“Othered” in the classroom: Using Community Autoethnography to better understand non-native and...

“Othered” in the classroom page 1

RUNNING HEAD: “OTHERED” IN THE CLASSROOM

“Othered” in the classroom: Using Community Autoethnography to better understand non-native

and perceived non-native teacher-student interactions

Paper submitted to the Instructional/Developmental Communication Division, 2015 International

Communication Association, in Puerto Rico, San Juan


SA: I tell them I’m from Chicago. But they continue to ask where I’m really from.

Introduction

The narrative form is particularly well-suited to articulating the significance of

positionality in the power dynamics of the college classroom (Vargas, 2002). Because experience

is informed by identity, both self-constructed and ascribed, such narratives are unique to each

narrator. However, through the compilation of individual narratives, we can begin to recognize

patterns that emerge throughout such individual experiences, allowing us to contextualize these

unique lived experiences within larger frameworks of social identity, the classroom, and

academia as a whole (Ellis & Bochner, 1996).

For these reasons, we undertake to avoid isolating our experiences in individual

classrooms by looking outward, toward each other, and on the experiences of teachers from

minority or marginalized populations is compartmentalized in terms of a single ethnic or cultural

designation (Hendrix, 2007). Thus we use community autoethnography in order to include the

experiences of educators expressing varied identities. Community autoethnography allows at

once for collectivity, capturing the “insider” experience (Toyosaki, Pensoneau-Conway, Wendt,

& Leathers, 2009), while allowing each informant to maintain an outsider’s perspective on the

individual experiences of the other participants. This dual perspective promotes engagement with

multiple standpoints and inhibits the tendency of self-reflective inquiry to conflate individual

meanings with universal experience.

We are male and female, from various ethnic, social, national, and religious backgrounds,

but we are each self-identified as members of marginalized or minority groups. We share our

separate and collective experiences with each other and with the larger community in the hope of

rearticulating what it means to negotiate multiple identities in the classroom. It is of course our


ultimate goal to question how and whether our otherness might be reimagined as a confounding

element in the structure of academia, an element that allows our students to contemplate the

potential for remaking academia in a way that provides a space for each of them.

Literature Review

SH: I sometimes take advantage of being the other. I also take advantage of Asian

stereotypes, like being smart, being good at math…

The Self and the Other

Otherness, or othering, in social theory refers to the self-identification process which is

led by differentiating the self (an individual or a group) from the other. The other is a person (or

a group) who is considered as not having the fundamental characteristics of the group and thus

not belonging to the group. The idea of the other is first introduced in Hegel’s book,

Phenomenology of Spirit (1977). Hegel states that an individual’s dominance over the other starts

when two different entities encounter each other. When one meets the other, he or she is

threatened by the feeling of a separation and alienation and thus tries to negate the other in order

to secure his or her own existence. During this struggle with the other, one develops one’s own

self-consciousness.

While the term otherness has a highly philosophical background, it has been applied to

explain specific social phenomena, such as social conflicts between different races, classes,

nationalities, religions, and sexual orientations. With Orientalism, Said (1978) explains how the

process of othering has resulted in the current knowledge system dominated by the “Western”

view. He states that the stronger group’s othering process is a way of reinforcing the

stigmatization of the weaker group, and controlling knowledge is a critical part of the process, in

terms of maintaining power. Said further asserts that Western knowledge of the East, such as


philosophy, history, and literature, is generated based not on fact, but on a set of distorted

archetypes generated in the service of emphasizing the superiority of Western culture.

In classroom settings, the distinction between the self and the other can be applied to the

relationship between an instructor and students. According to the otherness framework,

instructors and students are in clearly conflicting positions, perceiving each other as the other.

The power dynamics between these two groups, however, is rather complicated. In general, the

instructor is in the superior position because he or she has more knowledge and a higher

educational degree than the students and also has the power to decide the students’ grades. On

the other hand, the students can be empowered by their numerical superiority. In addition, the

students can affect the instructor’s career by completing teacher evaluations. When the instructor

comes from an ethnic minority group, or a different nationality, the degree of his or her otherness

would be perceived as greater by the students. This challenge becomes more complex in teaching

communication courses because the othering between the instructor and the students can be a

significant barrier to the communication flow between them. If the communication instructor

fails to communicate with the students, it will critically damage his or her credibility as a teacher

(McCroskey, 1992), which is the most important component of student perception of university

professors.

