Academic Food Chain

It's always been apparent that there was a hierarchy within schools: not only are students ranked according to ability in their class placements, but the perception of departments and their members also feed into this system. (Get it? Feed!)

At my alma mater, the English building was tucked at the edge of campus—about a ten-minute walk from the academic quad—and was in disrepair. It's been a "temporary" building for over two decades; it will eventually move into another old (but nicer) building at some point. Maybe. Let's face it: English wasn't the bread-and-butter of the institution; there were several departments far more sought after and therefore far more glamorized.

Even so, there was a hierarchy within the English major. Although I generally didn't spend time with English majors outside of class (too much granola), I did get the distinct impression that the Creative Writing concentration was more prestigious. I may have taken the program for granted, but others didn't: it required a submission of a portfolio, which was judged by an admissions board. The other concentrations within the English major (rhetoric, various types of lit) did not have such stringent requirements.

This social assembly had been pushed to the back of my mind while I taught in a public high school. There I wouldn't say English teachers reigned on high, but we did have a reputation for assigning the most work and for being the most hard-nosed. (This was certainly true of the high school I attended, and I am inclined to think this is a general rule.) What took me by surprise, however, is that this happens to also be true at the university level as well. At a faculty meeting today, the Program Director said that full time lecturers would be pairing up with members of other departments to help them incorporate more writing lessons into their teaching. Apparently there have been members of other departments coming to us because they are uncertain of their own writing ability, and thus lack the confidence to teach writing or grade the writing of their students.

My first thought was glee: Others realize that writing matters! This is an excellent opportunity to make cross-curricular ties and (as the director pointed out) boost the reputation of the lowly writing department.

My second thought went back to the concept of a hierarchy: Others have a respect for writing teachers. I found this surprising. In our heart of hearts, we English teachers hold a secret contempt for those people who contribute to the world in some tangible way. No, I don't devise innovative products for consumers, but I teach students how to read, write, and think more critically. I don't do people's taxes, but I teach students to appreciate Shakespeare. I don't cure diseases, but I teach students to become better citizens. This is my job, and most days I'm proud of it, despite what American values have influenced me to think.

And for this job I don't get much compensation, nor do I truly need it (though it would be nice). My motivation for becoming an English teacher is purely selfish: I don't want to live in a society with illiterate degenerates who can't string a sentence together. Somewhere along the line, however, I became emotionally invested in the students of English, and it is for them that I go to work every day.

Whether it is in the forefront of my mind or forgotten amidst the frenzy of everyday life, I am confident that English does matter. In fact, we English teachers have been acknowledged as the teachers of teachers, a significant accomplishment for those of us who spend our lives in a field that everyone else dreads. Although we may not be at the top of the food chain, at least we don't get devoured too often.