Hero-ization

Chris Hayes caused quite a bit of commotion this past Memorial Day when he expressed concerns about the way the word “hero” is used in connection with the American military.  On MSNBC, Hayes said, apprehensively: “I feel uncomfortable about the word hero because it seems to me that it is so rhetorically proximate to justification for war… I don’t want to obviously desecrate or disrespect the memory of anyone that’s fallen, and obviously there are individual circumstances in which there is genuine, tremendous heroism, you know, hail of gunfire, rescuing fellow soldiers, and things like that.  But it seems to me that we marshal this word in a way that is problematic.”

Having entered a touchy political area, Hayes shrugged his shoulders and jostled his arms, inviting his guests to discuss the matter.  Respectfully, they discussed the word “hero” as a subject of rhetorical analysis, suggesting that although there have been many acts of self-sacrifice and dedication, the word “hero” makes it difficult to understand war as part of a larger political regime not everyone necessarily agrees with.

Despite Hayes’ insistence that he was not trying to undermine any individual’s contributions to the military, his statement was attacked by conservative media.  Sean Hannity, a FOX News correspondent, called it an “outrageous comment,” and a decision to “basically spit in the faces of our fallen heroes.”  Hayes ultimately issued a written apology for his statement, which Sean Hannity also attacked, accusing Hayes of lacking the courage to apologize on television.

The debacle shows how difficult it can be — and thus, how important it is — to reflect on, well, words, particularly those that have become politicized.  Talking about the word “hero” as a subject of rhetorical analysis traces the way we use the word, examines its associations, and unravels how we create meaning through these associative contexts.  This kind of analysis forces us to face the possibility that calling all fallen soldiers “heroes” romanticizes death, war, and extreme violence, an alarming idea to those who do not view America’s military history as victoriously as the word “hero” suggests (to put it lightly).

William J. Astore makes a compelling case for those who, like Hayes, feel uncomfortable with the use of the word “hero.”  In his article, “Why It’s Wrong to Equate Military Service with Heroism,” Astore makes three arguments for why the use of the word “hero” in a military context is damaging:

1. “By making our military a league of heroes, we ensure that the brutalizing aspects and effects of war will be played down.  In celebrating isolated heroic feats, we often forget that war is guaranteed to degrade humanity.”
2. “By making our military generically heroic, we act to prolong our wars.  By seeing war as [an] essentially heroic theater, we esteem it even as we excuse it.”
3. “By insisting programmatically on American military heroism, we also lay a firm foundation for potentially dangerous post-war myths, especially of the blame-mongering ‘stab-in-the-back’ variety.”

I list these points not to express any political point on the matter, but rather to demonstrate Astore’s astute ability to see Hayes’ discomfort as a problem with language and the creation of meaning through language — not an issue of whether or not soldiers deserve to be heroes.  This distinction is essential to understanding Hayes’ point and the debates that followed.

Still, this kind of analysis always ends with that brick wall of a question:  How do we fix it?  Even if we all agreed that the word “heroism” shouldn’t be equated with military service, as Astore’s article calls for, what should we do?  Is problematizing the word, as Hayes and Astore did, enough to create a more complex picture of military service?  Should we consciously change the word?  Come up with a new one?  (Course on military rhetoric, anyone?)

At the Sentence Level

A fascinating look at various sentence techniques: click here!

Prepositions that Proposition?

“He was of a certain old-fashioned type — lanky, large-nosed, with an out-sized Adam’s apple.”

When asked to point out the most important word in this sentence, many will say: old-fashioned, large-nosed, Adam’s apple.

“A good compromise, a good piece of legislation, is like a good sentence; or a good piece of music.”
Compromise, legislation, sentence, music.

“A fool too late bewares when all the peril is past.”
Fool, late, bewares, peril, past.

“And may the odds be ever in your favor.”
Odds, ever, favor.

But what about all the other stuff in between?  Of, a, with, an, like, too, when, all, your, may, in — what happened to them?

According to James Pennebaker, a psychologist, these in-between words are practically invisible to us.  Even though we might not forget where the “a” or the “that” went when memorizing and repeating a sentence, we only recall them in order to create relationships between the important words.

Yet there are distinct ways in which we use these function words (articles, prepositions, pronouns).  And, according to Pennebaker, these patterns might even help you find your next date.

Click to read about how function words can act as a human mating call.

“Choking”: How Embarrassment Prepares You for Public Speaking

Sometimes we choke on peanuts, and sometimes we choke on senior thesis presentations.  In both cases, you can’t breathe, you can’t talk, you can’t think, and the best thing you can do is flail your arms around for someone to come and help you before you faint.

