Tag Archives: writing

Stealth Teaching: The fine art of making oneself useful

As a graduate research student, you often find yourself teaching subjects that, while in your area of expertise, are so conservative and outdated that you feel bad, and perhaps even dirty for teaching them. I have an (untested, or semi-tested) way of dealing with this.

Step 1: Read the reading material on the course carefully. How can you adapt it to your own research? Trust me, there will be a way. Pick a key word or a reference from the bibliography of one of the readings, and go nuts.

Step 2: Identify students who are really enthusiastic about your area of research, especially if it’s an area that is not really taught at undergraduate level at the university. Encourage them in their pursuit of this research. Suggest they adapt essay questions to the area. Make sure it’s a fairly obscure area, but not so obscure so as not to be known. Pick something trendy, like Felix Guattari. Undergraduates love to be trendy.

Step 3: This enthusiastic army of research students, both undergraduates and postgraduates need supervisors. What to do? No one at the university you teach at has expertise in that area. They had better hire someone to teach all these young upstarts. That person had better be you, oh you who has recently finished your postgraduate studies and are looking for work. Oh, and you have a wealth of teaching experience.

This is how you stealth teach. It’s a work in progress for me, but it’s also about making sure the students I’m teaching get access to more recent research that what they otherwise would. I feel like I have an obligation to my students, and to the future of my discipline. The serious side of this is that a lot of contemporary critical theory gets ignored and dismissed by lecturers that may mean well, but are comfortable in their very specific areas that are usually pretty outdated. They will never seek to change or innovate their courses. You have to do it for them. And make sure (promise me) that you’ll never become one of them.

tunnel

tunnel vision

How to Avoid: Ever talking about your thesis topic

If you are a graduate research student, particularly if you have elected a field in humanities, the other human beings (including your undergraduate students if you’re tutoring) will only know one thing about you for sure; you’re supposed to be writing a thesis.

This is quite dangerous, because they’ll then ask what your thesis is about. As anyone who is a research student not in the final ten minutes of their candidature knows, this is a touchy, raw topic of discussion. People who are not research students tend to think they are being kind, and taking an interest by asking you about your thesis. There are two ways to deal with this sort of interrogation. The first (and infinitely more sensible way) is to have a prepared answer, I like to think of it as the thesis-pitch. This also does well when your undergraduates ask. The problem with the thesis-pitch method comes with further questioning. Either you can’t answer your interrogator without outlining a brief history of contemporary cultural theory so you can show them where your idea fits in, or (much more likely) you don’t actually know the answer to their question. Both scenarios end with you looking like a dickhead.

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The alternative method of engaging in thesis-related discussion involves reeling off the names of a few theorists and cultural artefacts (or whatever you’re writing about) that are so obscure as to put anyone off further questioning. There are two consequences of this technique; the first is that most people will inevitably think you are both a dullard, and a wanker. The second, is that very occasionally, someone will be around who actually does know what you’re talking about who will continue their investigation. You then find yourself being forced to defend an argument you barely understand and only just came up with the other day when pushed by your exacerbated supervisor. See above, re: dickhead.

There is, of course, the possibility that you have done enough work that you do know what your thesis is about, and if that is the case, I don’t see why you’re reading my advice in the first instance. Go and be a famous theorist instead, why don’t you?