Community Literacy
Programs
and the Politics of Change.
The Public Work of Rhetoric_nodrm
It also requires introduction and ample oppor- tunity for authentic multimedia and computer tool use and is in line with an infrastructural approach to composing in new media.
In community and institutional settings that rely on new media, infrastructural constraints both enable and limit the knowledge work possible.
Unfortunately, these infra- structures remain largely invisible until they break or their limits have been reached.
The when of new media composing came to the foreground as issues with accessibility and transportability of our work emerged.
Here the immer- sion in the infrastructural limits and knowledge needed to circumvent these moved from being simulated to an actual exigency--our collaborators' needs became apparent at the receiving end.
At the same time as we were determin- ing the naming conventions and boundaries of our file production, we were also determining the boundaries of our representational authority.
While file- naming conventions might feel simply technical in nature, they were rhe- torical and had everything to do with our audience's goals for content and establishing the nature of our authoritative and representational limits.
Overt instruction in how to manage projects moved to the foreground as students began to see that they did not own this work, but were producing pages that would eventually be uploaded, changed, and resaved at the CN. File management lessons were crucial to this process as teams took these les- sons and developed naming protocols for the site's architecture. Their nam- ing protocols made explicit the ways that knowledge work must be handled within class and were created with an upstream audience in mind--the web- master and her team at the Cherokee Nation had to be able to make sense of the file structure and naming conventions. While instruction in file manage- ment came at the beginning of the semester, it was encountering infrastruc- tural constraints of having to transfer and reclaim so many files that made this a practice that took into consideration the transportability and life of the files outside of class.
File management is rhetorical at another level: we were developing and naming content areas, tracing out for our collaborators the scope and nature
186 Ellen Cushman and Erik Green
of what we were to represent. Some students became uncomfortable with their lack of tribal knowledge as they were bringing together the content of the papers into what would become the files developed for content nodes. They were concerned that, as outsiders, they were not getting it right and worse that they had no right to be talking about how family structures changed, for instance, because they did not know what family structures were like before allotment and now.
By happy coincidence, we had a visit by Craig Howe, a speaker brought to campus and a new media developer who worked with the Lakota to create multimedia educational resources about their winter counts. When some stu- dents voiced their concerns about the limits of their knowledge of the tribe, he assured us all that we were representing the history of the Nation and not the tribe. He explained that he was not allowed to show many of his multi- media works outside of the Lakota tribe because they represented tribal knowl- edge. However, when a nation commissions a work, and much of that work is drawn from historical documents, it is not likely to be representing tribal knowledge so much as a nation's history. While Ellen had assumed students would inductively understand this distinction from the nature of the histor- ical documents we were using, Craig's explicit instruction put to rest students' initial concerns by pointing to the ways that indigenous peoples articulate a difference between nations and tribes.
In both their authoring of the content and saving it under conventional- ized file structures, students were developing their sense of authoring and ownership to include audiences and exigencies beyond this class. Importantly, this critical reflection would not have been prompted had the infrastructural constraints presented themselves and the rhetorical boundaries of their work became evident to them. In a praxis of new media, then, the technical is often rhetorical and the instrumental subject to exigencies of audiences.
Critical Framing in a Praxis of New Media
In a pedagogy of multiliteracies, critical framing results from interpreting the social and cultural context of particular designs of meaning. This interpreta- tion and critique means applying a critical theory to whatever problem, issue, or object is under study. Rather than asking students to enact disinterested critique of the content they were developing, as a pedagogy of multiliteracies might ask, a praxis of new media demands that students have deep immer- sion in and commitment to the products they are producing. Their analysis is done from the perspective of becoming ethically involved in what they are studying, having a stake in making new knowledge, and viewing it critically in relation to its context. For students, their positions as stakeholders in the project emerged in various instances of strong responses that they had when they increasingly took hold of the authoring responsibility, ownership of the structure of their learning, and initial representations of this learning.
Knowledge Work with the Cherokee Nation 187
One of the unexpected results of our work was the very emotional response that we had with the material. We remember one student in particular who broke into tears when we were sharing our research papers with each other. For the most part, no one in the class had any extensive background in Chero- kee history, but through our immersion process at the beginning of the class we were all situated as "experts" by the time our research papers were finished and we were preparing to create our multimedia project. Although no one in the class, outside of the instructor, was Cherokee, as a result of our immersion in the history, and as we prepared to try to tell that story through our proj- ect for others, there was a distinct emotional connection that was made--one that rarely happens with other traditional research assignments. This emo- tional connection to the work increased the sense of authorship we had as we moved from knowing little to being immersed in the topic enough to see our- selves as novice-experts.
Finally, after immersing ourselves in two very different discourses of learn- ing content, then the software to present this content, and becoming profi- cient in them (although it was to varying degrees how much the students personally felt like they had become "experts"), we were able to tackle the actual issue of creating our project. At first we had to consider the overall rep- resentation of the materials we thought would work best for the Nation and users who came to the site. We visually arranged the topics of our papers using Post-it notes on a whiteboard and as a class discussed the generalized topics and overarching areas we envisioned for the major categories of our project-- what we dubbed "nodes," which eventually became the hotlinks around the septagon as seen in the image that opens this essay. We presented a wire frame of the interface to the Cherokee Nation that included a node for reli- gious practices, among others, and they agreed that the design, potential con- tent, and navigational structure of the wire frame was strong.
We were simultaneously balancing ideas of organization, rhetoric, and design as we considered the ways that our categories could successfully cover all the topics we wanted to talk about, the ways that our written research papers could be the starting point for each of those topics, and the ways that our design would fit the rhetoric we designed for the project as a whole. As all of the pieces of the class came together then, the sense of being a stakeholder in the project emerged from immersion that went beyond disinterested cri- tique to a commitment to the purpose, content, and scope of the knowledge work. This critical framing of course included interpretation and analysis in the content of our papers, especially as we each tackled one aspect of Chero- kee history and culture and tried to reveal how the allotment process changed it, but it also included an ethical commitment to the ownership and author- ship of the work. One student in particular became deeply interested in the Cherokee stomp dance as a tradition that has been maintained despite allot- ment and the increased importance of the Cherokee Baptist church to the
188 Ellen Cushman and Erik Green
tribe. He created a digital video describing the stomp dance, piecing together additional research on the Internet and books to describe the dance. Because the CN representatives had already endorsed the inclusion of religious prac- tices and the placeholder content that indicated we were going to talk about Cherokee Baptists as well as stomp dance, we thought it would be strong con- tent to add. However, as the next section shows, the critical framing and immersion in the project brought about thornier issues in representation.
Transformed and Ethical Praxis of New Media
Transfer in meaning-making practice is based on the experienced needs and purposes of communities. To this, a praxis of new media adds the component of public writing for purposes and within exigencies designated by stakehold- ers. New media and digital technology are learned as they are used in critical interpretation and production activities that increase students' civic partici- pation; and teaching and research are conducted with community members and students in collaborative inquiry for problem solving. The praxis of new media hit home for students how their authorship, ownership, and represen- tational practices were being changed as they engaged in this knowledge work.
The final challenge to our understandings of representation could not be foreseen in the content we developed. One of the surprising results of work- ing with a partner outside of our group and gifting them with a rhetorical cre- ation was some of the final content management that the Cherokee Nation did. In particular, we had a section outlining some of the religious practices of the Cherokees, especially in regards to the way these were used as a form of resistance. However, the Cherokee Nation decided that they did not want this sort of information published since it dealt a little too closely with prac- tices that they considered sacred and private, so whole pages of that subnode were removed--including the video file describing the stomp dance that one student had spent weeks developing. It was his main contribution to the en- tire node. Especially given the time and effort that the individual who created that subnode and video spent in making his section, it was tough to imagine having parts of it removed, but we realized that it was necessary to under- stand and respect the reasons for doing so.