Self-Identity Theory

A person’s self-identity is determined by how he or she defines the other. Even though

Hegel considers that the conflict between the self and the other is inevitable, we still have an

opportunity to decide where to position ourselves; to which group we should belong. This idea

that individuals make decisions in their own social categorization is derived from self-identity

theory, proposed by Tajfel (1972). According to Tajfel (1972), social identity is defined as “the


individual’s knowledge that he belongs to certain social groups together with some emotional

and value significance to him of this group membership” (pg. 292). That is, based on diverse

characteristics in the groups, such as ethnicity, gender, religion, or socio-economic level, people

find diverse social categories within the society. In addition, by considering their own positions

in the social system, people compare themselves to other members and categorize distinctiveness

between in-group and out-group (Turner, 1975). Hogg and Abrams (1988) also suggest that

people derive their identity from the social categories to which they belong. For example, self-

identification to the specific social category becomes salient when people feel themselves part of

the group members through sharing representations of how others in the group behave.

Social identity theory consists of three psychological processes: social categorization,

social identity and social comparison (Tajfel & Turner, 1986). First, social categorization

represents that people categorize diverse groups according to the group’s characteristics, such as

attitudes and normative expectations of the group. Instead of emphasizing personal features,

people initially consider the nature of the specific group membership. Second, social identity

indicates an individual’s self-concept that reflects the groups to which he or she might belong

(1986). After categorizing diverse groups among society, a person tries to categorize himself

within a specific group. Third, social comparison explains that people tend to compare their own

group to any other groups that seem relevant (1986). That is, an individual’s self-identity can be

frequently changeable based on their satisfaction with being a group member.

When people are dissatisfied with the selected social identity, they tend to decide one of

three strategies to improve their social identity: social mobility, social competition, and social

creativity. First, the social mobility strategy explains the trend that people try to join into the new

group when they perceive their in-group provides them with negative outcomes, such as


prejudice against them. That is, when people perceive some issues from being in the specific

group, they are motivated to avoid those negative outcomes and identify themselves with the

new or better group, which does not bring them problems and provides them with improved

social identity. Second, the social competition represents that individuals continuously compare

their in-group and out-groups. In case they perceive their in-group is inferior to out-groups, they

are motivated to improve their in-group and attack out-groups. Third, social creativity implies

that people use diverse mental tricks to reduce the perceived gap between in-group and out-

groups. Through social creativity, they are able to perceive some positive outcomes from the

group to which they belong.

The instructor and student relationship can be also portrayed by this self-identity theory.

As individuals actively examine and choose the group they want to belong, instructors can also

adopt various social-identification strategies in classrooms. But different strategies have different

strengths and weaknesses. If the instructor positions himself or herself to be the same group as

the students, he or she can reduce the emotional distance with the students and promote a

friendly learning environment. However, being in the same group with the students might harm

the instructor’s authority and result in lack of discipline. Holding a vague position could also

cause some boundary issues. On the contrary, if the instructor indentifies himself or herself as

the other, it would be more convenient for him or her to have control in a classroom. Yet, a strict

learning environment and lack of interaction with students can also decrease teacher credibility,

which is often associated with perceived caring (Teven and Hanson, 2004) and affinity seeking

(Frymier and Thompson, 1992).

In case of the foreign-looking or foreign instructor who is already marked as the other by

the students, self-identification strategies become more complicated. The instructor has to add


another dimension, the foreign versus the native, to this problem and evaluate the consequences.

Do we have to admit the difference and fight the prejudice, or do we use the difference as our

unique teaching opportunity? Or are we the ones who are othering ourselves from the students?

Do we have to try to blend in and get closer to the students? The question of how our multi-

cultural identities will be reflected in the relationship with the students should be addressed as

well. How should a Pakistani-American who identifies herself as a Chicagoan and also a

Muslim, grew up in a white neighborhood, and teaches ethnically diverse students position

herself as an instructor? How should a Korean who is accustomed to the one-way lecture style

prevalent in Korea, but now doing graduate study in the United States, adapt to the expectations

of American students?

