The Blue Monkey Review

First, the students: They have generally good English skills as far as their response to my questions reveal. They are all what we would refer to as "traditional age" at Seton Hill. One or two of the males might be in their mid-twenties, but none of the females look more than 20, and very few look to be more than 18. They know quite a lot about the U.S. from media, but they have also had some exposure to American history. I constantly check in to see if they know a name or term. All of my college students will have at least heard the term indentured servant, but these students were not familiar with it. On the other hand, when I reminded them offhandedly last class that Thomas Jefferson had written the Declaration of Independence, one of the boys said, "We already knew that."

As more than one of my colleagues here has mentioned, these first year students are still adjusting to university life. In my larger class (100 are enrolled, but attendance is more like 70) many students sitting further back in the class spend time talking and messaging their friends. When it becomes too much I stop talking and they settle down, or else their classmates further forward tell them to shut up. This really annoys some of my more earnest students. One wrote on the American Civilization blog that I might need to kick some students out of class. That gave me an idea for something to do in class.

At the beginning of each class I spend a little time discussing a topic with them, something that I can then as a means of discussing an issue that we will cover in the lesson. I had planned to deal with the problems of early republican government, the conflict of private and public or civic interests. So at the beginning of my class last Monday I began by mentioning that someone had written about his frustration with the irritating habits of some of his coursemates. And I then discussed what I thought were the clauses of our social contract: That they had no reason to be in the class unless they were listening to me and to their classmates, and possibly participating. No one got up to leave even when I pointed out that I did not take role and that the lecture notes are all available online or in hard copy.

I then asked what interest any of them could have to be in the class. "Why are you here?" I asked in one form or another a few times. This apparently was a question they do not hear very often from their instructors, and they seemed to have spent little time reflecting on it. Because I clearly had no intention of letting them off without responding, they began to offer some answers. As would be the case back home, some of the answers seemed almost too correct. "I want to learn better English. I like to have class in which I hear good English spoke." That answer came from a girl who I know was saying the whole truth--she literally sits on the edge of her seat and has the look of someone who really is eager to learn. And she does this for a full hour and a half. "We want to learn about American culture," said someone else. "We like class."

I kept pressing them, though, trying to show that I would not give up teaching if they had less than supportive answers. As I pushed some had to admit that the course was required. "But why take this program?" i.e., why major in English. "I love the English language," said a girl in the second period. Again, I have no reason to doubt her sincerity. "But why not biology or German?" It took longer than I expected for them to identify motivations that would qualify as really self-interested. "I want to be a translator," was on of the common ones. "I want to travel."

Then I changed direction slightly and asked if they had any civic motivation for being in this class or in English as a program. Their hesitation at owning their self-interest suddenly seemed mild compared to their hesitation over this question. Naturally, I had to explain my question. "Does taking this program allow you do something for other people? For your country? For your city?" It took quite a while, and more pump priming, before they began to offer some ideas. "If I translate movie, that could be good for some people." "It will help my country not be so backward." But, in general, it seemed to me that they were making up their answers as they sat there in front of me.

This struck me as very interesting. In my classes at Seton Hill University students, with very little prodding, will produce answers that display an almost aggressive ideal of civic responsibility. Of course, most of my history students, and a large portion of our students generally, plan to be teachers. "I love children and want to help them," is, in one form or another, the kind of thing you will often hear SHU students claim. In fact, they often ignore self-interest to jump to their sense of civic duty. I tend to discount this somewhat. I'm enough of a liberal to believe that self-interest comes from a deeper and more basic region of our selves than does our sense of common humanity.

The issue of teaching, in fact, made the contrast between my students here and my students in Pennsylvania sharper still. In an effort to help them out of being stuck on this question, I asked if any of them planned to teach. It surprised me that instead of a show of hands all I got was laughter. It took a few minutes of urging before anyone would admit that they wanted to teach. A few of them want to teach, even though the pay for teachers here is miserable. In my smaller class only one student said she planned to teach. And I had to walk her through the possible civil consequences that teaching might entail: "You will work with children, right? And that will help them be better students and better adults, right?" She agreed, but she added nothing to what I proposed.

In both classes, someone asked me, "Well tell us, what are you doing here?" I didn't answer, saying that I did not want to lose sight of what we were talking about. But I really didn't quite know what to say, and so was stalling for time. I think I have to respond to that question soon.