In this way, even though we had taken pride in the work and our author- ing of the best site possible, we understood that our representations may not be as culturally relevant as they should have been, or in this case, that they were too culturally relevant and the CN did not want this tribal knowledge to be widely disseminated. 12 This became evident to Ellen as she worked with the CN collaborators in Tahlequah. They debated for some time the possible inclusion of this stomp dance video and the text surrounding it in this node. Recognizing the hard work the student had done, they still were not comfort- able with the level of nuance in the video--stomp dance differs from ground to ground, and it seemed that this representation was both revealing too much
Knowledge Work with the Cherokee Nation 189
and not enough. In the end, when the project was handed over to the Nation, our ownership of it ended though our responsibilities for representing their history did not. The historical representations were strong and accurately re- flected the immersion that students had in the history of the Nation, but the ways that the Nation articulated itself to us as a public face for the tribe had to be learned the hard way--by developing content that ultimately could not be included despite initial green lights for inclusion.
We learned firsthand and the hard way the difference that Howe explained: we were immersed in and representing the history of the Nation and the his- tory that the Nation wanted us to represent; we were not immersed in or representing the culture or the tribe's cultural practices. This rhetorical and ethical boundary emerged as the work progressed and the Cherokee Nation's representatives articulated the difference between the Nation's history and the tribe's cultural practices, a difference we were ethically bound to respect. While we had immersed ourselves in the historical representations of the Nation, we mistook this immersion as knowledge of cultural practices.
Implications
As these examples illustrate, students' previously held notions of authorship, ownership, and representation shifted as this course progressed and even after the final project had been delivered. All of these aspects of learning in a praxis of new media reveal the ways in which it is important to press boundaries of conventional writing classroom practice, but also point to the limits of knowl- edge work with community partners.
With so many shifts in learning contexts--from the content of the course, to the tools used to represent it, to the exigencies and purposes for learning, to the audiences who read this writing--the effect can cause strong emotional response and dissonance. If students and professors understand the ways in which a praxis of new media revises knowledge work, then perhaps some of the dissonance might be mitigated. In subsequent iterations of this course, the ways in which the work would unfold were expressed upfront, placed into the syllabus for the course, and repeated frequently so that students could at least anticipate the challenges this class content and tools present to their pre- vious forms of learning, writing, and reading. Ellen has been especially care- ful to make explicit for students how they will be immersing themselves in the history of the CN that is for the most part publicly available, as opposed to immersing themselves in the culture of the Cherokee tribe.
The lessons we learned are important for work that engages students in participating in public rhetorics. First, the technical is often rhetorical. Know- ing infrastructural limits and working within and against these is a rhetorical process that must take into account the needs, purposes, capacities, exigen- cies, and work activities of audiences beyond our classrooms. 13 Second, stake- holders in public writing collaborations set the representational boundaries
190 Ellen Cushman and Erik Green
that often articulate the autonomy of themselves as a "we" that protects cul- tural knowledge while producing historically accurate materials. Students learn to compose the public face of an organization or tribe from historical texts and/or highly selected texts that the stakeholders want to be used. Their im- mersion in and with texts does not equate to immersion with a culture; writ- ing a valid history is powerful work that is quite different from writing a valid ethnographic representation.
The knowledge work taking place at the intersection of critical, digital, and community literacies is certainly complex and complicated, at times daunt- ingly so. A praxis of new media is an intellectual framework for scaffolding active work; rather than disappearing into the work once a project begins, the framework always allows one to see, critique, and adjust practice throughout the development and iterations of that work. This framework provides a metalanguage for learning how to learn, and may offer a buoy to help profes- sors and students understand the changing nature of the learning unfolding in the class. The intellectual framework of a praxis of new media will be use- ful to describe the knowledge work unfolding in public rhetorics.
Notes
1. Cherokee Nation, Allotment.
2. Ellen's family went through this process of allotment and enrolled on the Dawes roll, a kind of census for the Cherokee Nation and other tribes. Because they went through that seven-year-long process, today's generations of Drews (my Cherokee fam- ily's name) are able to maintain our citizenship with the tribe.
3. While helping the Cherokee Nation produce a counternarrative is an important topic that Ellen has explored elsewhere, this essay focuses more on the transformative learning for students understood within a praxis of new media. Cushman and Ghosh, "Mediation. "
4. To view the second installment, visit http://www. cherokee. org/cultures/treaties/ toc. htm.
5. See Deans, Writing Partnerships; Crooks and Watters, Writing in the Community; Flower, Long, and Higgins, Learning to Rival; Herzberg, "Community Service"; Flower "Partners in Inquiry"; Flower, Problem Solving; Peck, Flower, and Higgins, "Community Literacy"; Bacon, "Building a Swan's Nest"; Grabill, Community Literacy; Coogan, "Coun- terpublics"; Cushman, "Public Intellectual"; Cushman, Special Issue; Cushman, "Sus- tainable Service"; Cushman and Emmons, "Contact Zones"; Schutz and Gere, "Service Learning"; Carrick, Himley, and Jacobi, "Ruptura. "
6. Devoss, Cushman, and Grabill, "Infrastructure," 16. 7. Clifford, "Indigenous Articulations," 479.
8. Warry, quoted in Cushman, Struggle, 28.
9. Freire, Pedagogy.
10. Cushman, "Toward a Praxis"; Cazden et al. , "Pedagogy of Multiliteracies"; Cope and Kalantzis, Multiliteracies.
11. Cazden et al. , "Pedagogy of Multiliteracies," 88.
12. Cushman and Ghosh, "Mediation. "
13. See Grabill, Writing Community Change; Simmons and Grabill, "Toward a Civic
Rhetoric. "
Knowledge Work with the Cherokee Nation 191
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? On Being Useful
Rhetoric and the Work of Engagement
Jeffrey T. Grabill
It is commonplace to think that when we are doing the work of rhetoric, we are speaking or writing. Certainly when we teach students to be rhetors, we are teaching them to speak or write purposefully. The speaker, writer, com- poser, performer is the center of our attention. In similar fashion, it is com- mon to think about community engagement in terms of ourselves--the work that we are doing, the impact that we hope to have, and the way that our presence changes a community. As rhetors we speak; as engaged scholars we act. I begin this way to highlight the fact that the agencies with which we most concern ourselves are the agencies of writers, researchers, and activists, and that when we consider these agencies, we focus mostly on ourselves or those we train to be like us. In this essay, I want to take us in a somewhat dif- ferent direction. I want to explore the notion that the public work of rheto- ric might be to support the work of others--to help other people write, speak, and make new media and other material objects effectively. 1
To be able to support the work of others requires ways of researching, act- ing, and otherwise performing in communities that are carefully considered. My procedure in this essay, therefore, will be to outline elements of what I think of as a methodology of engagement, or elements of a theory of how to act that stands a good chance of being useful to others engaged in the "knowl- edge work of everyday life," a concept I develop in Writing Community Change. 2 I discuss two methods that are fundamental to rhetorical engagement. These are methods that are well known under a number of names, but they lack, in my view, the attention and visibility they deserve. These two methods-- assembling a public and supporting performances--are essential to effective public rhetoric and fundamental to the notion that rhetoric might more use- fully be understood as enabling the work of others.
