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International Composition #2 An international view of composition promotes rhetorical diversity. In an internationalist composition classroom, students are asked to learn about each other’s writing processes. For instance, when students from other countries take our classes, they are encouraged to talk about their home cultures and home languages, of course, but they are also asked to share how they write: what do they think about as they write, what are their resources, what are their inspirations? And when students from other countries do not take our classes, we have the same discussions . Difference does not need a passport. An internationalist composition classroom is developed with, and in respect to, what writers and teachers know about composing and in relation to what can be learned through dialogue with others, beginning with the person sitting in the next desk. And, finally, in an international perspective, the rhetorical canon remains open to international, class, gender, racial, and sexual orientation influences. In it, ancient and contemporary texts and texts from every country can potentially influence how we write—sometimes with dramatic consequence. In Avarice and the Avaricious, eighth-century Arab writer and philosopher , Abu ‘Utham al-Jahiz, includes a letter from one Ibu Tau’am, about whom little is known. The letter offers writers of any age and place a necessary warning about how the power of persuasive writing can corrupt the soul of the writer who uses it for immoral purposes: . . . what about the poets and demagogues who learn rhetoric simply to line their own pockets? Nothing would please them more than for the rich to neglect security and leave their money unguarded and vulnerable. Beware of such people. Do not be deceived by appearances, for vagrants have more integrity. Do not be fooled by their carriages, for vagrants are more content. They may dress in the costumes of princes but, in truth, they are untitled rogues. They may have the bearing of royalty but, at heart, they are common knaves. Their demands and their methods may differ but each has the soul of a scoundrel. One may ask for finery, another one beg for rags, one may look for thousands, another one for small change but all have one aim and their 72   national healing tricks are the same. They differ in the amounts they ask for, in proportion to their craft and cunning. Be careful of their charm, watch out for their traps and keep your fortune secure from their guile. Remember that their wizardry can dazzle your wits and rob you of your judgment. The Prophet said, “Eloquence is a form of witchcraft.” (1999, 167–168) While the writing teachers and poets I know surely did not choose these professions out of greed nor “dress in the costumes of princes,” the warning is clear: persuasion is a dangerous skill both for the rhetor and the audience because it can corrupt absolutely. The lesson for writers is also clear: look to one’s heart and be sure that one’s intentions are ethical and healthy—a worthy discussion for any classroom or any writer’s inner dialogue. But how often do we ask our students to examine their writing in light of the words of, say, the Prophet Muhammed? What might it mean to our Muslim students—to all our students—if we did? That, of course, is a rhetorical question. Writing from a different cultural perspective, Bernadette M. Calafell (2010, 109) testifies to her own search for Latina culture in academe, a place that continues to privilege “the norm of the space as white, male, and heterosexual, essentially universalizing this experience and perspective.” Indeed, Calafell’s “Rhetorics of Possibility” ought to be required reading for how it teaches us about honoring all our students’ cultures. A contemporary source, Saddeka Arebi’s Women and Words in Saudi Arabia: The Politics of Literary Discourse, offers a profound model of anthropological and rhetorical research. In it, Arebi presents writing by several Saudi women writers and intellectuals, analyzes the literary, cultural, and ideological import of the work and, significantly, presents insights from her interviews with the writers about the writing, their lives, and the continuing social situation. For instance, there are the words of educator and writer Najwa Hashim’s fictional character, Samia, a divorced woman writing a letter about the personal and public pain of being divorced by her husband: The shared language, which is what usually brings two people together, I have never known . . . All I have known is a life...

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