With this study, we don’t necessarily seek to answer these specific questions. Rather, the

goal is to articulate them and to acknowledge their validity, while bringing to the fore the issue

of negotiating one’s multiple identities. In this way, we seek to illuminate the often perilous

negotiation of conflicting identities that position us as at once powerful (the instructor, the

classroom authority figure) and powerless (the foreigner, the female, the suspect minority, the

model minority).

Method

SA: I have a Midwestern accent. My parents do not, they have a Pakistani accent.

JJ: My daughter will never use broken English.

SH: I worry my students don’t understand me.

Autoethnography

Much autoethnographic work begins from a defensive position. Scholars engaged in

autoethnography often find themselves dedicating a great deal of their writing to justifying their

methodological choices in far greater detail than is required of those using more traditional


methodologies and to re-answering common criticisms. While we have taken pains to outline our

methodology, we have chosen not to indulge critics or advocates by including a lengthy attempt

at validating autoethnography as a method. Our contention is that the discipline of

communication has a long history of successfully adapting and refining the methodologies of

other disciplines. The uses of first-person narrative are well-established in other fields (Suleri,

1996) and we leave the task of defending its utility within communication research to those

scholars who wish to enter the fray.

Authoethnography is the preferred method for this paper because it allows us to use

personal narratives to explore culturally specific situations about being perceived as “the other.”

Reed-Danahay (1997) says autoethnographic writing involves highly personalized accounts from

one’s own experiences, which can be used to gain a deeper understanding of a particular subject

or cultural phenomenon. Autoethnographic research places the researcher at the center of the

study and re-focuses the writing around the way the ethnographer interacts with the culture being

examined. As communication scholars and researchers in an ever growing field, we have the

unique opportunity to turn the research lens in our direction. By writing about ourselves and our

experiences we become subjects of the ensuing research and have the ability to “participate in

each other’s existence” (Bochner & Ellis, 1995).

Holt (2003) found the methodology to be an uninterrupted way to bring the audience into

the researcher’s inner world. It allows us (the researchers) to confront dominant discourses on

representation and power structures by using emotional and personal narratives to reclaim those

spaces for marginalized peoples and groups. Buzard (2003) furthers this notion by discussing

autoethnography as “the study, representation, or knowledge of a culture by one or more of its

members.” In our particular case, as instructors who are the other, or perceived as such, we have


inadvertently created our own culture wherein we share our experiences dealing with students in

our own classes or as teaching assistants working with students in large survey courses.

Autoethnography gives othered researchers multiple voices in the Western, or Western-

style, university. In autoethnography, it could become the “native’s” choice of how much or how

little of text or title page to share with the traditional Western ethnographer (Buzard, 2003).

Personal storytelling creates a space for the “native” researcher to heal the wounds that non-

native scholars and researchers have opened. It gives the native an opportunity to respond with

an inner truth that can dissolve the dominant discourse surrounding those particular subjects. As

a matter of reflexivity, it can break down the non-native’s dominant narrative and replace it with

the native’s. “Autoethnographic performance creates a space for the detached voice and the

“profane” body to dialogue reintegrating the head and the heart into academic writing, and

challenging the construction of master narratives,” (Spry, 2001).

In the context of this narrative, we refer to ourselves as “natives”; however, that term

does not mean that we are all foreign-born scholars and instructors. Rather the term “native” is

meant to distinguish us from our students who may perceive us as being “the other” when in fact

one of the instructors is U.S. native, while the other members are Korean-born. We find that the

use of narrative vignettes creates glimpses of everyday lives that can further a “contextual

richness” within subjects (Humphreys, 2005).

Community Autoethnography

To best explore the idea of the instructor as “the other”, the current paper will use

community autoethnography (Toyosaki et al., 2009) to create a multi-layered look at how we feel

we are being perceived as the other by our students. Interactive interviewing (Ellis, Kiesinger, &

Tilmann-Healy, 1997) can reveal insights, not only about us, but also helps to define our


relationship with the participants and future findings. Being able to share our stories with each

other creates a safe place where we can learn about the kind of instructors we are and the kind

we could become. Sharing experiences will allow us to learn from each other and to establish a

certain level of empathy for each other (Broome, 1991).

