23 Bovine Growth Hormone and the Power of Writing

It humors me, as an English professor who majored in English literature, to confess that my first meaningful writing experience in college was in a general education course about ethics and agriculture. Let me spell out what I mean. I was an undergraduate English major. I loved reading and writing. Ostensibly, I had ample opportunities to write in my major. Yet, when I reflect on my undergraduate experience, I don’t recall a meaningful close reading of Shakespeare — though I still adore Shakespeare in the Park. Nor do I remember a poignant commentary on early American literature; Cotton Mather be damned! I have a vague memory of a character analysis in a theater course, but I can’t remember the character’s name or the title of the play. Sure, there were long nights where I sat at my roommate’s computer churning out an analysis of a novel while reviewing my notes of the professor’s lecture. In those moments, I saw writing as a transaction of my thoughts to earn a grade.

How was it that an English major learned the power of writing in a Gen Ed course about agriculture?

The course was called Ethics and Agriculture, and it focused on bovine growth hormone (rBGH) in the dairy industry. I had no experience with farming. I had no agribusiness acumen, nor a desire to hone business management. I selected this course, as a student in the University Honors program, because I needed nine credits in the required honors upper division thematic track in Gen Ed. Offered the fall semester of my junior year, Ethics and Agriculture fit my schedule and it met the requirement. I enrolled expecting three or four multiple choice exams, maybe a few reading responses or a final paper.

Within the first week, I realized Ethics and Agriculture was different. On the second floor of a brick building, 25 students sat with our desks in a circle in a room with windows facing south. It was a midmorning class. I don’t remember ever missing it. On the second day of class, the instructor informed us that the entire course centered around a project-based assignment in which the whole class collaboratively explored the ethics of rBGH in dairy farming (for an overview of the issue, see Marden). In the first half of the semester, we learned about ethical deliberation and decision-making. The second half of the semester applied these principles to the specific case of rBGH in agriculture. We examined different stakeholders implicated in rBGH: animal sciences, biotech companies, corporate dairy farmers, small dairy farmers, consumers, and government agencies. Our instructor sorted the class into small groups and assigned each group to play the role of one of these stakeholders. My group represented the needs of small dairy farms.

The assignment asked us to research the issue fully, examining it from the perspective of every stakeholder. My group consisted of a sophomore and three juniors. We collaborated to search and synthesize relevant research. We read a few scientific studies on rBGH. We explored Food and Drug Administration policy. We tracked down investigative reports about biotech interests. We read commentary about corporate farm needs. We looked for statements and advocacy about small dairy needs. In a small college town surrounded by farmland, we could see the connection to the local community. After conducting research, it was clear that the best case scenario for small dairy would be a ban of rBGH in dairy farming. When we analyzed the other stakeholder perspectives, however, we recognized that a ban wasn’t likely to succeed as a solution through ethical deliberation. We simply didn’t think we could persuade corporate farms to forgo such a lucrative product as rBGH. Our plan was to follow a strategy recommended in the scholarship: add rBGH labels to milk cartons. All companies using rBGH would be required to include labels on milk products. Consumers would be able to make an informed decision about the product. Once we found the strategy, we prepared for the whole class deliberation.

Over the course of two weeks, each group took turns presenting their policy recommendations. Then, student groups engaged in a process of ethical debate and deliberation in response to the written reports. From a small dairy perspective, our most ardent opponents were corporate dairy farms. The back and forth between our two stakeholders required the most deliberation. Today, almost three decades later, I recall difficult conversations. It was invigorating. All stakeholders had to agree on the final proposed recommendation, which involved writing and revising policy. It was one of the first moments when university writing seemed relevant. It wasn’t a regurgitation of what I knew about rBGH. Writing became meaningful and connected to a real-world situation. I began to see how writing was a tool to accomplish goals. Writing was not only about great books. Writing helped us do things.

Up until that point in my college career, I held narrow beliefs about academic writing. I entered the university assuming writing would be rote. In high school, writing had mostly been a transaction. In my papers, I repeated what teachers lectured or what I read in books. I championed the paraphrase. I received solid grades. Rarely did I feel academic writing could be meaningful, though I imagine teachers hoped it might be. At the university, I held the same expectations. I treated assigned papers as knowledge transactions. I demonstrated knowledge about a topic; I received a grade. On the contrary, when writing about rBGH from the point of view of small dairy farmers, I became engrossed in the social issue. I didn’t write for a grade. I was motivated to advocate.

In Ethics and Agriculture, I began to notice how writing could be goal-oriented and vary across contexts. Sometimes we ascribe a narrow definition to what counts as writing and writing development. But narrow definitions limit not only students’ expectations but teachers’ as well. In the field of writing studies, we know that writers benefit from more experiences with writing. Writers develop rhetorical dexterity when they are asked to write in different forms and for different kinds of readers. And the most meaningful writing happens when we have a personal connection, a choice in what we write, and an awareness that what we write connects to real-world problems. When we do so, we learn that we can write to make a difference. Such is the power of writing.