194 Jeffrey T. Grabill
Assembling a Public, Community, Group, or Other Aggregate
I do not mean the title to this section to sound flippant. Scholars and activists argue passionately about the differences between these terms and their mean- ing for their work. And they should. Nor do I think that these terms are sub- stitutable. Rather, because I am trying to work at the level of methodology, I highlight the theoretical problem of assembly, a problem that is shared by those working with various forms of "groupness. "
The difficulty of understanding the public (or various publics) and locat- ing it with precision and usefulness is a common and recent concern. Even if we attempt to locate a rhetorical public instead of defining it, we are still left with multiple places and terms in the literature: public space, public sphere, civic/civil society (and space), and civic culture. 3 Each of these terms means something quite different, both in terms of what a rhetorical situation looks like and in terms of what a particular rhetoric looks like. While it is true that recent work in rhetoric theory on the problem of the public is full of possi- bility, it does not typically concern itself with what I understand to be empiri- cal questions of how people create public spaces, forums, or what I will soon call "things. "4 My purpose here is to focus on the activity of making a public, of understanding who we are together when we are doing rhetoric, because this type of activity is required for public engagement.
In his recent essay in Critical Inquiry, Bruno Latour argues for a new kind of criticism, one that is both closer to facts and positive--by which he means a criticism concerned with making. Latour wants criticism to be a "multifari- ous inquiry launched with the tools of anthropology, philosophy, metaphysics, history, sociology to detect how many participants are gathered in a thing to make it exist and to maintain its existence. "5 What Latour understands as a "thing" is what I would like to understand first as both a group (including, conceivably, "a public") and the ideas and activity that give a group a reason to exist. Latour's project has a descriptive component to it ("to detect") but also a strategic component. The critic--the rhetor--offers participants places to gather and cares for gatherings. This essay by Latour provides something conceptually powerful given my experience helping to make things in com- munities: a purpose for contemporary public rhetorical work--to gather and care for things.
Based on my own experience as a community-based researcher, I have never found it useful, either empirically or conceptually, to understand the collectives with which I was working as fixed or in some cases preexisting entities. The implications of this sentence are significant, not obvious, and at the very heart of my argument. Latour is useful in helping to visualize these implications. In Reassembling the Social, Latour's most recent and explicit treat- ment of what is commonly known as actor-network theory, his target for criti- cism is social theory and the social sciences. 6 He writes that with normative
social science, the concept of "the social" is a domain asserted to exist and given, depending on the sociology, certain defining characteristics. Sociologists of the social are therefore able to use "the social" to explain other activity. The basic question for Latour is this: does the social exist or is it something that we create? Latour writes, "Whereas sociologists (or socio-economists, socio-linguists, social psychologists, etc. ) take social aggregates as the given that could shed some light on residual aspects of economics, linguistics, psy- chology, management, and so on, these other scholars [like Latour], on the contrary, consider social aggregates as what should be explained by the spe- cific associations provided by economics, linguistics, psychology, law, man- agement, etc. "7 Latour's point is that social aggregates must be explained and also that the social is "a type of connection between things that are not them- selves social. "8 The social, then, is not a domain or realm but a "very peculiar movement of re-association and reassembling. "9
As a matter of methodology, Latour's assertion that the social is best under- stood as a type of connection that is visible because of movement (activity) is true as well for what we call "community" or "public," an argument that I have made in more detail elsewhere. 10 Each must be assembled and continu- ously reassembled. But Latour's claim is true for that which we call "the rhet- orical" as well. The study of the rhetorical, therefore, is the study of particular kinds of associations that are actively created and re-created. The rhetorical is and creates particular kinds of connections. Furthermore, to be useful as a public rhetorician or engaged researcher is to become one who understands associations and, in understanding them, becomes a creator of associations. To associate, therefore, becomes a method and strategy for a methodology of engagement. It is true that the sociologist and the rhetorical scholar study dif- ferent kinds of associations--or just as often make visible similar associations but understand them differently. But associations of what? If the work of the rhetor is to help gather and care for these gatherings, then what, exactly, is to be gathered and cared for--and in what ways?
To illustrate this methodological argument, let me turn to two examples from recent work that I have been a part of. The first example comes from a project Stuart Blythe and I worked on in a community we call "Harbor. "11 Stu- art and I were part of a Technical Outreach Services for Communities (TOSC) team, funded by an Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) grant, to com- plete independent technical reviews of science and engineering and to con- duct community education workshops around those technical reviews. Our presence in Harbor was a function of a proposed U. S. Army Corps of Engi- neers plan to dredge a canal linking an industrial area with a large lake. The canal at Harbor is one of the oldest industrial corridors in the country. The canal was designed to service the petroleum-based and steel industries in the region. The canal must be dredged in order to enable heavier barge traffic to reach the industry along the canal. The Corps plans to scoop out millions
On Being Useful 195
196 Jeffrey T. Grabill
of cubic yards of sediment and deposit them in what is called a confined dis- posal facility (CDF), or a raised landfill, which is located near two schools and residential areas in this densely populated area.
This is a situation in which there is significant community concern. The industrial uses of the harbor and canal have left the waters heavily polluted. Some of the toxins found in the sediment include arsenic, cadmium, chro- mium, dioxin, toluene, lead, mercury, oil, polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs), and polyaromatic hydrocarbons (PAHs)--all bad stuff for plants, animals, and humans. Some stretches of the canal are so toxic that they cannot sustain life. Therefore, this navigational dredge is also necessarily an environmental cleanup project, but it is an environmental cleanup project that results in the deposit of toxic sediments in a landfill located in an urban area. Cleaning the canal therefore creates new risks as it mitigates existing risks. Some in Harbor are quite concerned about the dredging project; others are strongly opposed to it. Citizens have raised two concerns about the Corps' plans: whether the dredge will be characterized as an environmental or navigational project, a distinction governed by differing regulations and which type of dredge tech- nology will be used. The distinction between the two dredging characteriza- tions is meaningful. To call the dredge "environmental" means the ability to tap into new sources of revenue to fund the project and being governed by regulations that some in the community thought more stringent. Naming the project "environmental" carries significant symbolic value as well as certain material changes in the project.
Stuart and I focused on trying to understand how people in Harbor con- ducted their own science (their inventional activities) and communicated those understandings to others. Our goals were to use these understandings to help TOSC with its work, and, if possible, enhance the capacities of the community to do its work. To this point I have left a number of loaded terms scattered throughout my description, and it is precisely the danger of these loaded terms that occupied much of our work in Harbor. If we were to be of use to "the community"--indeed, if we were to conduct "community-based" research--what, exactly, does this mean, and who, precisely, constitutes "the community" with which we were engaged? Figure 1 is a figure from our field notes of April 2004, and in reproducing this figure here, I mean to signify a number of things: it is one of many such maps that we created (though a rela- tively stable one); it is an artifact of our research and not "true" in any other sense; and in publishing this map (now twice), we have given the public space of Harbor a type of rhetorical stability with respect to our work there that is both useful and also only one type of connection possible in that same geographi- cal, cultural, political, and social space at that time--or at any given time.
The community map of Harbor, then, is an answer to the question "who/ what is the community" in Harbor. In terms of the functional details, there are two significant issues represented by this map. The first is that the community
is a collection of organizations, institutions, and individuals. Some of these organizations are large and highly structured, like a government agency, while others are more loosely structured, such as a neighborhood association. The second issue is the connection between groups. Some groups have more for- mal associations by way of funding or people who are members of multiple organizations. Some groups are networked by their communication practices. If we return to Latour and to my methodological argument that to engage is to assemble, then the activity of assembling this map is a key engagement activity opening up a range of agencies. We were able to assemble this map by paying attention to activity; that is, the connections between organizations and the relative positioning of organizations are a function of those organi- zations doing things: meeting, writing, collaborating, coordinating, and so on. Of course, the activity that enables this map is the activity generated by the dredging project itself, so if we were following different work, then we would see different activity, alternative connections, and therefore new groupings at this same time and in this same space. In other words, a different map, a dif- ferent community.