Ellis et al (1997) examination of bulimics offers an in-depth look at how personal and

interactive interviewing is transformative to both researchers and participants. Reflexive stories

often have the power to unlock potential research areas that have remained untouched by other

methodologies, which in the past have been concealed from the research world. Most important,

this type of analysis also gives the formerly silent researcher a voice where he or she can share

personal experiences that have influenced his or her research (1997).

Storytelling also “opens and frees one’s private interpretive market or the self, inviting

competing views of the self and others,” (Toyosaki, 2007). Sharing stories also opens us up to

redefining our identities by letting others reinterpret our narratives within their own selves,

creating opportunities for growth. However, silence will stunt that growth. When researchers

refuse to share their experiences, they close the door to the possibilities of learning and growing

as instructors (2007).

Through the avenue of community autoethnography, Toyosaki et al (2009) use the

concept of storytelling as a performance to investigate the possible criticisms involving their

teaching and learning of whiteness. The very nature of sharing experiences with a community

dictates that the end result will not be an “outsider product,” rather, it will come from the “emic”

or insider perspective of the group. In addition, community autoethnography creates a sense of

community. As researchers, we are collaborating on a team-building activity that will lead to the


furtherance of future knowledge (2009).

Process

We have not engaged here with larger questions of what it means to be the other within

the structure of academia. While this is an important and necessary conversation, our focus in

this piece is on classroom interaction, precisely because the negotiation of identities within this

context precedes understanding of oneself within the larger context of the university and of

academia. Classroom interaction is more directly personal than interaction with vaguely defined

social, bureaucratic, and administrative machineries. For this reason, we find that the

autoethnographic method is particularly suited to our purpose.

The following community autoethnographic performance deals with the subject of the

instructor as the other. In our case, we have three participants: SA, a second-generation Pakistani

American who is also Muslim; JJ who was born and raised in South Korea; and SH, also born

and raised in South Korea. SA is an Assistant Professor at a large Midwestern university that is

teaching focused, JJ is also an Assistant Professor at a teaching university in the East coast and

finally SH, who decided to leave the U.S. and academia go back to South Korea and focus her

efforts on seeking corporate/government related employment. SH’s experiences about teaching

will focus on her time during her doctorate when she was teaching large survey courses.

We met several times to discuss our experiences of otherness intersecting with our

position as instructors. We transcribed and reviewed these conversations together, then set out to

craft our individual narratives, which were informed by our community discussions. We shared

our individual narratives, then placed these within the framework of existing literature on the

subjects of otherness, pedagogy, and identity.


JJ

JJ: Yes, I have learned English for a long time, but I often experience that some students

do not understand my typical accent at all. For these students, it seems that I am

stigmatized as a foreign professor, who has a totally different cultural background and

has limited understanding about the U.S. culture.

Holding a cup of coffee on my hand, I go into the classroom. Some students who already

came to the class say hello to me, but they look very tired. “Did they have midterm exam in other

classes?” It is possible, but I know this class is just a requirement for my students and they

actually do not have a lot of interest in today’s topic. A few more students come in, and one of

them brings me questions about the assignment and due date. Although I made announcements

about them a couple of times during the class and the information is available from the syllabus

as well as our course website, I kindly spend a few minutes answering this question.

Reflecting on my undergraduate years in South Korea, I wonder why this student did not

read the syllabus before asking such a simple question. But I also know that students often pay

relatively little attention to their syllabi (Becker & Calhoon, 1999). This has me thinking about

whether I should modify the current syllabus to be more concise, so that all students can easily

read and understand it for their success. Or, is this the so-called American classroom culture –

asking questions freely before they try to find answers by themselves? As a non-native English

speaker, I am anxious about my ability to speak clearly which may result in students

misinterpreting me (Rajagopalan, 2005). I am afraid hearing from my student “Oh, I

misunderstood the assignment and deadline.” I also recognize that some students want to

challenge the authority and power of a minority professor (Ladson-Billings, 1996).

