Writing from the Margins
On the Power Dynamics of Feedback
When I think about the power of feedback to dissuade, alienate or inspire, I always think of Sandra Cisneros. About the time I graduated from my own MFA program, nearly 15 years ago, a classmate emailed me an excerpted interview that featured her entitled: “I Hate the Iowa Writer’s Workshop.” In it, she railed against the way her work was dismissed while attending the oldest and most prestigious graduate writing program in the U.S. She has been especially outspoken about the alienation she felt in the name of “critical feedback”—in particular, the way her writing was misunderstood during the workshopping process. Cisneros recounts, “There was no love….Iowa was an experience where I found out what I wasn’t…where I discovered my otherness….It made me very uncomfortable.” The House on Mango Street was written in defiance of her own advisor, Donald Justice. He didn’t see the value in her unique style (a blending of poetry and prose) so he advised her to abandon the book. But she continued to write it. And published it. And won a MacArthur “genius” grant shortly after its re-release. And what if she hadn’t been so persistent?
I think about her experience, and to some extent my own at Oxford, and the ways in which “feedback” can be weaponized as an instrument of dominant culture to reinforce group-think and conformity to “good” writing, conduct, speech—you name it. I remember well my own attempts to “explain” my work to professors as if my perspective needed justification against a rubric that was invisible to me. When I wear the hat of English teacher today, especially in the field of composition, feedback is inextricably linked to moving learners forward. And yet, most teachers struggle to provide constructive feedback in the volume and with the specificity needed for real progress. Like Cisneros, I experienced the workshop model of peer and instructor review in graduate school and, for this reason, never questioned it as a way to emphasize “writing as a process” in my own classrooms over the years.
Given this, I have found myself calling into question my own approach. Always, the question is the same: what if I’m doing more harm than good? Let’s face it: we’ve all received shitty feedback before. Feedback that is coercive or concerned with the wrong things, feedback that is wholly negative and sometimes feels very personal or out of the blue. For this reason, over the years, I’ve delivered feedback to students in many ways: small group conferencing, marginal notes, audio comments, screencasts, rubric notes. The method does make a difference. But what about what we say?
Often we fall into the trap of hollow praise, or construct “compliment sandwiches”—both techniques leave us farther away from our goals for all our efforts. It is hard to offer critique and motivate simultaneously; this is exacerbated when feedback is given across racial, ethnic, gender, and socio-economic difference which can prompt crises of belonging. This has been called the “Mentor’s Dilemma,” succinctly summarized in Rita Pierson’s now famous TED talk: how do I raise the self-esteem of a child and his academic achievement at the same time?
There is a promising answer to this question, as described in David Yaeger’s “Breaking the cycle of mistrust.” In the study, students were given either a bland, noncommittal note attached to their essay draft (I’m giving you these comments so that you’ll have feedback on your paper) or a note of “wise feedback” that emphasized 1) high expectations 2) the belief that the student can meet those expectations 3) actionable, supportive feedback. The results were that “Students were twice as likely to revise their essays when they got wise feedback…[and] we found that students made more than twice as many corrections.” If the goal is to have students create self-sustaining, strong academic practices, it is important that we communicate feedback in ways that express our care and are clear enough for students to take action upon.
But all of this requires, firstly, that we know our students. The vulnerability needed to share one’s thinking with others - whether in an essay draft, presentation, or class discussion - requires enormous trust from our students. Relationship building is necessary for academic progress. This is why we have to be honest with ourselves about our motivations for giving feedback. Are we really hoping to prompt learning and strengthen trust? Or are we avoiding conflict? Or exercising our power for its own sake?
And this leads me to return again to the example of Cisneros. Years after her experience in Iowa, she founded her own program, the Macondo Writers’ Workshop (named for the mythical village described in Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude). As part of this work, the participants drafted and continue to revise a “Compassionate Code of Conduct” to guide all their work. I think it is a beautiful model that speaks to both the intent and impact of feedback:
“We approach each other as guests from different worlds, with the common impulse to create….This is not to say that we avoid conflict….Even when it is uncomfortable, challenging each other’s work or ideas is an essential part of growing and learning—as writers, activists, and human beings….No one can expect to have the last word or to persuade everyone of the rightness of their opinion. Our words can only open the next door, and to try to open doors for others.”
3 Things Newly Noted
There was a solar eclipse last Saturday that was almost fully visible in central Texas. After scouring grocery stores for sold-out eclipse glasses (and crafting a back-up viewer out of a cookie box), the boys and I finally found a pair at an “eclipse party” hosted by Austin Public Library. Libraries are glorious places indeed.
Just began a fabulous book, the paperback edition of Everyone Knows your Mother’s a Witch by Rivka Galchen. Chapters contain the imagined testimonies of Katherina Kepler (Johannes’ mother) during her trial for witchcraft. The style strikes an interesting balance between the immediacy of first-person narratives and the timelessness of folktales. It also explores what happens when collective cultural anxiety turns violent—a suitable theme for the current moment (and it is impossible not to draw parallels). I picked it up because of Karen Russell’s ringing endorsement on the cover.
Yesterday, I co-presented with my dear friend and sometimes collaborator, Diana Mastracci Sánchez, at the NISOD conference on the subject of Indigenizing education. We enjoyed ourselves and remain grateful to the participants who were so supportive and encouraging throughout.
See you next Friday!
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