last updated August 2021
I teach a range of courses in the technical writing and rhetorics curriculum sequence in the English department, but the multifaceted philosophy with which I approach them centers on a few key strategies. I give students exposure to concrete audiences and tangible purposes, show them how theory leads to inclusive document production, and recognize them as whole humans.
I teach a range of courses in the technical writing and rhetorics curriculum sequence in the English department, but the multifaceted philosophy with which I approach them centers on a few key strategies. I give students exposure to concrete audiences and tangible purposes, show them how theory leads to inclusive document production, and recognize them as whole humans.
Concrete Audiences and Tangible situations
Giving students exposure to concrete audiences and tangible situations is especially important in technical communication courses, which require students to think about real contexts and appropriate courses of action. Not only do projects like these help students gain necessary workplace skills, but it also helps them connect more meaningfully to their work and think beyond the grade they want to earn.
All projects in ENG 249 (Technical Communication I) are based in real-world circumstances (such as a claim letter that asks students to request compensation for unsatisfactory business, an infographic that asks them to highlight some aspect of the campus, and an instructions manual that asks them to document a nonintuitive process with which they are familiar). The final project of this course—the recommendation report—asks students to find a real-life problem in one of their communities, research potential solutions, and write a report to a real-life decision maker with a well-researched and clearly-articulated recommendation for how to solve it. This approach enables students to understand what can be at stake when working in this kind of situation; their personal connection to the problem increases the exigence to solve it.
But unfortunately, it is not always possible to encourage students to work with personal scenarios in which they have investment beyond the classroom. In ENG 349 (Technical Communication II), one of my goals is for students to think about and through a risk communication situation and make recommendations that balance industry and community values, fears, needs, and decisions; for this course I have chosen a case scenario for a chemical plant’s expansion. To encourage students to connect to the scenario, I ask them to find real-life instances where industrial entities have made major decisions without consulting surrounding communities and find concrete information (interviews, townhall meeting minutes, etc) that illustrate how residents have been negatively impacted and how such clandestine decisions can break trust between the industry and the community. When students understand the lasting implications of what should seem like a straightforward expansion, they develop an investment in the results. Students advocate for specific stakeholders and we hold a mock town hall in the classroom where they encounter and thoughtfully respond to both opposing and supporting views.
When I taught ENG 451, a special topics course titled Technical Communication in the Zombie Apocalypse, in Spring 2020, I did not expect that students would have such direct opportunities to apply their learning to a concrete situation, but I adapted quickly. The course used a fictional zombie virus outbreak as a pathway to examine how to communicate complex medical information during a time of heightened risk, crisis, and emergency. Then, we watched as an actual viral pandemic unfolded. While the entire world shifted to largely digital spaces, the course also shifted focus, leaving behind zombie viruses to focus on the real one threatening our health and safety. This kind of flexibility was key in that it allowed students to consider concrete audiences and tangible situations as they critique and developed their own crisis communications related to pandemics and global health.
All projects in ENG 249 (Technical Communication I) are based in real-world circumstances (such as a claim letter that asks students to request compensation for unsatisfactory business, an infographic that asks them to highlight some aspect of the campus, and an instructions manual that asks them to document a nonintuitive process with which they are familiar). The final project of this course—the recommendation report—asks students to find a real-life problem in one of their communities, research potential solutions, and write a report to a real-life decision maker with a well-researched and clearly-articulated recommendation for how to solve it. This approach enables students to understand what can be at stake when working in this kind of situation; their personal connection to the problem increases the exigence to solve it.
But unfortunately, it is not always possible to encourage students to work with personal scenarios in which they have investment beyond the classroom. In ENG 349 (Technical Communication II), one of my goals is for students to think about and through a risk communication situation and make recommendations that balance industry and community values, fears, needs, and decisions; for this course I have chosen a case scenario for a chemical plant’s expansion. To encourage students to connect to the scenario, I ask them to find real-life instances where industrial entities have made major decisions without consulting surrounding communities and find concrete information (interviews, townhall meeting minutes, etc) that illustrate how residents have been negatively impacted and how such clandestine decisions can break trust between the industry and the community. When students understand the lasting implications of what should seem like a straightforward expansion, they develop an investment in the results. Students advocate for specific stakeholders and we hold a mock town hall in the classroom where they encounter and thoughtfully respond to both opposing and supporting views.
When I taught ENG 451, a special topics course titled Technical Communication in the Zombie Apocalypse, in Spring 2020, I did not expect that students would have such direct opportunities to apply their learning to a concrete situation, but I adapted quickly. The course used a fictional zombie virus outbreak as a pathway to examine how to communicate complex medical information during a time of heightened risk, crisis, and emergency. Then, we watched as an actual viral pandemic unfolded. While the entire world shifted to largely digital spaces, the course also shifted focus, leaving behind zombie viruses to focus on the real one threatening our health and safety. This kind of flexibility was key in that it allowed students to consider concrete audiences and tangible situations as they critique and developed their own crisis communications related to pandemics and global health.
Theory as Pathway to Inclusive Document Production
Although my courses focus on pragmatic applications, they are also grounded in theory. I come from a decolonial social justice and cultural studies approach to technical and digital communication, and I bring this perspective to my students. When I assign theoretical readings, I make conscious efforts to include marginalized and multiply marginalized and underrepresented (MMU) scholars on all reading lists. Indigenous rhetorics scholar Cana Uluak Itchuaqiyaq maintains a frequently updated public list of works by MMU technical communication researchers, and I often use this as my first resource for finding current and relevant theoretical readings, which ensures that students have access to a range of voices, perspectives, and expertises when they engage in class discussions.