I start my class with “let’s get started,” as always. During my lecture, I do my best to

make them easily understand the concepts in the textbook. I show a movie clip to demonstrate

the concepts that I want to explain, and it seems my students really enjoy watching this clip. Yes,


I knew it would work. I prepared all these for a long time and simulated the whole class last

night and this morning. This video is really a good example of a core concept I am addressing. In

addition, my students might have further insights about the video which may foster more fluidic

discussion. So far, so good. Things go as I have planned.

After watching the video, I asked a question, “From the movie, were you able to find any

evidence of effective “non-verbal” communication? Is there anyone who can speak about unique

characteristics of “non-verbal” communication methods?” From the faces of my students, I feel

most of them have difficulty understanding my question. I rephrased the question again, and now

it is clear that they do not understand the question itself. Oh my God. I really did not expect this

situation at all. One student carefully raised her hand and asked. “Professor, you just said none

barbar, and what is barbar by the way?” I repeated “verbal” several times. After checking that

she was not able to get my “verbal” pronunciation, I wrote this word on the blackboard. Finally,

the student was laughing and said, “Oh, you meant verbal!!!! Now I see, thank you.” When I

asked other students in the class if my pronunciation of “verbal” is really that not-

understandable, most students laughed a lot. I feel sorry that I was not able to pronounce this

word more clearly.

Gil (2009) suggests that non-native English speakers are perceived by students as less

qualified than their native English speaking counterparts. Native speakers were born into the

language and as a result understand the syntax and grammar associated with the language (2009).

Further, language contains cultural idioms and non-native speakers who are not familiar with the

cultural may have difficulty grasping multiple connotations (2009).

An example of cultural differences are reflected in my previous experience with another

class. The day’s lecture was focused on Health Communication. I explained the pitfalls of


managed care system in the States by showing them a power point slide about typical hospital

stay for new moms. Comparing U.S. health care system to South Korea, I explained “New moms

in South Korea often stay in the hospital for a week while new moms in the U.S. are discharged

after 48 hours. Don’t you think 2 days are too short to be discharged?” One student raised his

hand showing his disagreement. “In OUR culture, resting at home brings us a private recovery.

We cannot rest at the hospital for such a long time because it is a shared place.” I mentioned “Ok,

you mean this is because of the cultural difference between western and oriental culture?” The

student agreed and added more comments. “Yes, I believe that home is the best healing place in

western culture.” “Ok, then how can you explain this?” I showed them the next slide. “Take a

look at this slide. All the European countries, Asian countries, and most industrialized countries,

as long as they are so called developed/industrialized countries, they all allow longer hospital

stays for new moms than the States. Your last name shows that you have a French background,

right? In France, they allow a new mom to stay at the hospital for 5 to 14 days. Do you think you

can still explain this situation with the difference between your culture and my culture?”

Having these classroom experiences, I wonder if my students could understand my

lecture better if I spoke fluent English with perfect pronunciation. In addition to fluency of the

English language, I might be able to better explain these concepts more effectively if I

understood U.S. culture better (Rueda & Stillman, 2012). I pointed out the U.S. healthcare

system is one of the most expensive and least effective in the world. How will my students

perceive this statement? Will they view their professor as an insider who criticizes their system

working towards a positive change or as an outsider who is humiliating their system? A lot of

thoughts run through my mind for the duration of the class.


After class, one of the students approaches me. “You said you came from South Korea,

right? Is that the name of the country or is it some part of China or what? I actually played ping-

pong with my Chinese friends. They are all very good players and they all look like you.” As a

Korean, I am very shocked with this question – not even knowing that my beautiful homeland is

really a country. On the other hand, I also appreciate that she felt comfortable enough to speak

frankly with me. Although I am aware that an American from a European background would

most likely not be posed such a series of questions: “You said you are from the U.S., right? Is it a

name of the country, or is it some part of Europe? You just look like my friends from other

European countries.” I remembered from my graduate school days when a staff member did not

know whether I was from South Korea or North Korea. Every time she filled out a form for me,

she complained, “Why do you have two countries? Are you from south or north?” While I am

thinking of the staff for a few seconds, a student is waiting for my answer. I answer, “South

Korea is a country, not a province of China.” I also explain, “Although many Asians look very

similar to your eyes, most of us actually have a sense to distinguish our nationality based on our

appearances. So, if you believe I look like your Chinese friend, it is like I cannot distinguish

Americans and Canadians because they all look very similar to a foreigner like me.

