Reflecting Across Contexts: Objects, Public Memory, and Silence (or lack of it)

 I don't think I know nearly enough to make a judgement about whether theories in reflection are moving in the right direction or progressing, but I am left with a few questions after reading The Rhetoric of Reflection.

I want to start with a memory:

About a month and a half ago, I drove up to Maryland to get my annual emissions check for my car--as some of us know, that didn't work out as planned: I hit some tire debris in North Carolina, spent a night in Rocky Mount, rented a car the next day, and drove home to spend a week at home waiting for my car to get repaired. In that week with my parents, we had a lot of time to spare; so, we decided to visit Washington D.C., only a 30 minutes drive from my parents place in Annapolis. 

Let's pepper in some scholarship before I tell you why this is relevant.

From The Rhetoric of Reflection, two chapters in particular piqued my interest: Doug Hesse's and Kevin Roozen's. First, Roozen's piece offers, I believe, something about reflection that I haven't yet seen in what we've read so far: he discusses the idea (somewhat indirectly) of objects and memory. Roozen discusses (what he calls) two basic approaches to reflective interviewing--I'm focusing on the second: "reflective interviews that focus on the writer’s writing or action with a particular text or set of texts. These kinds of interviews involve using texts or artifacts to stimulate the writer’s recall" (emphasis mine). Later, he conducts these kinds of interviews with Terri and allows space between interviews for her "to locate and retrieve materials." She then brings those materials to the interview. Her and the interviewer use those objects as a point to bring attention to her tacit knowledge, the goal of the interviewing. But I began to think more broadly: I began to ask the question about the role that objects or artifacts play in reflection, in particular memory. Memory, though not mentioned explicitly, seems to be of central focus in reflection--Kara and Liane talk about the 360-degree reflection which requires students to draw attention to memories beyond the writing that students have done in their course, but I'm not sure memory is alluded to. But Roozen has shown that objects--Terri brings things like poems or technical charts--can further help draw out memory.

But what about other objects like scrapbooks that contain life-histories? Gifts from an ex-girlfriend that you've kept but you may not be able to articulate why you've kept it? Or a memorial at Washington D.C.?

Hesse's chapter, though talking about 'the essay,' is further talking about something much wider than the written text: I was particularly drawn to Hesse's example from the bridge: "Last Death from Jumping or Diving from Bridge, June 15, 1995." As Hesse explains, this is a sign posted in a bridge in Iowa--one that he has a special connection to because of his connection to the area that this bridge is located. He then discusses the importance of the essay written by Lia Purpura that talks about this sign: 

“'Jump' is ultimately about writing itself, the challenge not simply of figuring out what happened twelve years ago on the bridge but also figuring out her own reaction and, finally, shaping all that figuring into a text worth caring about. To do this, reflective moments simultaneously undercut and impel: 'I don’t know why' (89).  'All this time I’ve been thinking it over, trying to figure out how to read the thing'” (emphasis mine)

Of course, Hesse is talking about how the essay is demonstrating a kind of reflection, but what about the actual sign? Doesn't the sign, itself, invite reflection? The sign seems to operate as a memorial, a reminder of a particular event and the bridge's connection to that event. But the memory is not from an individual's experiences, but a public memory, one that the whole town can share through generations. 

So, now I return to my visit in Washington D.C.. As my parents and I walked from memorial to memorial, we noticed a trend: there were certain signs that attempted to prompt the attendees to take a moment to reflect. Here's a video of our visit to the Lincoln Memorial:

We obviously noticed the irony: there was a sign for quiet, but that was probably the loudest and most crowded place we visited, but the point is they want a moment of silence--why? They say for respect, but I think this is a prompt for reflection. You hear stories (myths) about when presidents would visit the memorial late at night to do some thinking (or if you're Nixon, visit it to talk to the people). In fact, I noticed that most of the memorials in DC were designed for reflection: for example, the reflecting pool that leads up to the Lincoln Memorial and reflects the image of the Washington Monument: 

But a more obvious example of reflection would be the Vietnam War Memorial. 

 One of the distinguishing features of the memorial is that it literally reflects your image over the names of those who were killed in the war. I don't have a video of our visit to this memorial, but I will say that walking through was a surreal experience: no one made a noise. The entire day, DC was crowded with people visiting for the cherry blossom festival, but here everyone recognized the need for silence. Now, as I reflect on the experience, I want to raise questions about the role that these memorials play in everyday reflection--or reflection that occurs without a teacher present. Instead, we have objects present that prompts you to draw back into your memory. But it's not so much your memory but a collective and public memory. What's happening in that kind of reflection? And why do we see that kind of reflection as important? But further, what role does silence play in reflection? To these questions, I don't know, but I think these are the questions I hope to see played out in the next round of reflection scholarship.