by Neil Postman
I acknowledge that questions like these have generally been barred from high school classrooms and students have had to wait until college or even graduate school before confronting them. This is a mistake, for two reasons. First, because, as I have said, teenage youth are knowledgeable about the varieties of media available in American culture and are likely to have refreshing insights into their effects. Second, as I have also said, they are apt to be unaware of the fact that there are serious arguments being made about the advantages and disadvantages of their media-made world, and they are entitled to be informed about and heard on the matter.
And there is one other point to be made: The approach I have outlined here—the study of the arguments about freedom of expression, about a melting-pot culture, about the meaning of education for an entire population, and about the effects of technology—is not simply a theme around which to organize a school curriculum. I mean to say that this is a powerful story that is at the core of what America is about. The story says that experimenting and arguing is what Americans do. It does not matter if you are unhappy about the way things are. Everybody is unhappy about the way things are. We experiment to make things better, and we argue about what experiments are worthwhile and whether or not those we try are any good. And when we experiment, we make mistakes, and reveal our ignorance, and our timidity, and our naïveté. But we go on because we have faith in the future—that we can make better experiments and better arguments. This, it seems to me, is a fine and noble story, and I should not be surprised if students are touched by it and find in it a reason for learning.
8 • The Law of Diversity
In his vast study of democracy in America, Alexis de Tocqueville concluded that all our political problems end up in the courts. Had there existed a public school system when he wrote, he might have added that all America’s social problems end up in school. Are students insufficiently motivated to learn? Are they confused about or ignorant of the moral aspects of sex? Do they drive cars badly? Do they need psychological counseling? Are they uninformed about the dangers of drugs, alcohol, smoking, AIDS?
In America, it becomes the school’s business to do something about these things. Of course, we have ample evidence that the schools do not do them very well, and there are those who believe that by assigning the schools the task of solving intractable social problems, we turn them into well-funded garbage dumps. This is a rather gross way to state the objection, frequently made by people of ill will. But there is, nonetheless, a reasoned complaint against the schools’ trying to do what other social institutions are supposed to do but don’t. The principal argument is that teachers are not competent to serve as priests, psychologists, therapists, political reformers, social workers, sex advisers, or parents. That some teachers might wish to do so is understandable, since in this way they may elevate their prestige. That some would feel it necessary to do so is also understandable, since many social institutions, including the family and church, have deteriorated in their influence. But unprepared teachers are not an improvement on ineffective social institutions; the plain fact is that there is nothing in the background or education of teachers that qualifies them to do what other institutions are supposed to do. It should be clear, by the way, that in this argument the phrase “unprepared teachers” does not mean that teachers cannot do their work. It means they cannot do everyone’s work.
Having noted this, I hasten to say that it is not likely that Americans will change their views of school responsibilities, especially at a time when the potency of other institutions is problematic. Among the more controversial efforts along these lines is the attempt by some schools to ensure that students cultivate a deep sense of ethnic pride, a task once undertaken mostly by the family. I have, earlier, revealed that I think this to be a bad idea—to the extent that it subordinates or ignores the essential task of public schools, which is to find and promote large, inclusive narratives for all students to believe in. The principle of diversity is such a narrative and it is sometimes, strangely, confused with the idea of ethnic pride. To promote the understanding of diversity is, in fact, the opposite of promoting ethnic pride. Whereas ethnic pride wants one to turn inward, toward the talents and accomplishments of one’s own group, diversity wants one to turn outward, toward the talents and accomplishments of all groups. Diversity is the story that tells of how our interactions with many kinds of people make us into what we are. It is a story strongly supported by the facts of human cultures. It does not usurp the function or authority of other social institutions. It does not undermine ethnic pride, but places one’s ethnicity in the context of our common culture. It helps to explain the past, give clarity to the present, and provide guidance for the future. It is, in short, a powerful and inspiring narrative available for use in our public schools.
Among the many expressions of cultural diversity, there are four that stand out as of particular importance: language, religion, custom, and art and artifacts. Each of these may be thought of as a major subject or theme capable of revealing how difference contributes to increased vitality and excellence, and, ultimately, to a sense of unity.
Language
To give prominence to the study of the history of the English language cannot fail to offer students a clear view of the significance of diversity, and it is a wonder to me that those who speak passionately about the importance of diversity have not thought of this. As I have previously noted, English is the most multicultural language on Earth, and anyone who speaks it is indebted to people all over the world. It has been said, for example, that English is merely the French language pronounced badly. A wild exaggeration, of course, probably uttered by an embittered Frenchman. But, in fact, the English language has taken thousands of words from the French, beginning in the twelfth century. To take one small example: Almost all the words we use in law come from French—bail, bailiff, jury, larceny, embezzle, perjury. On the other hand, it might also be said that English is merely the German language pronounced badly, starting, as it did, as a Teutonic tongue. Or we may say that English comes from the Danish language. Almost all modern English words with an sk sound, such as skill, skim, scare, and sky are of Scandinavian origin, and it is more than likely that our words man, wife, house, life, winter, and many verbs—to see, to hear, to ride, to sit, and to stand—are also of Scandinavian origin.