A map like this yields patterns that are actionable. The community organ- ization with which we worked most closely is labeled "CEC" on this map. It was not the first organization that TOSC worked with, nor was it the only organization with which TOSC sought to work. But it emerged as the most important organization because it was often at the very center of citizen- driven activity in Harbor. For our work in Harbor to have an impact, there- fore, it was clear that we needed to learn from CEC and support its work as best we could. While the organization is small and relatively unstructured, its members are highly effective communicators: they write frequently and with impact; they have multiple, effective communication channels; and they use these to share what they learn and to hear from others what they are learn- ing. In methodological terms, to be useful in Harbor as an engaged partner, we had to assemble--from the first to the last moment of our time there--a "public," which in this case we understood as a "community. " There is no question that there was a spatial and political entity known as Harbor before we arrived on the scene. The organizations existed. The people were there. The ideas and issues, for the most part, were surely in evidence. But in arriving on the scene, we changed things, and so there existed in that time and space a new community dynamic, which we systematically tried to account for from our point of view. We assembled the community of Harbor with respect to this project as a way to account for possible agencies. For us, this work was called "research," but it is no different as an issue of methodology if the work is called "community organizing" and the agents called "activists" or "rhetori- cians. " In identifying CEC as important, therefore, we were also locating finer-grained patterns of activity that we thought mattered, and so we sought to support that activity (more on this in the next section). The map, then, is
On Being Useful 197
198 Jeffrey T. Grabill
simply a research artifact, but it represents the more complex work of assem-
bling and caring for that assembly.
A community map of "Harbor"
Example two comes from work I have been doing to help build a community media center in Lansing, Michigan. The original story for me goes back to the Capital Area Community Information research project, an action research proj- ect funded by Michigan State University's University Outreach and Engage- ment. 12 This three-year effort focused on understanding how people used information technologies to do the work of community organizations, and on the Capital Area Community Voices Web site as a key resource for this knowl- edge work. One outcome of this project is a newly redesigned Capital Area Community Voices Web site. As a part of that project, we began to think about the larger community infrastructure supporting community computing, and through this conversation I ended up as part of a small, ad hoc group of peo- ple who have now incorporated and are making progress in terms of building this media center. Nearly three years ago, while sitting in an early meeting of this group, one of our graduate students turned to me and said that we really needed to read Aramis because she thought that we were engaged in making a sociotechnical system. 13 She was correct, and as I have always understood making a media center as a project of assembly, let me unpack the example of the media center in these terms. Let me pull two threads to follow: the making of the media center as the making of a thing; and the (re)making of a research center (WIDE) into a community media center (or: when activity is what is required to be real, how to act like a media center).
? The first of these threads is more abstract. There is no reason why Lansing must have a community media center. The Lansing area functions today with- out one, and most people in the Lansing area, it is fair to say, have no idea what a media center is and what it affords to those who may use it. To make a media center, therefore, requires argument, the establishment of an exigency in "the community. " In other words, while folks get along just fine now, cur- rent work could be facilitated by a media center, new work could be imag- ined, and that which is impossible now might be possible with a media center (and so: perhaps we are not getting along very well at all). 14 The most persist- ent activity that we have engaged in as part of making a media center is rhet- orical. It is also mundane: community groups, neighborhood organizations, issue groups, and others must always and persistently make arguments through activities like writing letters, holding meetings, and proposing ideas, and in making these arguments, gather participants in what Latour would call a "thing. "
Like many who work with "thing theory," Latour works through Heideg- ger to derive basic concepts of a thing. 15 A "Thing," in this view, is a certain type of assembly and could refer to a meeting as much as to an object. As an assembly, one of Latour's references is the old Icelandic assembly called a "Ding" (thing). 16 In Latour's resurrected Ding, people assemble not because they are like each other or agree but because they share matters of concern about which they do not agree. A "Thing" is the issue--the matter of concern-- that brings people together and also the assembly itself. In many ways, this notion of assembly alludes to traditional and stable ideas of public space, namely the forum, the legislature, the visible and well-bounded public. This trajectory in Latour's thinking is much less interesting to me as a matter of methodology. Much more important is the idea of matters of concern as exi- gencies for gathering and the role of an engaged public rhetoric in assembling that gathering.
To make a community media center, therefore, we had to assemble it, and that assembly is a rhetorical practice. We were required to make arguments for the need for a community media center rooted in two discourses: one about digital divides and the other about innovation and entrepreneurship. We were required to make arguments of possibility rooted in ideas about creativity, community capacity building, and educational innovation. We were required to make arguments about feasibility rooted in needs analysis, market studies, financial analyses, and inventories of various kinds. And we were required to make arguments of expediency based on a declining political economy in Michigan. To assemble these arguments required a great deal of invention on the part of groups of people working both collaboratively and in coordina- tion. That invention, of course, required inquiries of various kind--historical, empirical, philosophical--and knowledge work of this kind requires an infra- structure: people, time, machines, networks, and various forms of capital. As
On Being Useful 199
200 Jeffrey T. Grabill
we began to have success with our arguments, our assembly began to grow as more individuals, organizations, and eventually government institutions joined, as best they could given their own interests and capacities, this thing we call the Capital Area Community Media Center.
The arguments that I describe here are invented and distributed in a highly diffuse manner, which is one of the messages of this essay. These ar- guments also continue to be invented and distributed (and so reassembled). To locate "public rhetoric" in a single speech or text produced by a single author--understood in either an orthodox or reformed fashion (that is, acknowledging other people)--is to make a mistake in understanding how the work of rhetoric gets done. I was present when some of these arguments were invented, most often in a series of meetings over time. Yet there are remarkably few documents associated with this project: a business plan, two one-pagers, and some proposals. Most of the arguments were invented and delivered orally. I delivered a few at a cocktail party (the mayor being one audience), in an associate provost's office, over dinner, and in many meetings in which the media center was not on the agenda. And I was just one of many who did so. One project that has been persuaded of the media center's value is the Information Technology Empowerment Center (iTec) in Lansing. 17 We hope that this becomes the center's home. It is possible to see in the vision and mission of iTec some of the same arguments made in support of the Media Center, in part because the projects have some people in common. They are different assemblies composed of some like elements.
The process of assembly that I have just described is abstract only in that we were assembling an idea, and as that idea took shape, necessarily the mate- rial, cultural, institutional, and human agencies that are part of any idea that becomes a thing. Accordingly, the second thread that I want to follow is more pragmatic and concrete and entails assembling elements of the media center's infrastructure. The methodology of engagement that I have been developing here is rooted in activity. That is, if there is no activity, there is no engage- ment, no thing (this is also a principle of actor network theory, a fact that is coincidental in this case). Therefore, if we wanted to assemble a community media center, then we needed to act like a community media center. To do this, we took a portion of the infrastructure of the writing program at Michi- gan State University and turned it into the community media center.
The WIDE Research Center is a basic research center that examines what it means to write (and learn to write) in digital environments. 18 I direct this center with Bill Hart-Davidson, and since its beginning, we have always understood WIDE as a community-based research center, by which we mean that WIDE is open and responsive to the needs of community partners and tries to solve problems with those partners. To generate the activity of a media center, we devoted resources to infrastructure (servers, networks, phones, offices, desks, chairs, mailboxes, and so on), human beings, and programming.
