As an historian, I fervently believe that the college classroom should be treated as a laboratory where real-world issues can be viewed in all of their complexity and then made understandable. In fact, as someone whose undergraduate career spanned an interrupted eleven years from start to finish, I have always been a bit squeamish subscribing to the notion that there is a “real world,” outside of academe, or similarly that the academy is not a corner of that so-called real world. 

Both through subject material and through pedagogical strategies, I endeavor to convince students that history is a portal through which they can simultaneously connect to the events of the past and connect to that very real world of which they are already a part. When teaching within my field, cultural history, I try to highlight the ways that people have made meaning of their own lives. Quite often, these lives have included hardship, failure, soaring expectations, and moments that are inscrutable. During my own undergraduate career at Brown University and during my years as a publicist, writer, editor, and researcher, I experienced poles of confusion and confidence that are milestones of the liberal-arts experience. I had a range of experiences that suggest to me that undergraduate lives are not that far removed from those of the paragons of history who often serve as the subjects of texts and lectures.

Alas, there is more to history instruction than cultivating an ability to emotionally relate to twenty-somethings. The pedagogical implications of education theorists such as Kenneth Bruffee and Lisa Delpit suggest that students can learn well if given the opportunity to exchange ideas with their peers. As a peer writing tutor for other undergraduate students at Brown, I learned to value collaborative learning environments.  One shape that these pedagogical ideas take in my classroom is in students’ written reflections on our readings, which form the basis of our recitation discussions. These written reflections allow students to observe their colleagues’ thoughts prior to class and to probe and organize their own ideas. Such prior-to-class preparation sets the stage for powerful discussions – discussions that enable us to better access the depths of historical meaning.

As an instructor, I try to bridge the needs of the particular class without dominating discussions. Though I am confident in my ability to present my voice as the authority, in actuality mine is just one voice out of several. Therefore, one of my foremost goals is to filter my own understandings – including necessary facts, figures, and empirical data – into what I imagine as a symphony of voices. Here again, the real world intrudes, as another of my standing goals is to allow a space for students to grow their skills, habits and confidence as discussion leaders, meeting moderators, and public speakers. Having passed through my classroom, they should have learned to take ownership of the baton that guides the symphony of voices. I encourage students to individually create discussion questions and to lead a session of our discussions, partnering with one of their
colleagues, or with me.

Yes, learning occurs inside the classroom. But the classroom is only the most visible site of learning, where instructors and students “re-group” to reflect on and share what they have discovered outside of class. In this respect it is much like the tip of the iceberg that is our real world.