I decide to tell that her questions might be perceived as rude. I also started my question,

“Ok, you said you are from U.S.A., right? Let me ask you a question. Is it a name of the country

or is it some part of England or what?” She looks at me very weird. And she replies, “What do

you mean?” By asking this question, I just hope she learns her questions might be rude for some

people. Not responding my question any more, her questions continue. “Do you have any

specific foods? What do you eat? Can I try your food somewhere around here? I have never tried

any Asian foods other than the Chinese restaurant across the street. But, Chinese food looks so


greasy.” She seems really serious and oblivious to how her questions and comments might be

perceived. I recognize that she just wanted to get to know me and my culture better, but it was

clear she did not know how to approach the topic without sounding offensive. During the

conversation, I think, “Thank you for paying such attention to me, anyway.” The student might

expect that her professor would like her more or grade better due to this conversation about my

cultural background (Murphy, Araiza, Cardenas, & Garza, 2008).

As a professor, I wish to be a good communicator. However, I continue to doubt my

ability to become a great communicator. Living as an alien in a foreign country means that my

past experiences, personal stories, humor, and even knowledge about American celebrities may

be perceived negatively by native students. When your mom, dad, daughters of dad’s friends,

and sons of mom’s friends are ALL Korean, and when your teachers, peers, and colleagues for

the last 30 years have all been Korean, it is really hard not to be a “typical” Korean. For the most

part, that is me. Of course, minus the last ten years in the U.S. from when I started graduate

school. Based on my experiences, I feel some students really seem like frogs in the well. The

frogs in the well know nothing of the great ocean, which exist outside of the well. These people

just do not pay attention to international issues. It might be true that these students do not need to

know about all the issues in the world in detail. But am I effectively helping them reach their

potential as learners though effective communication in the classroom?

Do I communicate with my students? Yes, I definitely say that I can communicate with

my students and deliver my knowledge about the field of Communication. But do I really

communicate well with my students? That’s what I am afraid to answer. I am learning thiurgh

my experiences, as well as from my students. When my students talk about “50 Cent,” I initially


thought they seemed strangely attached to such a small amount of money. But now I know they

are talking about a famous rapper.

SH

SH: What if you’re a foreigner and English doesn’t come naturally to you?

I know many Korean instructors who currently teach at universities in the U.S., and

regardless of their disciplines, the one common problem they are all struggling with is the

anxiety about communicating in English. One of them confessed that he had been teaching for

five years and still felt nervous every time he stood at the podium. He even got chronic gastritis

because of anxiety. Although his case is extreme, almost all Korean instructors share similar

experiences of varying stress levels.

The fundamental reason why Korean instructors feel so insecure about English

proficiency originates from the cultural characteristics of Korea. In Korean culture, teaching is a

highly respected and honorable profession. Being a teacher means more than teaching

knowledge, but also educating values, courtesy, and of course wisdom, comprehensively.

Students expect a lot from their teachers, as well. A professor should be able to answer every

question students ask, and also arguing with teachers is considered impolite and inappropriate

behavior. As an old Korean expression says: Students should not even dare to step on their

teacher’s shadow. Think about the master and student relationship in Chinese Kun Fu movies.

That is considered the ideal relationship between a teacher and a student. In addition to that, we

have a culture of face saving (Lee, 1999). As one’s honor represents the whole family and

community’s honor, shame potential means social disaster. Korean instructors who teach in the

U.S. have high expectations for themselves. Their goal is to be the perfect professor, highly

respected by American students. If they failed to be “the perfect teacher,” it could bring shame to


their family and even to their country. But their imperfect English often prevented them from

becoming the “perfect teacher” as they were so intent on becoming.