This is important because students need to understand that master narratives about the “ideal user” or the “ideal audience” are often grounded in whiteness, maleness, cisheteronormativity, financial wealth, and able-bodiedness, but also that such ideations are frequently partial or outright false (take for instance the initial release of the Apple Watch, which did not work correctly on users with heavily melanated skin, revealing that Black users were not considered in the development and testing of the product). As such, it is important for students to learn how to produce not only usable documents, but useful ones as well. Usability refers to a user’s ability to use a document or artifact; usefulness refers to their ability to make meaning from it and for it to add value to their lives—just because something is usable does not mean it is useful.
Through course readings and class discussion, students interrogate what it means to design something that is “user-centered,” questioning the notion of “ideal” users or audiences. Similarly, I teach them to be skeptical of outdated technical communication standbys like “plain language” or “globalization,” which make assumptions that one document can be accessible to multiple cultures and peoples. I teach them that there is no such thing as a truly “universal” document or artifact—not only is it impossible, but attempts to create one only result in essentializing artifacts that often make hegemonic assumptions about nonwhite peoples and nonwestern cultures. Instead, I teach them research methods—such as interviews and content analysis—that allow them to understand who their audience really is and how to optimize for local users.
This is important because students need to understand that master narratives about the “ideal user” or the “ideal audience” are often grounded in whiteness, maleness, cisheteronormativity, financial wealth, and able-bodiedness, but also that such ideations are frequently partial or outright false (take for instance the initial release of the Apple Watch, which did not work correctly on users with heavily melanated skin, revealing that Black users were not considered in the development and testing of the product). As such, it is important for students to learn how to produce not only usable documents, but useful ones as well. Usability refers to a user’s ability to use a document or artifact; usefulness refers to their ability to make meaning from it and for it to add value to their lives—just because something is usable does not mean it is useful.
Through course readings and class discussion, students interrogate what it means to design something that is “user-centered,” questioning the notion of “ideal” users or audiences. Similarly, I teach them to be skeptical of outdated technical communication standbys like “plain language” or “globalization,” which make assumptions that one document can be accessible to multiple cultures and peoples. I teach them that there is no such thing as a truly “universal” document or artifact—not only is it impossible, but attempts to create one only result in essentializing artifacts that often make hegemonic assumptions about nonwhite peoples and nonwestern cultures. Instead, I teach them research methods—such as interviews and content analysis—that allow them to understand who their audience really is and how to optimize for local users.
Teaching the Whole Student
Finally, my pedagogy is influenced by intersectional feminist theories and methodologies, which means that I teach to the whole student. I understand that my students are more than brains to which I must transfer knowledge. They are also bodies, and sometimes those bodies fall ill, sometimes they are differently abled, and sometimes they are just plain tired. Students also have multiple identities, which means that in one moment they may be a student in my classroom, and in the next they may be an employee at their job or even a parent to a sick child. I recognize that sometimes my class is not and cannot be a priority for them and that sometimes their lives are more important than meeting my arbitrarily-set, semester-constrained deadlines.
In my classroom, this comes across as inclusivity and flexibility. It means that I check in with students on a regular basis and adjust the workload or due dates as needed. Sometimes it means working with students individually to allow them extra time to deal with family or health issues outside of school. It always means addressing issues of diversity, inclusivity, and equity within the classroom, not just in the audiences with whom students communicate, but also in their interactions with me and each other. Because of these tactics, students understand my classroom as a brave space where their health, wellness, and identities are priorities alongside my learning outcomes. My class becomes a space where all of us are working together to create a conducive learning environment.
However, this does not mean I am a pushover or that I do not have high expectations for my students; nor does it mean that my classroom is a space where students can get comfortable and complacent. Quite the contrary. A requirement to pass any of my courses is that students must complete every assignment, and I expect them to turn in professional level artifacts. I always push them to think further and challenge them to deconstruct their intellectual boundaries so that they can learn from each other and their audiences. For the most part, students rise to these expectations, and I think it’s in no small part because I give them the time, space, and tools to do so by understanding them as whole humans.
In my classroom, this comes across as inclusivity and flexibility. It means that I check in with students on a regular basis and adjust the workload or due dates as needed. Sometimes it means working with students individually to allow them extra time to deal with family or health issues outside of school. It always means addressing issues of diversity, inclusivity, and equity within the classroom, not just in the audiences with whom students communicate, but also in their interactions with me and each other. Because of these tactics, students understand my classroom as a brave space where their health, wellness, and identities are priorities alongside my learning outcomes. My class becomes a space where all of us are working together to create a conducive learning environment.
However, this does not mean I am a pushover or that I do not have high expectations for my students; nor does it mean that my classroom is a space where students can get comfortable and complacent. Quite the contrary. A requirement to pass any of my courses is that students must complete every assignment, and I expect them to turn in professional level artifacts. I always push them to think further and challenge them to deconstruct their intellectual boundaries so that they can learn from each other and their audiences. For the most part, students rise to these expectations, and I think it’s in no small part because I give them the time, space, and tools to do so by understanding them as whole humans.