Humility, Pedagogy, and Interdependence

The word humility has come up a few times in my discussions and readings this week and I don't think it is a coincidence. In a time of Dunning-Kruger effects, the sense of humility in our work and our ideas seems to be very much lost. It is a sad feeling especially for those in education, where critical reflection and analysis should ideally be at the heart of what we do in all disciplines, and yet that sense of humility is really lost to the intense competitive framework seen in higher education. Below I will outline the many humility threads I encountered this week.

Kathleen Fitzpatrick talks about humility in her book Generous Thinking, which I recommend, and is one of the books we are reading as part of a pedagogical reading group this term. The competitive nature of HigherEd, where there is the need to publish more, to be on more committees, to have your name on the lips of more people and more comms profiles, does not just end with instructors. It is deeply embedded in pedagogical strategies that set up competitions for placements, for awards, for fellowships. I know there are many who have been talking about this in relation to ungrading as a way to move away from the competition attached to grades, but I really want to focus on the humility of reflecting on pedagogical strategies that support interdependence as opposed to competition.

Humility cannot exist in a vacuum. To be someone who navigates this world with humility, necessarily means having interactions with others and knowing your positionality in relation to others. This kind of framing can be embedded in a lot of different places in our curriculum and pedagogy. It starts with a need to critically listen and to know that there are others that may have a specific lived experience or specialized knowledge about a thing that you don't have and it would important to defer to them. This is why citation practices are so important. You cannot lay claim to the "newness" of a field or a concept if it has already existed for decades. The best example of this lack of humility is how what folk in the disability community have been saying is ignored, but when something is convenient then all of a sudden it becomes important (the accessibility possibilities of online learning for example). It may be new to you, but it doesn't mean that it is new as a concept. Research is important, and the need to cite the people who came before you accurately is also so crucial. Here awareness and citation can be humility praxis that can part of pedagogical conversations. Acknowledge the threads of thought (as I am trying to do here).

A lot of the misinformation that is shared on social media is directly due to lack of humility. Humility is not something that comes easy to people, especially academics (because of the highly competitive nature of the systems I mention above), but we need a whole lot more of it and for it to be part of our teaching and learning spaces. Humility is also an ethical praxis. It acknowledges the experiences of others and allows one to note biases in thinking. There was an article this week that basically gave bad information about what is categorized as a disability; this person did not do their research, and that information could harm others going forward. There was an amendment posted the next day, which was good, but honestly would not have happened if others had not mentioned the error in the first place. There was a lot of humility flagging about how great it was that the article was amended, and yet I am left thinking well maybe that wouldn't have happened in the first place if they had just deferred to folk who know. I know I feel this way because I am really over the eugenic nature of every single thing right now, but ya, if you are writing about a disability issue, ask a disabled person please. 

This need to be seen as an "expert," this push to have students who graduate with "expert knowledge" is not a pedagogy of humility. It fails to acknowledge that "experts" should continue to learn from others- that is the skill of expertise; knowing that there are gaps, and there will always be gaps and who to ask to support filling those gaps. Asking questions, critical listening, awareness of other authentic lived experiences, that is some of the things that build experts, it is not ever "done;" this is continual work. 

The concept of humility was again brought up for me this week by my amazing fantastic, all synonymous adjectives, colleague Dianne, in relation to learning outcomes. We were reminded, by another colleague, who is the Indigenous student support specialist, (and I'm so grateful that she mentioned this, thank you Jessica) that humility is actually one of the seven grandfather teachings. Humility is a way to show interdependence, connection, and care. So to have a pedagogy that embeds opportunities for discussions of humility and demonstrating interconnectedness, that is also a pedagogy of care. 

There is so much more I want to say about this and I may end up writing a follow up part two next week (maybe) because I want to also talk about impostor syndrome and how humility is weaponized in grad school to reinforce an expertise model that marginalizes and erases graduate student learning. I also want to talk about how some people are part of community spaces and academic spaces and exist with such humility that they don't realize how much they are enacting positive change on others and are rarely recognized for all the work and support they put in. That's sadly the other side of humility, because if you are too humble, someone will scoop in and lay claim to your work, your thoughts, and I have seen this happen to so many people. Being someone who has humility does not guarantee that others will, and that's where harm happens, where misinformation begins, where ethical citational practices stop. 

What are some ways that you can frame humility in your pedagogy and courses? I would love to have this be a larger conversation. Thank you for reading; I appreciate you all and I am grateful to share space with such compassionate folk.