How these words came to be part of English is a result of multiple invasions and conquests. Diversity sometimes comes at a heavy price. The Angles, Saxons, and Jutes (from northern Germany) invaded Britain, which was a province of the Roman Empire, drove out the Celts, and spoke the language we call Anglo-Saxon. In the eighth century, the Danes came, saw, and conquered. In the eleventh century, the Normans arrived. Otto Jespersen, one of the preeminent scholars of the history of English, and himself a Dane, wondered why most English words for meat before it is cooked are of Saxon origin—for example, cow, swine, sheep, and calf—while most of our words for meat after it is cooked are of Norman origin—beef, pork, mutton, and veal. His explanation: Since the Normans conquered the Saxons, the Saxons became their servants. In the kitchen, they used their own words; in the dining room, they were required to use Norman words. (This still leaves one mystery: Our word breakfast is of Saxon origin; dinner and supper are of Norman origin. Perhaps the Normans didn’t eat until noon?)
To study the history of the English language is, therefore, to study the history of English-speaking peoples, or vice versa, which is the way I think it might be done if we wish to stress the importance of cultural interactions. I cannot say at what age students ought to begin the study of the history of English in ways that stress its multicultural dimensions. I know it can be done in the seventh grade, since I have done it.
Keeping an old teacher’s tendency toward nostalgia under tight control, I can remember, nonetheless, the enthusiasm and even wonder of seventh graders discovering, first, the origins of their own names and then the various sources of the names of common foods. The latter assignment
asked the students to imagine that four of them went to a local diner for lunch and gave the following orders: The first wanted soup, a cheeseburger with squash, and coleslaw on the side, then some tea with cherry pie. The second wanted a waffle, a banana split (this was years ago, when everyone knew what a banana split was), and coffee. The third wanted chili with plenty of pepper, and a cookie. The fourth ordered a turkey sandwich with gravy and soy sauce, and a Coke. The task was to discover the languages from which each of these food names originated. Soup derives from French; cheese comes from Latin; burger from German; squash, American Indian; cole slaw, Dutch; tea, Chinese; cherry, German; pie, Irish; waffle, Dutch; banana, African; coffee, Arabic; chili, Spanish; pepper, Indian; cookie, Dutch; turkey, Arabic; gravy, French; soy, Japanese; Coke, American. (I didn’t include pizza because I thought it was too obvious.)
The imagined lunches may not have been nutritious for the body, but were for the mind. The assignment led us into a reasonably sophisticated study of the growth of English and its debt to languages all over the globe. The study may be called “etymology,” or “historical linguistics,” or, simply, “origins.” Perhaps “origins” in elementary school because it is less frightening; “etymology” in high school; “historical linguistics” in college. The name is not important; the inquiry is.
It is possible that the subject can be introduced even earlier than the seventh grade, since most children are interested in where words come from. It is also well to keep in mind Jerome Bruner’s famous dictum (from his The Process of Education) that any subject can be taught in an intellectually respectable way to children of almost any age.
American English is especially well suited to a celebration of the virtue of diversity, since the multicultural influences on it have been continuous and powerful. There is no group that ever came to America, or was here before anyone came, that has not contributed words, and therefore ideas, to the language. I recall the astonishment of an African-American student upon her discovery that the word hominy is a North American Indian word. This fact sparked her interest in tracking words of African-American origin (here indeed was ethnic pride, but within the context of diversity). There are many such words and she may, to this day, still be trying to pin down the origin of juke (as in jukebox), which seems to have come from black musicians in New Orleans, but nobody is sure.
Walt Whitman wrote that “the new times, the new people, the new vistas need a new tongue,” and added, “yes, and what is more, they will have such a new tongue.” He was right. But we did it by borrowing from every language that made itself available, including hundreds of names of rivers, mountains, towns, and regions taken from American Indians. We also did it through the agency of slang. Slang is a form of colloquial speech that has a bad reputation, largely perpetuated by schoolteachers. They have a point, since slang is almost always created in a spirit of defiance, which is why its most consistent creators are those from disaffected groups, people with grievances. Perhaps the most creative sources of American-English slang in our own time are African-Americans, who are particularly adept at reversing traditional meanings—bad becomes good, as does funky and fat. A woman who is looking especially good may be said to be “fat plus biscuits and gravy,” and something may be so “cool,” it is “hot.” Aggrieved women, oppressed homosexuals, confused immigrants, and, of course, radical students have richly endowed the language with new words and new meanings for old ones. The words mob, chum, crony, and snob come to us from university students early in this century. And new terms keep coining. Linguistic diversity, in other words, comes not only from other languages but from the variety of social and regional dialects within our own language. It does not take very long when studying the origins of English words before one realizes how much is owed to the principle of diversity.
