchised, do they see a way out?
Can they resist and recover a share of this
land’s/world’s great bounty? Or, do they
feel trapped and choose to resist in more negative ways that will seal
their
economic and personal fate? In order to help students make critical
connections in
a more concrete way, I’ve turned to service learning, evidenced by my
trips to Students can be suspect of
multiculturalism and
allegedly spendthrift liberal policies based on the information they
glean from
talk radio. By contrast students can
also earnestly, but theoretically, take up difference and social
justice
through classes brave enough to present the content.
But, the only way they will be moved toward
change (from either political direction) are by examples of action.
Service learning provides one such
possible
action. Although maligned by both the
right (as an unnecessary, non-academic, or superfluous use of class
time) and
the left (as not going far enough or potentially solidifying prejudices
if not
done critically enough), I believe it may be one of the remaining
avenues we
have left short of completely revolutionizing education (which may
still be the
best idea). While progressive education has ebbed
and flowed over
the last one hundred years, the most recent conservative restoration
with its
anesthetizing focus on standardization and rabid high stakes testing
has worked
hard to stem the progressive tide. Experiential
education, like that offered by service
learning, may
provide enough cracks and fissures to the rock of regulation, though,
that
small rivulets of criticalness and social reconstructionism may still
seep
out. Only when offered opportunities
will our students consider anything new. I wonder what my students this
summer
will discover about their world when they travel to work with our
partners in In Pedagogy of Hope, Freire
returns to his
significant work in Pedagogy of the Oppressed twenty-plus years
later to
update, evolve, and reinforce several of the central concepts to his
problem-posing, critical, and revolutionary pedagogy.
Early in this more recent work, Freire
considers, “I cannot understand human existence, and the struggle
needed to
improve it, apart from hope and dream.” I
bring this hope and dream to my work in service
learning, generally;
to my service partnerships in |