We conducted a number of workshops at various locations in the area on top- ics ranging from basic tool use to podcasting (we also utilized computers from the Writing Center). And we marketed this activity under the name of the Capital Area Community Media Center, not WIDE or Michigan State Univer- sity. Therefore, we have been able to make the argument that we have a com- munity media center that is effective, that is engaged, and that needs to grow. In other words, when I write of the requirement to assemble as part of any methodology of engagement, I also mean this quite literally. Rhetoric is al- ways material, and it is most powerful when it makes things that enable oth- ers to perform persuasively. The two examples used here actually demonstrate three methods of assembly: research to assemble a group in order to discern patterns of activity and their possible agencies; rhetorical assembly of ideas toward the making of a Thing; and the related and always material assembly that must be gathered into any thing.
Overt instruction in how to manage projects moved to the foreground as students began to see that they did not own this work, but were producing pages that would eventually be uploaded, changed, and resaved at the CN. File management lessons were crucial to this process as teams took these les- sons and developed naming protocols for the site's architecture. Their nam- ing protocols made explicit the ways that knowledge work must be handled within class and were created with an upstream audience in mind--the web- master and her team at the Cherokee Nation had to be able to make sense of the file structure and naming conventions. While instruction in file manage- ment came at the beginning of the semester, it was encountering infrastruc- tural constraints of having to transfer and reclaim so many files that made this a practice that took into consideration the transportability and life of the files outside of class.
File management is rhetorical at another level: we were developing and naming content areas, tracing out for our collaborators the scope and nature
186 Ellen Cushman and Erik Green
of what we were to represent. Some students became uncomfortable with their lack of tribal knowledge as they were bringing together the content of the papers into what would become the files developed for content nodes. They were concerned that, as outsiders, they were not getting it right and worse that they had no right to be talking about how family structures changed, for instance, because they did not know what family structures were like before allotment and now.
By happy coincidence, we had a visit by Craig Howe, a speaker brought to campus and a new media developer who worked with the Lakota to create multimedia educational resources about their winter counts. When some stu- dents voiced their concerns about the limits of their knowledge of the tribe, he assured us all that we were representing the history of the Nation and not the tribe. He explained that he was not allowed to show many of his multi- media works outside of the Lakota tribe because they represented tribal knowl- edge. However, when a nation commissions a work, and much of that work is drawn from historical documents, it is not likely to be representing tribal knowledge so much as a nation's history. While Ellen had assumed students would inductively understand this distinction from the nature of the histor- ical documents we were using, Craig's explicit instruction put to rest students' initial concerns by pointing to the ways that indigenous peoples articulate a difference between nations and tribes.
In both their authoring of the content and saving it under conventional- ized file structures, students were developing their sense of authoring and ownership to include audiences and exigencies beyond this class. Importantly, this critical reflection would not have been prompted had the infrastructural constraints presented themselves and the rhetorical boundaries of their work became evident to them. In a praxis of new media, then, the technical is often rhetorical and the instrumental subject to exigencies of audiences.
Critical Framing in a Praxis of New Media
In a pedagogy of multiliteracies, critical framing results from interpreting the social and cultural context of particular designs of meaning. This interpreta- tion and critique means applying a critical theory to whatever problem, issue, or object is under study. Rather than asking students to enact disinterested critique of the content they were developing, as a pedagogy of multiliteracies might ask, a praxis of new media demands that students have deep immer- sion in and commitment to the products they are producing. Their analysis is done from the perspective of becoming ethically involved in what they are studying, having a stake in making new knowledge, and viewing it critically in relation to its context. For students, their positions as stakeholders in the project emerged in various instances of strong responses that they had when they increasingly took hold of the authoring responsibility, ownership of the structure of their learning, and initial representations of this learning.
Knowledge Work with the Cherokee Nation 187
One of the unexpected results of our work was the very emotional response that we had with the material. We remember one student in particular who broke into tears when we were sharing our research papers with each other. For the most part, no one in the class had any extensive background in Chero- kee history, but through our immersion process at the beginning of the class we were all situated as "experts" by the time our research papers were finished and we were preparing to create our multimedia project. Although no one in the class, outside of the instructor, was Cherokee, as a result of our immersion in the history, and as we prepared to try to tell that story through our proj- ect for others, there was a distinct emotional connection that was made--one that rarely happens with other traditional research assignments. This emo- tional connection to the work increased the sense of authorship we had as we moved from knowing little to being immersed in the topic enough to see our- selves as novice-experts.
Finally, after immersing ourselves in two very different discourses of learn- ing content, then the software to present this content, and becoming profi- cient in them (although it was to varying degrees how much the students personally felt like they had become "experts"), we were able to tackle the actual issue of creating our project. At first we had to consider the overall rep- resentation of the materials we thought would work best for the Nation and users who came to the site. We visually arranged the topics of our papers using Post-it notes on a whiteboard and as a class discussed the generalized topics and overarching areas we envisioned for the major categories of our project-- what we dubbed "nodes," which eventually became the hotlinks around the septagon as seen in the image that opens this essay. We presented a wire frame of the interface to the Cherokee Nation that included a node for reli- gious practices, among others, and they agreed that the design, potential con- tent, and navigational structure of the wire frame was strong.
We were simultaneously balancing ideas of organization, rhetoric, and design as we considered the ways that our categories could successfully cover all the topics we wanted to talk about, the ways that our written research papers could be the starting point for each of those topics, and the ways that our design would fit the rhetoric we designed for the project as a whole. As all of the pieces of the class came together then, the sense of being a stakeholder in the project emerged from immersion that went beyond disinterested cri- tique to a commitment to the purpose, content, and scope of the knowledge work. This critical framing of course included interpretation and analysis in the content of our papers, especially as we each tackled one aspect of Chero- kee history and culture and tried to reveal how the allotment process changed it, but it also included an ethical commitment to the ownership and author- ship of the work. One student in particular became deeply interested in the Cherokee stomp dance as a tradition that has been maintained despite allot- ment and the increased importance of the Cherokee Baptist church to the
188 Ellen Cushman and Erik Green
tribe. He created a digital video describing the stomp dance, piecing together additional research on the Internet and books to describe the dance. Because the CN representatives had already endorsed the inclusion of religious prac- tices and the placeholder content that indicated we were going to talk about Cherokee Baptists as well as stomp dance, we thought it would be strong con- tent to add. However, as the next section shows, the critical framing and immersion in the project brought about thornier issues in representation.
Transformed and Ethical Praxis of New Media
Transfer in meaning-making practice is based on the experienced needs and purposes of communities. To this, a praxis of new media adds the component of public writing for purposes and within exigencies designated by stakehold- ers. New media and digital technology are learned as they are used in critical interpretation and production activities that increase students' civic partici- pation; and teaching and research are conducted with community members and students in collaborative inquiry for problem solving. The praxis of new media hit home for students how their authorship, ownership, and represen- tational practices were being changed as they engaged in this knowledge work.
The final challenge to our understandings of representation could not be foreseen in the content we developed. One of the surprising results of work- ing with a partner outside of our group and gifting them with a rhetorical cre- ation was some of the final content management that the Cherokee Nation did. In particular, we had a section outlining some of the religious practices of the Cherokees, especially in regards to the way these were used as a form of resistance. However, the Cherokee Nation decided that they did not want this sort of information published since it dealt a little too closely with prac- tices that they considered sacred and private, so whole pages of that subnode were removed--including the video file describing the stomp dance that one student had spent weeks developing. It was his main contribution to the en- tire node. Especially given the time and effort that the individual who created that subnode and video spent in making his section, it was tough to imagine having parts of it removed, but we realized that it was necessary to under- stand and respect the reasons for doing so.
