Co-teach 4

Co-teach,

It’s been a while since I’ve logged a journal entry on this forum, despite all thought-provoking and inspiring conversations we’ve had after almost every class session. It’s funny how much slower the practice of journaling can be when attempting to capture and articulate one’s thoughts, just by virtue of becoming public knowledge. I know this is an experiment on both our parts, but in real time, it’s tough not to overthink it, so thanks for your patience. I still see the value in capturing instantaneous reflections of our co-teaching experience and reactions to the content with which we engage: still eager to see what comes out of it. But for now, I am trying to get back into this practice as a way to slow down, and actively—through writing—engage the ideas I counter during this process. 

The last few weeks have had us dive deeper into how stories are told through words and visuals: we have looked at how images (captured during protests) might provoke, agitate, or inspire; we also discussed, briefly, the consequences of bringing our own bias (something we can’t really turn off or on, but requires acknowledgement) to the interpretation of said images.  The points you raised about truth and trust as being interdependent are great observations. It makes me think of another way we might define design: the intent (whether good or bad) behind the creation of an outcome—in this case the outcome being the communication of a message. There’s a lot of power and privilege that comes with that responsibility; unfortunately not everyone uses it for good. So, how do we equip our audience members with basic tools to make informed decisions on what they consume? One thing that comes to mind is the invitation of multiple points of view: for example in the context of the images we looked at in class, using frameworks such as the semiotic framework to interrogate images presented in the media and listening to a completely different narrative by someone who was on ground—like Dannie Boyd. In this case, to arrive at truth, I think, is to investigate: to ask questions and seek answers from multiple perspectives. I’m sure there’s more there, but for now, that’s a start. 

On a more recent note, during our excursion to the Old Courthouse, last week, it was refreshing to finally have class on location. Being on site and in situ has a way of forcing you to think about the past and how it relates to what we see in the present—standing on the steps of the courthouse made me think about that complex relationship between the courthouse and Dred Scott, the arch and other surrounding preservation sites. In fact, in some ways I see the dreary weather of that afternoon as a blessing in disguise; I found myself reflecting on a lot of things: thinking about the countless decisions that were made inside and outside the courtroom; the slaves whose freedom and dignity was further stripped away while they were sold from one “master” to another; those whose families were separated in the process; families who were able to fight and take back their freedom; the ones who lost their fight; and those whose stories we might never know. 

Indeed, we could have read about this case, looked at pictures of the sites, discussed and listened to historians and experts unpack these narratives, but nothing beats being onsite and allowing oneself to see, observe, interrogate, and attempt to make sense of what was and still is this story of St. Louis.

Penina

Co-teach 3

Co-teach,

One week down and my mind is already spinning.  For today’s reflection, I thought I’d raise a small question that has come to mind over our first few classes: what is truth?

In preparing for this course, we’ve returned many times to the indispensable role of narrative and storytelling to both of our professions.  Whether the words in a legal opinion or the images in a design project, we are trying to communicate and translate ideas to an audience—usually multiple audiences.  But of course we make interpretative decisions in what we choose to represent and how we choose to represent it.  

This observation is nothing new—it sounds in some ways like whatever version of Foucault one encounters in the secondary literature of any humanities discipline.  But I think it’s important for us to raise the question in the context of our course.  I am no relativist.  I believe there are truths, and indeed, Truth.  But that doesn’t mean that human efforts to represent truth are free from bias and distortion.  We see it all the time in law, when advocates or decision makers focus on “one side” of a contested, adversarial narrative.  I felt the same as you walked us through protest images.  Both the images themselves and the ways in which those who captured and those who discussed the images chose to represent them reflected all kinds of interpretive decisions not readily apparent to the casual observer.  Why this image?  Why this frame?  What happened just before, or just after, or just outside the frame?  What aren’t we seeing?  Why this lighting, or these colors, or these faces?  What is staged and what is spontaneous, and does that even matter.

I wrote some related thoughts about truth a few years back after the grand jury decisions deciding not to indict the officers who killed Michael Brown and Eric Garner.  

