On her book “I Love Learning; I Hate School”: An Anthropology of College
Cover Interview of September 03, 2017
The wide angle
The topic of this book is connected to everything! (Okay,
maybe not directly to geology or health insurance. But to a gazillion other things
that matter.) It’s connected to the nature of humans as social and learning
animals with long childhoods; to the political and economic structures that
intersect with schooling and credentials; to families and the roles of youth;
to ideas of cultural transmission; to the question of wellbeing and how school
contributes to or undermines it; to feelings of worth; to the human mind in its
fully capable essence; to work, obviously; to joy; to international competition
and perceptions of international competition; to democracy.
My book is fully anthropological in the sense that
anthropologists have studied learning around the world. Until schools spread in
the second half of the twentieth century, learning in life rarely resembled
what has become familiar to us: divorced from real life, with age segregation
finely sliced, with every foray into learning measured and evaluated, all
mistakes punished and averaged together, and the material imposed because it is
related in some theoretical way to some uniform sense of what students are
likely to need at some point in the future, probably in the next round of
schooling.
Since just about everybody now goes to school, if not to
higher education, this affects everybody. But not everybody is like me. I have
always LOVED school. I thrive when I learn abstractly.
Most people don’t. And that’s okay. There’s not just one way
to be a person, and there’s not just one way to learn. My cultural relativistic
ideas from my anthropological background did not necessarily lead me to think
this, until I had a kind of crisis in my teaching, where I really dreaded going
to class. In the end, I changed from blaming the students to blaming the
structure—including the structure I imposed in my class.
I had written about plagiarism, building on work I’d done on
truth and deception in China and elsewhere. It connects with my training in
China studies, and with my focus on linguistic anthropology. But this latest
book—the second in a trilogy—really takes on the nature of schooling, which was
only one of the components of students’ willingness to resort to cheating and
plagiarizing. If the whole goal is the grade, then any means is as good as
another. If the goal is learning, then things like writing matter. But students
are shaped by the conversations that surround them, and most people talk only
about the “bottom line”: GPA, degree, time to completion, statistics about
school attendance, etc. The assumption is that all this matters because
somewhere in between signing up for a lifetime of debt and finding a job, there
is some energy left for learning. But in fact, there isn’t that much.
I find that deplorable, but now completely understandable.
So, I invite my students to join me on an adventure in
learning, with lots of choices and options to connect it to something that
matters for them. I’ve developed a thoroughly ecological view, following John
Muir’s insight that “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.” So
if a student in a Food and Culture class is interested in something—eating disorders,
Instagram photos of food, notions of Ukrainian food, acai and other superfoods—then
our themes of identity, gender, power, representation, aesthetics, taste,
marketing, and cultural influence will emerge. I am confident that students can
lead and then we will find what they need to get to their place.
My understanding of the nature of humans has increased—which
is completely part of my training as a cultural, linguistic, and psychological
anthropologist, even if the specific questions and domains within which I
address them appear completely unrelated to my first academic work. My
involvement in a holistic, integrative department of anthropology, where I have
conversations with colleagues specializing in biological anthropology, has influenced
me profoundly.
I read like a fiend; I’ve pretty much used up my eyesight.
And I have learned most everything from listening to my
students and my own daughters.
The dominant premise in evolution and economics is that a person is being loyal to natural law if he or she attends to self’s interest and welfare before being concerned with the needs and demands of family or community. The public does not realize that this statement is not an established scientific principle but an ethical preference. Nonetheless, this belief has created a moral confusion among North Americans and Europeans because the evolution of our species was accompanied by the disposition to worry about kin and the collectives to which one belongs.Jerome Kagan, Interview of September 17, 2009
[T]he Holocaust transformed our whole way of thinking about war and heroism. War is no longer a proving ground for heroism in the same way it used to be. Instead, war now is something that we must avoid at all costs—because genocides often take place under the cover of war. We are no longer all potential soldiers (though we are that too), but we are all potential victims of the traumas war creates. This, at least, is one important development in the way Western populations envision war, even if it does not always predominate in the thinking of our political leaders.Carolyn J. Dean, Interview of February 01, 2011
The wide angle
The topic of this book is connected to everything! (Okay, maybe not directly to geology or health insurance. But to a gazillion other things that matter.) It’s connected to the nature of humans as social and learning animals with long childhoods; to the political and economic structures that intersect with schooling and credentials; to families and the roles of youth; to ideas of cultural transmission; to the question of wellbeing and how school contributes to or undermines it; to feelings of worth; to the human mind in its fully capable essence; to work, obviously; to joy; to international competition and perceptions of international competition; to democracy.
My book is fully anthropological in the sense that anthropologists have studied learning around the world. Until schools spread in the second half of the twentieth century, learning in life rarely resembled what has become familiar to us: divorced from real life, with age segregation finely sliced, with every foray into learning measured and evaluated, all mistakes punished and averaged together, and the material imposed because it is related in some theoretical way to some uniform sense of what students are likely to need at some point in the future, probably in the next round of schooling.
Since just about everybody now goes to school, if not to higher education, this affects everybody. But not everybody is like me. I have always LOVED school. I thrive when I learn abstractly.
Most people don’t. And that’s okay. There’s not just one way to be a person, and there’s not just one way to learn. My cultural relativistic ideas from my anthropological background did not necessarily lead me to think this, until I had a kind of crisis in my teaching, where I really dreaded going to class. In the end, I changed from blaming the students to blaming the structure—including the structure I imposed in my class.
I had written about plagiarism, building on work I’d done on truth and deception in China and elsewhere. It connects with my training in China studies, and with my focus on linguistic anthropology. But this latest book—the second in a trilogy—really takes on the nature of schooling, which was only one of the components of students’ willingness to resort to cheating and plagiarizing. If the whole goal is the grade, then any means is as good as another. If the goal is learning, then things like writing matter. But students are shaped by the conversations that surround them, and most people talk only about the “bottom line”: GPA, degree, time to completion, statistics about school attendance, etc. The assumption is that all this matters because somewhere in between signing up for a lifetime of debt and finding a job, there is some energy left for learning. But in fact, there isn’t that much.
I find that deplorable, but now completely understandable.
So, I invite my students to join me on an adventure in learning, with lots of choices and options to connect it to something that matters for them. I’ve developed a thoroughly ecological view, following John Muir’s insight that “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.” So if a student in a Food and Culture class is interested in something—eating disorders, Instagram photos of food, notions of Ukrainian food, acai and other superfoods—then our themes of identity, gender, power, representation, aesthetics, taste, marketing, and cultural influence will emerge. I am confident that students can lead and then we will find what they need to get to their place.
My understanding of the nature of humans has increased—which is completely part of my training as a cultural, linguistic, and psychological anthropologist, even if the specific questions and domains within which I address them appear completely unrelated to my first academic work. My involvement in a holistic, integrative department of anthropology, where I have conversations with colleagues specializing in biological anthropology, has influenced me profoundly.
I read like a fiend; I’ve pretty much used up my eyesight.
And I have learned most everything from listening to my students and my own daughters.