In this way, even though we had taken pride in the work and our author- ing of the best site possible, we understood that our representations may not be as culturally relevant as they should have been, or in this case, that they were too culturally relevant and the CN did not want this tribal knowledge to be widely disseminated. 12 This became evident to Ellen as she worked with the CN collaborators in Tahlequah. They debated for some time the possible inclusion of this stomp dance video and the text surrounding it in this node. Recognizing the hard work the student had done, they still were not comfort- able with the level of nuance in the video--stomp dance differs from ground to ground, and it seemed that this representation was both revealing too much
Knowledge Work with the Cherokee Nation 189
and not enough. In the end, when the project was handed over to the Nation, our ownership of it ended though our responsibilities for representing their history did not. The historical representations were strong and accurately re- flected the immersion that students had in the history of the Nation, but the ways that the Nation articulated itself to us as a public face for the tribe had to be learned the hard way--by developing content that ultimately could not be included despite initial green lights for inclusion.
We learned firsthand and the hard way the difference that Howe explained: we were immersed in and representing the history of the Nation and the his- tory that the Nation wanted us to represent; we were not immersed in or representing the culture or the tribe's cultural practices. This rhetorical and ethical boundary emerged as the work progressed and the Cherokee Nation's representatives articulated the difference between the Nation's history and the tribe's cultural practices, a difference we were ethically bound to respect. While we had immersed ourselves in the historical representations of the Nation, we mistook this immersion as knowledge of cultural practices.
Implications
As these examples illustrate, students' previously held notions of authorship, ownership, and representation shifted as this course progressed and even after the final project had been delivered. All of these aspects of learning in a praxis of new media reveal the ways in which it is important to press boundaries of conventional writing classroom practice, but also point to the limits of knowl- edge work with community partners.
With so many shifts in learning contexts--from the content of the course, to the tools used to represent it, to the exigencies and purposes for learning, to the audiences who read this writing--the effect can cause strong emotional response and dissonance. If students and professors understand the ways in which a praxis of new media revises knowledge work, then perhaps some of the dissonance might be mitigated. In subsequent iterations of this course, the ways in which the work would unfold were expressed upfront, placed into the syllabus for the course, and repeated frequently so that students could at least anticipate the challenges this class content and tools present to their pre- vious forms of learning, writing, and reading. Ellen has been especially care- ful to make explicit for students how they will be immersing themselves in the history of the CN that is for the most part publicly available, as opposed to immersing themselves in the culture of the Cherokee tribe.
The lessons we learned are important for work that engages students in participating in public rhetorics. First, the technical is often rhetorical. Know- ing infrastructural limits and working within and against these is a rhetorical process that must take into account the needs, purposes, capacities, exigen- cies, and work activities of audiences beyond our classrooms. 13 Second, stake- holders in public writing collaborations set the representational boundaries
190 Ellen Cushman and Erik Green
that often articulate the autonomy of themselves as a "we" that protects cul- tural knowledge while producing historically accurate materials. Students learn to compose the public face of an organization or tribe from historical texts and/or highly selected texts that the stakeholders want to be used. Their im- mersion in and with texts does not equate to immersion with a culture; writ- ing a valid history is powerful work that is quite different from writing a valid ethnographic representation.
The knowledge work taking place at the intersection of critical, digital, and community literacies is certainly complex and complicated, at times daunt- ingly so. A praxis of new media is an intellectual framework for scaffolding active work; rather than disappearing into the work once a project begins, the framework always allows one to see, critique, and adjust practice throughout the development and iterations of that work. This framework provides a metalanguage for learning how to learn, and may offer a buoy to help profes- sors and students understand the changing nature of the learning unfolding in the class. The intellectual framework of a praxis of new media will be use- ful to describe the knowledge work unfolding in public rhetorics.
Notes
1. Cherokee Nation, Allotment.
2. Ellen's family went through this process of allotment and enrolled on the Dawes roll, a kind of census for the Cherokee Nation and other tribes. Because they went through that seven-year-long process, today's generations of Drews (my Cherokee fam- ily's name) are able to maintain our citizenship with the tribe.
3. While helping the Cherokee Nation produce a counternarrative is an important topic that Ellen has explored elsewhere, this essay focuses more on the transformative learning for students understood within a praxis of new media. Cushman and Ghosh, "Mediation. "
4. To view the second installment, visit http://www. cherokee. org/cultures/treaties/ toc. htm.
5. See Deans, Writing Partnerships; Crooks and Watters, Writing in the Community; Flower, Long, and Higgins, Learning to Rival; Herzberg, "Community Service"; Flower "Partners in Inquiry"; Flower, Problem Solving; Peck, Flower, and Higgins, "Community Literacy"; Bacon, "Building a Swan's Nest"; Grabill, Community Literacy; Coogan, "Coun- terpublics"; Cushman, "Public Intellectual"; Cushman, Special Issue; Cushman, "Sus- tainable Service"; Cushman and Emmons, "Contact Zones"; Schutz and Gere, "Service Learning"; Carrick, Himley, and Jacobi, "Ruptura. "
6. Devoss, Cushman, and Grabill, "Infrastructure," 16. 7. Clifford, "Indigenous Articulations," 479.
8. Warry, quoted in Cushman, Struggle, 28.
9. Freire, Pedagogy.
10. Cushman, "Toward a Praxis"; Cazden et al. , "Pedagogy of Multiliteracies"; Cope and Kalantzis, Multiliteracies.
11. Cazden et al. , "Pedagogy of Multiliteracies," 88.
12. Cushman and Ghosh, "Mediation. "
13. See Grabill, Writing Community Change; Simmons and Grabill, "Toward a Civic
Rhetoric. "
Knowledge Work with the Cherokee Nation 191
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? On Being Useful
Rhetoric and the Work of Engagement
Jeffrey T. Grabill
It is commonplace to think that when we are doing the work of rhetoric, we are speaking or writing. Certainly when we teach students to be rhetors, we are teaching them to speak or write purposefully. The speaker, writer, com- poser, performer is the center of our attention. In similar fashion, it is com- mon to think about community engagement in terms of ourselves--the work that we are doing, the impact that we hope to have, and the way that our presence changes a community. As rhetors we speak; as engaged scholars we act. I begin this way to highlight the fact that the agencies with which we most concern ourselves are the agencies of writers, researchers, and activists, and that when we consider these agencies, we focus mostly on ourselves or those we train to be like us. In this essay, I want to take us in a somewhat dif- ferent direction. I want to explore the notion that the public work of rheto- ric might be to support the work of others--to help other people write, speak, and make new media and other material objects effectively. 1
To be able to support the work of others requires ways of researching, act- ing, and otherwise performing in communities that are carefully considered. My procedure in this essay, therefore, will be to outline elements of what I think of as a methodology of engagement, or elements of a theory of how to act that stands a good chance of being useful to others engaged in the "knowl- edge work of everyday life," a concept I develop in Writing Community Change. 2 I discuss two methods that are fundamental to rhetorical engagement. These are methods that are well known under a number of names, but they lack, in my view, the attention and visibility they deserve. These two methods-- assembling a public and supporting performances--are essential to effective public rhetoric and fundamental to the notion that rhetoric might more use- fully be understood as enabling the work of others.
194 Jeffrey T. Grabill
Assembling a Public, Community, Group, or Other Aggregate
I do not mean the title to this section to sound flippant. Scholars and activists argue passionately about the differences between these terms and their mean- ing for their work. And they should. Nor do I think that these terms are sub- stitutable. Rather, because I am trying to work at the level of methodology, I highlight the theoretical problem of assembly, a problem that is shared by those working with various forms of "groupness. "
The difficulty of understanding the public (or various publics) and locat- ing it with precision and usefulness is a common and recent concern. Even if we attempt to locate a rhetorical public instead of defining it, we are still left with multiple places and terms in the literature: public space, public sphere, civic/civil society (and space), and civic culture. 3 Each of these terms means something quite different, both in terms of what a rhetorical situation looks like and in terms of what a particular rhetoric looks like. While it is true that recent work in rhetoric theory on the problem of the public is full of possi- bility, it does not typically concern itself with what I understand to be empiri- cal questions of how people create public spaces, forums, or what I will soon call "things. "4 My purpose here is to focus on the activity of making a public, of understanding who we are together when we are doing rhetoric, because this type of activity is required for public engagement.