But I do not think it is sufficient for our students to know only the English language. If we are serious about making diversity a central narrative in the schooling of the young, it is necessary for our students to learn to speak at least one language other than English fluently. This sort of thing has been said many times before, and for a long time, but, I fear, has not been accomplished, or indeed even tried. Our failure is something of a worldwide embarrassment. The standard joke in other countries: What do we call someone who speaks three languages? Trilingual. Two languages? Bilingual. One language? An American. There are several reasons why we have failed to accomplish the task of teaching other languages, including starting too late (in high school), bad foreign-language teaching, and the nearly complete sufficiency of English for thousands of miles in every direction. There is even a political movement to discourage the use of foreign languages among our citizens by making English the “official” language of America. This is another one of those ideas borrowed from the French, who are obsessed with protecting their language and who even have an official academy to help keep it pure. But the English language needs no help in this way. English is not only the unchallenged language of America but is rapidly becoming the second language of the rest of the world. Nonetheless, this idea of an “official” language has possibilities—if the intention is to ensure that everyone will learn to speak it. Suppose we made, let us say, French our “official” language for fifteen years, then Japanese for the next fifteen. The English language would still be spoken by nearly everyone, but in thirty years, we would all be trilingual. Put that idea aside (you have already done so), although it may take an almost equally desperate idea to get us to pursue in a serious way foreign-language learning.
The reasons for serious foreign-language learning are many and various. First among them is that a foreign language provides one with entry into a worldview different from one’s own. Even a language as similar to English in structure and vocabulary as Spanish will give different connotations to ideas and things, and therefore will suggest that the world is not exactly as the English language depicts it. Of course, languages such as Japanese, Chinese, and Russian will reveal this fact much more precisely. If it is important that our young value diversity of point of view, there is no better way to achieve it than to have them learn a foreign language and, it should go without saying, to begin to learn it as early as possible—in the first grade, for example.
One might also add that in preparing our young for the twenty-first century, bilingualism (at least) would seem to be a necessity. For some reason which is unknown to me, educational visionaries do not stress this point. They insist that competence in using computers is essential in a global economy, apparently believing that speaking a foreign language is not; at least one does not hear the importance of foreign-language learning spoken of very much. As I have already said, almost everyone is in the process of learning to use computers, irrespective of how much attention is given to the task in school. But if our schools pay little attention to foreign-languages, about 80 percent of our population will remain monolingual (at present about 32 million Americans speak a foreign tongue, leaving more than 200 million who do not). I suppose that if one must be monolingual, English is quite satisfactory, since it embodies the worldviews of so many different languages. But the point is that our young ought not to be monolingual, and if the schools paid less attention to driver education and other such marginal tasks, our students wouldn’t be.
Religion
I am aware (who isn’t?) that the words religion and public schools do not go together. Not in America. They are like magnets that, upon getting too close, repel each other. There are good reasons for this, among them the First Amendment, which, even before it mentions freedom of speech, prohibits Congress from establishing a national religion. This has been wisely interpreted to mean that public institutions may not show any preference for one religion over another. It has also been taken to mean, not so wisely, that public institutions should show no interest in religion at all. One consequence of this latter meaning is that public schools are barely able to refer to religion in almost any context.
It was not always so. I vividl
y recall singing Christmas carols in assembly when I was in public elementary school. About 60 percent of the students were Jewish, but this did not prevent them from singing enthusiastically, and in tune. I do not remember anyone’s protesting, although Harold Posner and I took pleasure in amending some of the words (“Deck the halls with rows of challah”). We were trying to be cute, not defiant. I believe we thought “Silent Night,” “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” (naturally, we sang, “Hark! All Harold’s Angels Sing”), and “Joy to the World” were merely American songs without religious significance. And I even suspect that most of the Catholic students thought the same. I do not speak of Protestants, since in my neighborhood they were too few in number to draw conclusions about, although I do remember that Henrietta Gutmann, a Lutheran, always had a mysterious, faraway look in her eyes when we sang “Silent Night.” This worried me a little, as it hinted that there might be something there that I was missing.
The situation appears to be different these days. Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and atheists do not want Christian rituals, including songs, to be imposed on them—that is, to be given preference over their own rituals. I feel quite sure Thomas Paine and Thomas Jefferson would agree with them on this point, and so do I. But it does not follow from this that the public schools should ignore religion altogether.
There are several reasons for this, all of them obvious. One is that so much of our painting, music, architecture, literature, and science are intertwined with religion. It is, therefore, quite impossible (impossible by definition) for anyone to claim to be educated who has no knowledge of the role played by religion in the formation of culture. Another reason is that the great religions are, after all, the stories of how different people of different times and places have tried to achieve a sense of transcendence. Although many religious narratives provide answers to the questions of how and when we came to be, they are all largely concerned to answer the question, Why? Is it possible to be an educated person without having considered questions of why we are here and what is expected of us? And is it possible to consider these questions by ignoring the answers provided by religion? I think not, since religion may be defined as our attempt to give a total, integrated response to questions about the meaning of existence.
