Introduction: Peace and English Studies Lauren DiPaula (bio) and Tammy Winner (bio) What kind of education will teach the young to hate war? --Virginia Woolf, Three Guineas, (23) Peace is hard work. It is not free. It requires justice, and blood, and determination. It requires love that mostly does not give back. Peace requires fearlessness in the face of conflict. It takes risk. It is sometimes a reckoning with ourselves, when we least want to see who we are. It takes self-reflection, advocacy, and action. We wanted this special issue of The CEA Critic to be a peaceable re-seeing of our study of literature, creative writing, rhetoric, composition, and pedagogy. The essays in this collection offer diverse voices telling us that a re-seeing of ourselves and our discipline is not easy or free or necessarily bloodless. Within our discipline in particular, it is hard work, as literacy education advocate and author, Mary Rose O’Reilley reminds us in her 1984 College English article, “The Peaceable Classroom” and her 1993 book by the same name. O’Reilley searches for a way to make the classroom a peaceable place in an attempt to answer a question that was posed to her, “I wonder if it is possible to teach literature in such a way that people stop killing each other?” (109). O’Reilley’s classroom becomes peaceable in her choice of content, but also in that she respects her students, their agency, and the differences they bring to the subject. As co-editors, we come to our topic seeking different answers: Tammy in search of new ways to help her students become better writers without “bleeding” all over their papers with a red pen, and Lauren in search of ways to better attend to the community of the classroom so that students leave prepared to confront conflict productively. Together, though, we wanted to extend the idea of peaceable to the field, to see how it manifests itself today across the diverse population such as we are. Much like us, the contributors in this issue take different approaches to the study of peace. They analyze, they muse, they argue, they narrate, and they reflect. But they also come together: from new understandings of composition and rhetoric based in social justice, to a musing on the rhetoric of the war story, to a call for more voices to be heard, these essays emphasize that peace, social justice, and grappling with words are all inextricably linked. Artist Sunni Zemblowski’s cover design begins the collection, and it encourages us to meditate on the language and semiotics of peace. [End Page 95] The cover contains three peace symbols against a backdrop of patterns of plants associated with peace: Olive branches, poppies, lavender, and meadowsweet. Zemblowski’s use of these plants further reminds us that the language of peace is more than words, and even more than symbols. It involves all of our senses--the smell of lavender, for instance--and associations--meadowsweet, for instance, was used for weddings and poppies, which represented peace following World War I. In an effort to support our re-seeing of peace, Mary Rose O’Reilley contributed her voice to this issue with two poems, with which we have bookended the issue. The first, “From the Island,” was inspired by the view out of her kitchen window in the midst of the Covid-19 outbreak. O’Reilley’s poem reminds us that we can choose to see the good in every situation--even in a war against an enemy we cannot see or hear. The last poem, “Renga,” invites us to return home in a sense, to be a witness to nature and love (while keeping a safe distance). Bernard A. Miller’s essay “Composition, Decomposition, and the Rhetoric of the War Story” is a poetic and graphic musing on not just the war story but words themselves. He demonstrates how those fighting in war struggle to find meaning in words despite war’s processes of evil, meaninglessness, and decomposition. At the same time, some soldiers and veterans face an absence of meaning in the only thing that can bring about symbolic immortality, composition. This speechlessness compounds the...
Read full abstract