In his recent essay in Critical Inquiry, Bruno Latour argues for a new kind of criticism, one that is both closer to facts and positive--by which he means a criticism concerned with making. Latour wants criticism to be a "multifari- ous inquiry launched with the tools of anthropology, philosophy, metaphysics, history, sociology to detect how many participants are gathered in a thing to make it exist and to maintain its existence. "5 What Latour understands as a "thing" is what I would like to understand first as both a group (including, conceivably, "a public") and the ideas and activity that give a group a reason to exist. Latour's project has a descriptive component to it ("to detect") but also a strategic component. The critic--the rhetor--offers participants places to gather and cares for gatherings. This essay by Latour provides something conceptually powerful given my experience helping to make things in com- munities: a purpose for contemporary public rhetorical work--to gather and care for things.
Based on my own experience as a community-based researcher, I have never found it useful, either empirically or conceptually, to understand the collectives with which I was working as fixed or in some cases preexisting entities. The implications of this sentence are significant, not obvious, and at the very heart of my argument. Latour is useful in helping to visualize these implications. In Reassembling the Social, Latour's most recent and explicit treat- ment of what is commonly known as actor-network theory, his target for criti- cism is social theory and the social sciences. 6 He writes that with normative
social science, the concept of "the social" is a domain asserted to exist and given, depending on the sociology, certain defining characteristics. Sociologists of the social are therefore able to use "the social" to explain other activity. The basic question for Latour is this: does the social exist or is it something that we create? Latour writes, "Whereas sociologists (or socio-economists, socio-linguists, social psychologists, etc. ) take social aggregates as the given that could shed some light on residual aspects of economics, linguistics, psy- chology, management, and so on, these other scholars [like Latour], on the contrary, consider social aggregates as what should be explained by the spe- cific associations provided by economics, linguistics, psychology, law, man- agement, etc. "7 Latour's point is that social aggregates must be explained and also that the social is "a type of connection between things that are not them- selves social. "8 The social, then, is not a domain or realm but a "very peculiar movement of re-association and reassembling. "9
As a matter of methodology, Latour's assertion that the social is best under- stood as a type of connection that is visible because of movement (activity) is true as well for what we call "community" or "public," an argument that I have made in more detail elsewhere. 10 Each must be assembled and continu- ously reassembled. But Latour's claim is true for that which we call "the rhet- orical" as well. The study of the rhetorical, therefore, is the study of particular kinds of associations that are actively created and re-created. The rhetorical is and creates particular kinds of connections. Furthermore, to be useful as a public rhetorician or engaged researcher is to become one who understands associations and, in understanding them, becomes a creator of associations. To associate, therefore, becomes a method and strategy for a methodology of engagement. It is true that the sociologist and the rhetorical scholar study dif- ferent kinds of associations--or just as often make visible similar associations but understand them differently. But associations of what? If the work of the rhetor is to help gather and care for these gatherings, then what, exactly, is to be gathered and cared for--and in what ways?
To illustrate this methodological argument, let me turn to two examples from recent work that I have been a part of. The first example comes from a project Stuart Blythe and I worked on in a community we call "Harbor. "11 Stu- art and I were part of a Technical Outreach Services for Communities (TOSC) team, funded by an Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) grant, to com- plete independent technical reviews of science and engineering and to con- duct community education workshops around those technical reviews. Our presence in Harbor was a function of a proposed U. S. Army Corps of Engi- neers plan to dredge a canal linking an industrial area with a large lake. The canal at Harbor is one of the oldest industrial corridors in the country. The canal was designed to service the petroleum-based and steel industries in the region. The canal must be dredged in order to enable heavier barge traffic to reach the industry along the canal. The Corps plans to scoop out millions
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of cubic yards of sediment and deposit them in what is called a confined dis- posal facility (CDF), or a raised landfill, which is located near two schools and residential areas in this densely populated area.
This is a situation in which there is significant community concern. The industrial uses of the harbor and canal have left the waters heavily polluted. Some of the toxins found in the sediment include arsenic, cadmium, chro- mium, dioxin, toluene, lead, mercury, oil, polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs), and polyaromatic hydrocarbons (PAHs)--all bad stuff for plants, animals, and humans. Some stretches of the canal are so toxic that they cannot sustain life. Therefore, this navigational dredge is also necessarily an environmental cleanup project, but it is an environmental cleanup project that results in the deposit of toxic sediments in a landfill located in an urban area. Cleaning the canal therefore creates new risks as it mitigates existing risks. Some in Harbor are quite concerned about the dredging project; others are strongly opposed to it. Citizens have raised two concerns about the Corps' plans: whether the dredge will be characterized as an environmental or navigational project, a distinction governed by differing regulations and which type of dredge tech- nology will be used. The distinction between the two dredging characteriza- tions is meaningful. To call the dredge "environmental" means the ability to tap into new sources of revenue to fund the project and being governed by regulations that some in the community thought more stringent. Naming the project "environmental" carries significant symbolic value as well as certain material changes in the project.
Stuart and I focused on trying to understand how people in Harbor con- ducted their own science (their inventional activities) and communicated those understandings to others. Our goals were to use these understandings to help TOSC with its work, and, if possible, enhance the capacities of the community to do its work. To this point I have left a number of loaded terms scattered throughout my description, and it is precisely the danger of these loaded terms that occupied much of our work in Harbor. If we were to be of use to "the community"--indeed, if we were to conduct "community-based" research--what, exactly, does this mean, and who, precisely, constitutes "the community" with which we were engaged? Figure 1 is a figure from our field notes of April 2004, and in reproducing this figure here, I mean to signify a number of things: it is one of many such maps that we created (though a rela- tively stable one); it is an artifact of our research and not "true" in any other sense; and in publishing this map (now twice), we have given the public space of Harbor a type of rhetorical stability with respect to our work there that is both useful and also only one type of connection possible in that same geographi- cal, cultural, political, and social space at that time--or at any given time.
The community map of Harbor, then, is an answer to the question "who/ what is the community" in Harbor. In terms of the functional details, there are two significant issues represented by this map. The first is that the community
is a collection of organizations, institutions, and individuals. Some of these organizations are large and highly structured, like a government agency, while others are more loosely structured, such as a neighborhood association. The second issue is the connection between groups. Some groups have more for- mal associations by way of funding or people who are members of multiple organizations. Some groups are networked by their communication practices. If we return to Latour and to my methodological argument that to engage is to assemble, then the activity of assembling this map is a key engagement activity opening up a range of agencies. We were able to assemble this map by paying attention to activity; that is, the connections between organizations and the relative positioning of organizations are a function of those organi- zations doing things: meeting, writing, collaborating, coordinating, and so on. Of course, the activity that enables this map is the activity generated by the dredging project itself, so if we were following different work, then we would see different activity, alternative connections, and therefore new groupings at this same time and in this same space. In other words, a different map, a dif- ferent community.