I also faced similar challenges when I taught in the U.S. As a student, I had experienced

the U.S. education system for eight years, but when teaching became my job, I had difficulty

breaking my own expectations of becoming “the perfect teacher.” Yet my circumstances were

not helping. First of all, I was still a student when I taught, which means that I did not have a

Ph.D. to support my expertise and confidence. Also, of course, my English was not as perfect as

my students’. So, I decided to give up my dream of being the perfect teacher. I remember the

moment of surprise when I first saw one of my American professors couldn’t answer my

colleague’s question. The more surprising fact was that the professor did not appear to be

ashamed of it. Admitting the fact that she couldn’t always give an answer to all questions seemed

unexpected, but it made sense to me. My new image of the perfect teacher has evolved into a

mixture of the Kung Fu master and the American professor. I want to show confidence in my

expertise in teaching, stimulating students’ ideas and hopefully teaching them the wisdom of life,

but also to be honest about my limitations with my students and with myself.

On the first day of my teaching an introductory film course, which was my first large-

sized class (more than 70 students), I explained what I could offer to my students specifically. I

said, “My background is in media studies, so this class is likely to interpret a film as a social

medium focusing on the film’s influences on its audience and our society rather than its literature

or artistic values. I will teach you systematic methods to analyze films in terms of languages,

theories, ideologies, and movements, but I’m not the expert in movie history or production.

Some of you probably have more knowledge on those particular areas, so your opinions and

ideas are always welcome in this class. And another thing I want you to know in this class is that,


as you can see, I am a foreigner, which means English is my second language. When you don’t

understand my accent, feel free to let me know and correct my accent.”

The strategy of admitting my strengths and weaknesses had worked well. I shared my

knowledge as much as I could, and I also let my students share their knowledge with other

classmates through live discussions. To teach the subjects that I didn’t know much about, I used

various documentary films featuring those areas. When I didn’t understand a student’s question,

I asked to repeat the question or ask back the rephrased question to the student for clarification.

Since I already mentioned about my lack of English proficiency on the first day of the class, I

could be less embarrassed and stayed calm when I made grammar mistakes or had

communication problems.

I also tried to give my students the benefit of having a foreign instructor by providing

them an international perspective of the films. Showing foreign movies in class was one way to

introduce different cultures to students. One time we watched a Korean movie, Lady Vengeance,

which had completely different cinematic styles from those of Hollywood movies. I was glad

when one student commented that Lady Vengeance was the weirdest movie she had ever seen

because it proves that she was experiencing diverse cultures even if she found them weird and

strange at first. Providing a different view to look at U.S culture in class is another advantage of

being a foreign instructor. During the discussion of ideologies of film in class, I shared my

personal experiences about race and ethnicity in the U.S. and asked students to discuss their

personal opinions about race. Students were actively engaged in the discussion, and I remember

that class was very enjoyable for both my students and me.

Being a foreign instructor in communication courses was challenging. Language and

cultural barriers were not easy to overcome. Yet I think the more difficult thing to break through


was my own perceptions and expectations of myself. Switching my focus from what I expect

from myself to what students expect from me was the first step to overcome the difficulties of

being a foreign instructor. Now I know that I do not have to be a perfect teacher to be a good

teacher.

SA

SA: I’ve had students comment about my ability to speak English so well. I was born and raised

in the United States.

Thinking back to my graduate school days I can recall that even before stepping foot on

campus, I was already being labeled as “the other.” My acceptance into the doctoral program

was contingent on several major factors involving The Office of International Students and

Scholars (OISS). These issues were: My student visa status, housing situation, TOEFL scores,

current immunization records, including whether I had my tuberculosis shot at the university’s

medical center. All of this would have made perfect sense if I had just said my goodbyes to

teary-eyed relatives from Karachi; however, in my case, I had just made the 30-minute drive

over from the suburbs. All of the issues the OISS had were for their namesake: The International

Student. I was a Midwesterner, born and raised in Chicago. My transcripts from undergraduate

and graduate school were from Chicago, so was my place of birth, yet my name was not Jenny,

Beth, or Kathy, it is perceived as foreign and different. According to The Director of Media

Studies, an Armenian-American, my name is why the Communication Department at the

university flagged me as an international student.