Getting up in front of people to give a presentation or a speech can be just like that.  So can sitting at a seminar table with your peers, or talking to a professor about a paper.  Have you ever been talking to someone you want to impress (your boss, a professor, a celebrity, your idol) and mid-conversation you realize you have no idea what you’re talking about?  Even though you’ve been an attentive participant in the conversation until this point, suddenly it’s like you’ve forgotten what English sounds like and you have to keep asking, “What?” as though you didn’t hear the first time.  You become extremely self-conscious of each word that comes out of your mouth, and can’t remember why you’re saying them.  You ramble for a while, but there’s no saving it and you start to peter out, hoping it’s over soon so you can hide in your bedroom with a box of cookies and watch Liz Lemon do slightly more embarrassing things on 30 Rock.

You can’t Heimlich the fear out of yourself when giving a presentation or talking in class, but here is some helpful insight that may come to your rescue, even in your most embarrassing moments.

Why You Should Apply to Become a Writing Fellow

We are looking for the next group of Writing Fellows! For those of you who know that you want to apply, applications are due Thursday, April 5th at 1 PM. For those of you who are not so sure, here are a few of the many reasons why you should apply:

• The Writer’s Process course: This course is required for Writing Fellows during the fall semester. In this class, you will not only read various articles about writing theory, how to teach writing, and how to help students with writing, but you will also gain insight into your own writing process. One of my favorite parts of this course was the intimate environment that allowed all of the WFITs (Writing Fellows In Training) to bond and learn together. You will be well-prepared (and excited!) to begin working in the Writing Center after this course.
• Helping students: Barnard can be an extraordinarily competitive environment, so it is refreshing to have conversations with students that will help them think further about and become more confident in their writing. 
• Helping yourself: There are many perks to being a Writing Fellow. For one, the pay is great, and there are many opportunities to earn extra money. I also feel like I am constantly learning about new subjects, new ideas, and new people whenever I work in the Writing Center or meet with a student from my attached class. You can’t help but to pick up new information when you’re reading a paper about Frankenstein and the sublime one day and a paper on Irish history the next day.
• Becoming a part of the Writing Fellows Program: You will never feel alone once you become part of the Writing Fellows Program. With constant support from Pam Cobrin (the Writing and Speaking Fellows Director) and Cecelia  Lie (the Writing and Speaking Programs Coordinator), multiple large and small group meetings with Writing Fellows throughout the semester, and special programs like Fellow Fellows that allow you to bond and work with other WFs, there is always someone available to ask questions or seek advice. Working as a Writing Fellow is a learning process itself, so all Writing Fellows regardless of their level of experience or major are always looking to find new and better ways of working with students and writing.

Don’t wait any longer…apply now!

Henry Miller’s 11 Commandments for Writing

Henry Miller Ravishing his New Bride, linocut print by John Steins

As we all approach that time of the semester when we begin term papers, finish our theses, or balance both at the same time, it can often feel like we just need someone to tell us what to do to make it through.  Henry Miller’s 11 Commandments for Writing may not say exactly how to get that research paper done in a today, but they do give some consoling advice.  Namely, “Keep human! See people, go places, drink if you feel like it.” And “Don’t be a draught-horse! Work with pleasure only.” Working with pleasure often seems like a difficult task when all of your professors ask for a paper at the same time and you find yourself making the library your new abode, but remember to “Discard the program when you feel like it.”  Don’t drive yourself crazy.  “But go back to it next day.  Narrow down. Exclude.”  Even while working hard, a little taking care of yourself goes a long way.

On Silence

Writing fellow applications are due soon, and a few students have asked me questions about my experience as a fellow.  I have responded that being a fellow is the most rewarding job I have ever had.  I get paid to learn.

I will elaborate through an example (sufficiently vague for reasons of anonymity):

A student recently came into the writing center armed with some factual notes that answered a very vague prompt.  She did not know how to turn her facts into an argument and how to sustain that argument for ten pages.  Since I was unfamiliar with the material, I asked her questions about the bullet points she had made and wrote down her words verbatim.  She seemed hesitant about some choices she had made, so I asked her to explain the other options she was considering.  By verbalizing an answer to that question, she understood her own thought process and became more confident with the facts she had finally chosen.

Clearly, having a dialogue was benefiting my student because she was articulating her rationale and becoming increasingly impassioned by her own logic.  Passion fuels creativity.  She brainstormed a few angles with which to proceed, talked herself out of all but one, and then formulated a working thesis.  From her thesis, she looked over the bullet points she had made, commenting to me that reading over her notes had made her feel lost before but now that she had a direction it was all making sense.

Yet she was still struggling to shape her seedling argument into a structured outline.  Silence percolated through the room.  After setting up the conference with a series of questions, I decided to unleash silence.  When I can see a student’s writing process unfold before me, I take a backseat to the personal and solitary process and let her guide herself.  Silence makes people uncomfortable, and the fact that I had never met my student did not ease the tension.  As a result, she became increasingly more loquacious and left the conference with an outline and the two pages of notes I had scribbled.  She was excited to begin writing her draft.

It was an invigorating hour, and one in which I hardly spoke but learned a great deal about a subject I would otherwise be ignorant about.