A map like this yields patterns that are actionable. The community organ- ization with which we worked most closely is labeled "CEC" on this map. It was not the first organization that TOSC worked with, nor was it the only organization with which TOSC sought to work. But it emerged as the most important organization because it was often at the very center of citizen- driven activity in Harbor. For our work in Harbor to have an impact, there- fore, it was clear that we needed to learn from CEC and support its work as best we could. While the organization is small and relatively unstructured, its members are highly effective communicators: they write frequently and with impact; they have multiple, effective communication channels; and they use these to share what they learn and to hear from others what they are learn- ing. In methodological terms, to be useful in Harbor as an engaged partner, we had to assemble--from the first to the last moment of our time there--a "public," which in this case we understood as a "community. " There is no question that there was a spatial and political entity known as Harbor before we arrived on the scene. The organizations existed. The people were there. The ideas and issues, for the most part, were surely in evidence. But in arriving on the scene, we changed things, and so there existed in that time and space a new community dynamic, which we systematically tried to account for from our point of view. We assembled the community of Harbor with respect to this project as a way to account for possible agencies. For us, this work was called "research," but it is no different as an issue of methodology if the work is called "community organizing" and the agents called "activists" or "rhetori- cians. " In identifying CEC as important, therefore, we were also locating finer-grained patterns of activity that we thought mattered, and so we sought to support that activity (more on this in the next section). The map, then, is
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simply a research artifact, but it represents the more complex work of assem-
bling and caring for that assembly.
A community map of "Harbor"
Example two comes from work I have been doing to help build a community media center in Lansing, Michigan. The original story for me goes back to the Capital Area Community Information research project, an action research proj- ect funded by Michigan State University's University Outreach and Engage- ment. 12 This three-year effort focused on understanding how people used information technologies to do the work of community organizations, and on the Capital Area Community Voices Web site as a key resource for this knowl- edge work. One outcome of this project is a newly redesigned Capital Area Community Voices Web site. As a part of that project, we began to think about the larger community infrastructure supporting community computing, and through this conversation I ended up as part of a small, ad hoc group of peo- ple who have now incorporated and are making progress in terms of building this media center. Nearly three years ago, while sitting in an early meeting of this group, one of our graduate students turned to me and said that we really needed to read Aramis because she thought that we were engaged in making a sociotechnical system. 13 She was correct, and as I have always understood making a media center as a project of assembly, let me unpack the example of the media center in these terms. Let me pull two threads to follow: the making of the media center as the making of a thing; and the (re)making of a research center (WIDE) into a community media center (or: when activity is what is required to be real, how to act like a media center).
? The first of these threads is more abstract. There is no reason why Lansing must have a community media center. The Lansing area functions today with- out one, and most people in the Lansing area, it is fair to say, have no idea what a media center is and what it affords to those who may use it. To make a media center, therefore, requires argument, the establishment of an exigency in "the community. " In other words, while folks get along just fine now, cur- rent work could be facilitated by a media center, new work could be imag- ined, and that which is impossible now might be possible with a media center (and so: perhaps we are not getting along very well at all). 14 The most persist- ent activity that we have engaged in as part of making a media center is rhet- orical. It is also mundane: community groups, neighborhood organizations, issue groups, and others must always and persistently make arguments through activities like writing letters, holding meetings, and proposing ideas, and in making these arguments, gather participants in what Latour would call a "thing. "
Like many who work with "thing theory," Latour works through Heideg- ger to derive basic concepts of a thing. 15 A "Thing," in this view, is a certain type of assembly and could refer to a meeting as much as to an object. As an assembly, one of Latour's references is the old Icelandic assembly called a "Ding" (thing). 16 In Latour's resurrected Ding, people assemble not because they are like each other or agree but because they share matters of concern about which they do not agree. A "Thing" is the issue--the matter of concern-- that brings people together and also the assembly itself. In many ways, this notion of assembly alludes to traditional and stable ideas of public space, namely the forum, the legislature, the visible and well-bounded public. This trajectory in Latour's thinking is much less interesting to me as a matter of methodology. Much more important is the idea of matters of concern as exi- gencies for gathering and the role of an engaged public rhetoric in assembling that gathering.
To make a community media center, therefore, we had to assemble it, and that assembly is a rhetorical practice. We were required to make arguments for the need for a community media center rooted in two discourses: one about digital divides and the other about innovation and entrepreneurship. We were required to make arguments of possibility rooted in ideas about creativity, community capacity building, and educational innovation. We were required to make arguments about feasibility rooted in needs analysis, market studies, financial analyses, and inventories of various kinds. And we were required to make arguments of expediency based on a declining political economy in Michigan. To assemble these arguments required a great deal of invention on the part of groups of people working both collaboratively and in coordina- tion. That invention, of course, required inquiries of various kind--historical, empirical, philosophical--and knowledge work of this kind requires an infra- structure: people, time, machines, networks, and various forms of capital. As
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we began to have success with our arguments, our assembly began to grow as more individuals, organizations, and eventually government institutions joined, as best they could given their own interests and capacities, this thing we call the Capital Area Community Media Center.
The arguments that I describe here are invented and distributed in a highly diffuse manner, which is one of the messages of this essay. These ar- guments also continue to be invented and distributed (and so reassembled). To locate "public rhetoric" in a single speech or text produced by a single author--understood in either an orthodox or reformed fashion (that is, acknowledging other people)--is to make a mistake in understanding how the work of rhetoric gets done. I was present when some of these arguments were invented, most often in a series of meetings over time. Yet there are remarkably few documents associated with this project: a business plan, two one-pagers, and some proposals. Most of the arguments were invented and delivered orally. I delivered a few at a cocktail party (the mayor being one audience), in an associate provost's office, over dinner, and in many meetings in which the media center was not on the agenda. And I was just one of many who did so. One project that has been persuaded of the media center's value is the Information Technology Empowerment Center (iTec) in Lansing. 17 We hope that this becomes the center's home. It is possible to see in the vision and mission of iTec some of the same arguments made in support of the Media Center, in part because the projects have some people in common. They are different assemblies composed of some like elements.
The process of assembly that I have just described is abstract only in that we were assembling an idea, and as that idea took shape, necessarily the mate- rial, cultural, institutional, and human agencies that are part of any idea that becomes a thing. Accordingly, the second thread that I want to follow is more pragmatic and concrete and entails assembling elements of the media center's infrastructure. The methodology of engagement that I have been developing here is rooted in activity. That is, if there is no activity, there is no engage- ment, no thing (this is also a principle of actor network theory, a fact that is coincidental in this case). Therefore, if we wanted to assemble a community media center, then we needed to act like a community media center. To do this, we took a portion of the infrastructure of the writing program at Michi- gan State University and turned it into the community media center.
The WIDE Research Center is a basic research center that examines what it means to write (and learn to write) in digital environments. 18 I direct this center with Bill Hart-Davidson, and since its beginning, we have always understood WIDE as a community-based research center, by which we mean that WIDE is open and responsive to the needs of community partners and tries to solve problems with those partners. To generate the activity of a media center, we devoted resources to infrastructure (servers, networks, phones, offices, desks, chairs, mailboxes, and so on), human beings, and programming.
We conducted a number of workshops at various locations in the area on top- ics ranging from basic tool use to podcasting (we also utilized computers from the Writing Center). And we marketed this activity under the name of the Capital Area Community Media Center, not WIDE or Michigan State Univer- sity. Therefore, we have been able to make the argument that we have a com- munity media center that is effective, that is engaged, and that needs to grow. In other words, when I write of the requirement to assemble as part of any methodology of engagement, I also mean this quite literally. Rhetoric is al- ways material, and it is most powerful when it makes things that enable oth- ers to perform persuasively. The two examples used here actually demonstrate three methods of assembly: research to assemble a group in order to discern patterns of activity and their possible agencies; rhetorical assembly of ideas toward the making of a Thing; and the related and always material assembly that must be gathered into any thing.