Years later, I am now an Assistant Professor at a teaching intensive school. I recognize

my privilege. Larger proportions of faculty of color are represented in the lower ranks of

academia as lecturers, instructors and adjuncts (Bernal & Villalpando, 2010). Further, “women,


regardless of race, occupy the lowest academic ranks (lecturer and instructor) in larger

proportions than men” (2010, pg. 170). As a result, I am keenly aware that few of my colleagues

of color and even fewer of my female colleagues of color have made it through the interview

process and attained the “golden ticket” Assistant Professor rank. Students are not accustomed to

seeing professors that look like me. Thus, to break the ice, on the first day of classes I ask

students: How many of you thought I was a male? More than half the class raise their hands and

laugh. Humor works for me, especially since I teach a 4/4 load with an average of 30 students

per class with little previous teaching experience.

My education is from a large research intensive university where I spent the first two

years working in a media production-based assistantship. Unlike my classmates who spent their

years teaching, I spent my first two years hidden away in darkened editing bays and on location

shoots. When finally given the task to teach I asked myself questions like: Would I be able to

stand in front of that many students and lecture? Will they respect me as an instructor? How

about as a grown-up? Will I be able to connect with them on any level? Will they think I’m a

foreigner or an American? Will they think I am Pakistani or Indian? Should I care?

Unlike SH and JJ, I don’t have an “accent.” Although Muslim, I don’t wear the hijab

(head covering). However, I do have an olive complexion and I do come from privilege. I am

what the U.S. government refers to as the “model minority” (Dhingra, 2003). Lumped into a

much larger category with every other Asian, I do not fit within the black-white paradigm

because my middle-class status supposedly shields me from racism (2003). Looking at the crowd

of students filing into the classroom on the first day of class, I note that there are few Asian

(South or East) faces.

I grew up in predominantly white areas and dealt with the racism that ensued during the


first Gulf War and continued intermittently through 9/11. As Dhingra (2003) says: “The fact that

many-though clearly not all-Asian Americans are well educated, from middle class or above, and

live in mostly White neighborhoods further distances them from other minorities” (pg. 120).

Teaching at a school that was predominantly White was a challenge simply because of my own

preconceived notions of these students. Further, many female faculty of color continue to deal

with students who challenge their knowledge. As Chesler and Young (2007) suggest, “white and

male faculty members can make—and can assume that students will make—assumptions about

the high level of their subject matter expertise” (pg. 12). However, female faculty, especially of

color, will be regular challenged regarding their expertise and authority in the classroom (2007).

This becomes more evident as I compare my experiences with the colleague who I share my

office with.

As a tenured-white-male, he is rarely challenged by students regarding his expertise in his

subject area. In several occasions, students would ask me for his schedule, mistaking me for his

secretary. I cannot help but feel a certain level of resentment. Incidences like this and others (two

males students talking over me while I was lecturing) undermine my authority. Despite my

proven teaching and research records, I am mistaken for a secretary or forced to contact the male

students’ male coaches to help me deal with their behavior.

Additionally, as an authority figure, I am unsure of myself, can I take risks in the

classroom (Luthra, 2003)? While my white, male colleague is a tenured professor, I am on the

tenure-track. Thus, taking chances in the classroom becomes a larger risk, (I do not want to elicit

negative student evaluations), while maintaining a challenging learning environment.

I recognize that while education is liberatory, it often glosses over the fact that the

perceived norm is a white, male teacher (2003). Although my desire is to make the classroom a


place for breaking that dominant image, I find challenging students to step away from the norm

all while trying to create a legitimate space for myself is difficult (2003). Yet I continue to strive

to meet my students learning needs. As the chair of my department once said to me, “you bring

an international perspective to the students and it’s something they need.”

Conclusion

The narratives we have offered here demonstrate both the diversity of experience among

teachers from traditionally marginalized groups. This, of itself, is not unusual. What is unusual in

these narratives is the shared refusal to be bound by our otherness. We focus not on what our

students might think of our differences, but on the possibilities offered them through their

experience of our otherness.

We present this community autoethnography in the hope of showing through our

individual narratives and communal conversations that the possibility of using difference—of

sexuality, ability, ethnicity, religion, and race—is possible within many contexts. The specific

constructed or ascribed identity, the subject matter of the course, the pedagogical method, may

all vary. The opportunity presented to us to use our otherness as an asset in the classroom,

however, remains the same. We can choose to avoid falling into the trap of defensiveness and

blame, of resenting our students’ constricted view of the world and instead become vulnerable

and offer our differences to students and allowing them to experience them with us.


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