“Hope, and Keep Busy”: <em>Little Women</em> and Critical Pedagogy in the Era of Trump

Abstract

"Hope, and Keep Busy":Little Women and Critical Pedagogy in the Era of Trump Randi Lynn Tanglen In chapter 16 of Little Women, Marmee must leave Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy to go to the Union army hospital in Washington to care for Mr. March, who is dangerously ill. When the girls first hear of the peril facing their father's life, "strangely the day darkened outside! and . . . suddenly the whole world seemed to change" (130). When the girls wake up the next morning, "[e]verything seemed very strange" (135). Jo hides her tears in the kitchen towel, and Beth and Amy "wore a grave, troubled expression, as if sorrow was a new experience to them" (135). Before their mother leaves, the four sisters gather around Marmee, who tells them to "[g]o on with your work as usual, for work is a blessed solace. Hope, and keep busy; and, whatever happens, remember that you can never be fatherless" (135). Marmee provides her daughters with the reassurance they need when their world becomes newly threatening and uncertain: you can make a difference, you are not alone, you are safe. In the early hours of November 9, 2016, after the election of Donald J. Trump as United States president, I was on the brink of despair. Yet I woke up with Marmee's words, "hope, and keep busy," running through my mind. A few hours later, I met with my nineteenth-century American literature class. The students were looking for guidance and comfort on that dark morning, when "everything seemed very strange." Many of us were in tears, and the students expressed worries about the loss of LGBTQ rights, women's rights, immigrant rights, and civil rights in general in the face of a Trump presidency. In the spirit of Alcott and Marmee, I told them to be strong and brave, to "hope, and keep busy." Before that November morning I had taught Marmee's words—and, to be honest, the novel as a whole—as a platitude to satisfy nineteenth-century women and children with little political power. But over the past two years my cynicism has faded, and I have come to see Marmee's instructions as wisdom for those of us who felt everything change on that day. While I am committed to a critical pedagogy that asks students to question the role of literature in perpetuating social and political inequalities, when my students and I were politically bereft I realized that we needed something to work toward. I can't give [End Page 109] my students the tools to critically dismantle patriarchy, power, and privilege without empowering them with agency, voice, and security. These days I tell students that we can be inspired by Alcott's dedication to social reform and look for its legacies in Little Women. Heeding Marmee's maxim, I've been heartened by throwing myself into my work, developing new courses on nineteenth-century American women writers, reform, and resistance. My once despondent students say that learning about the perseverance of women writers like Alcott makes them feel more secure and confident in their activism and brings structure to the chaos of today's unpredictable political news cycle. Little Women reminds me that those who "hope, and keep busy" engage in a profound act of resistance in our dark political times. Like the moon that shone on Marmee before she left for Washington, Little Women encourages me and my students: "Be comforted, dear soul! There is always light behind the clouds" (134). [End Page 110] Randi Lynn Tanglen Austin College Copyright © 2019 University of Nebraska Press