I’m also struck by the role of trust in relationship to these questions of truth. When we rely on the representations or interpretations of others for our information, we have no choice but to trust those who are conveying the information. And at least some of the time, we are trusting their judgment as much as their knowledge or expertise. The same, of course, is true of students and their teachers.

John

Co-teach 2

Co-teach,

I’m right there with you: as we continue to fine-tune the details of our course content, I am constantly intrigued by the breadth of compromise that goes beyond our pedagogical styles. Among many other things, I have found that being honest and extending patience towards each other to be key attributes to unlocking surprising possibilities. I still remember all the questions I had after reading the "Abdullah v. County of St. Louis" case—none of which actually had anything to do with the content of the case: What do the different symbols mean, Should I pay extra attention to the text in red, Why are there so many levels of hierarchy at play?  The discussion that ensured could have gone 10 different ways including showing me how I should read a case, but instead, we slowed things down, took the case apart step-by-step and you met me where I was. Eventually, we walked away with multiple viewpoints on how we perceived the opinion, consequently inspiring our first assignment.

On the other hand, while you were envisioning 20+ cases, I was trying to wrap my head around how long it took me to read and make sense of just ONE case. On top of that, I was concerned about how oh so little time we have to learn basic communication design principles, let alone have enough time to actually develop design deliverables. I wondered whether the students would have enough time to digest the content and come up with different ways of presenting this information. Whereas I could already see lots of ideas, messy iterations, stuff pasted on the walls to critique etc., just like you, I’d be lying if I said that the law components didn’t terrify me.

Legal language is unfamiliar territory—and quite intimidating to be frank—but I’m eager to learn it because words are to law what typography is to communication design. Reading that one case made me realize how much I was going to have to rely on your guidance to understand the legal semantics let alone the comprehensive systems underlying each judicial narrative. Already, the more we have met to plan and have conversations about the content for the class, the more I’ve come to appreciate the weight of the words of legal documents, even when I might not understand them. I also realize that we both need to allow each other permission to ask as many questions as possible and take the lead in the areas where we are expert. We’ve made strides to that end and I’m very excited to see the outcome.

It’s amazing to think that just a few months ago this course was a proposal of ideas and now, we are only a few weeks away from our first day of class. The designer in me is trained to embrace ambiguity and trust the process, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little anxious about the unknown; at the same time, I am thrilled to see where it leads—what a privilege it is to embark on this journey together!
   
P.S

People. Justice. Paper work. My initial thoughts when asked what I thought of law. Remember that question? Ha. I can’t wait to see how I would answer that question at the end of the semester.

Penina

Co-teach 1

Co-teach,

   As we have started planning this course, I’m already seeing the levels of complexity and negotiation that real interdisciplinary work requires: learning from one another, adjusting our expectations, and opening ourselves to surprises and unforeseen opportunities. When we began talking about this course, I envisioned that we might cover 20-30 cases over the course of the semester.  I think we are down to 6 cases, and I keep thinking to myself: “there isn’t much reading in this class.”  On the other hand, if I am honest with you, the design component of this class terrifies me.  I have no idea what to expect, or how to understand it—let alone teach it to students.

   At the same time, I am intrigued by the knowledge (and power) imbalance that comes from working across disciplines. In our meeting today, you showed me the workspace that you used to craft our course logo. There must have been 20-30 iterations of different colors, fonts, and layouts.  I watched you explain the emotion, intuition, aesthetic, and judgment underlying each iteration, and I was awed by the complexity.  I’ve never had a course logo.  I’ve never even had a course font.  Before you started explaining the different prototypes in your workspace, I saw only words and colors, and I could barely see the differences. But now we have a logo.  It is expertly crafted and captures a great deal of the ethos of this course.

   In the other direction, you have already reminded me how I need to slow down and unpack what seems obvious to me: the captions of judicial opinions, the legal jargon, the ways in which facts and law relate to one another. I’ve already glimpsed how working through these cases with you will open my eyes anew to the complexity of the law.  And in doing so, this experiment beyond boundaries will not only expose me to your skill and expertise but will also allow me to better understand my own.

   Looking forward to beginning this journey with you.

   John