Many of us are disenchanted with the current political climate in our country, which is understandable.

The Millennial generation has fed the rise of social media activism. We helped produce viral hashtags like #BlackLivesMatter, #YesAllWomen, and #BringBackOurGirls. We were part of the 26 million Facebook users that put rainbow filters over our profile pictures when the Supreme Court determined that #LoveWins by recognizing same sex marriages nationwide in 2015, and we contributed to the over 180,000 tweets using #RefugeesWelcome in response to the ongoing Syrian refugee crisis. According to our Internet activity, young people care and we care a lot.

We know that young people care immensely, but we also know that most young people do not vote. We must remedy these two conflicting realities because, unfortunately, we are currently forfeiting one of our most powerful tools to create change — our electoral power.

Many of us are disenchanted with the current political climate in our country, which is understandable. We have been raised in an era of political gridlock and extreme partisan ideology. We have lost hope that Washington can change or produce change. However, not voting is not the answer. Regardless of whether or not we vote, legislators will continue to get elected and pass (or not pass) legislation that affects our lives. Therefore, apathy is not the answer. Rather, as a generation that cares a lot, we need to harness our electoral power to shake things up. To change the system, we must get involved and demand that it works harder to serve us

In its temporal deferral, UD replicates the unrealized futurity of disability itself. As Robert McRuer notes, disability does not designate a subset of humanity but a spectral prospect that haunts everyone: “If we live long enough, disability is the one identity that we all inhabit” (200).[3] In its deferred arrival, UD, like disability, conjures an elusive future.

One of the authors, Richard H. Godden, considers how particular experience of disability shapes his use of media and also informs his reactions to prescriptive statements about the use of technology; the other author, Jonathan Hsy, writes as a nondisabled ally who considers some of the discursive and practical complications that arise in efforts to make the web more accessible to people with disabilities. We come from different perspectives, yet both of us ask what it means for any community to establish “best practices” for technology use. Even the most well-intentioned universalist discourses risk effacing crucial particularities of embodied experience.

While we agree UD is an unachievable goal, we would argue that the goal itself is problematic and ultimately inadequate to the continuously evolving situation of not only the inclusion of more and more disabled/extraordinary/eccentric bodies into “normal” society but also the ever-shifting ableness of any body as it moves toward inevitable failure.

For example, Williams encourages a reciprocity between user and designer, arguing that “by working to meet the needs of disabled people—and by working with disabled people through usability testing—the digital humanities community will also benefit significantly as it rethinks its assumptions about how digital devices could and should work with and for people.”[17] I would suggest that the goals that animate UD should be and will continue to be a powerful principle in DH, but such a design principle needs to accompany, not supplant, the attention to the particular. Recriprocity could mean mutual care, of and for each other, but it should not need to flatten us out into a universal subject in the process.

As someone with a disability, I feel deeply and urgently the need to be less reliant on other people, but sometimes existing technology can be inadequate—it can break down, be unreliable, or may just be a poor substitution for human help (even if I don’t want that help).

This is, in fact, one of the great benefits of assistive technology and UD – by building environments, physical and digital, that provide barrier-free access, then People with Disabilities can function more independently, and with less reliance on other people

However, I want to suggest that both positions engender a sense of “best practice” that could obscure the specific sociopolitical and embodied orientation of an individual user

As I reflect on that conversation today, I realize that the uneven media functionality of DSDJ presented an awkward social reality for the workshop attendees: much of this Deaf-oriented journal was inaccessible to a hearing majority (i.e., online content was only partially accessible to non-ASL users). As a hearing person who does not know much ASL, I find it intriguing that a commentary section on the topic of audism or “audiocentric privilege” does not provide a link to a PDF that I can read in written English (perhaps one might appear in the future

Media theorist Jane Bringold observes that UD is not a discrete goal but a “Utopian ideal” (47).[1] No platform will ever be accessible across every language (spoken, written, signed), every medium, and every embodied difference (sensory, motor, cognitive).

1. UD is a myth

universal design is efficient

First, ensuring that digital resources created with federal funding are accessible is the law in many countries.

Something created to assist a person with a disability—to make their environment more accessible in some way—might not be affordable or aesthetically pleasing even if it is usable and helpful. Something created using universal design principles, on the other hand, is designed “for a very broad definition of user that encourages attractive, marketable products that are more usable by everyone” (Mace).

Mace argues for the importance of distinguishing between universal design principles and accessibility principles. To embrace accessibility is to focus design efforts on people who are disabled, ensuring that all barriers have been removed. To embrace universal design, by contrast, is to focus “not specifically on people with disabilities, but all people” (Mace).

Wendy Chisolm and Matt May write that to embrace universal design principles is to “approach every problem …with the ultimate goal of providing the greatest benefit to the greatest number of people possible” (2).

The term “universal design” was invented by architect Ronald Mace, founder of North Carolina State University’s (NCSU) Center for Universal Design. According to the NCSU College of Design, the term “describe[s] the concept of designing all products and the built environment to be aesthetic and usable to the greatest extent possible by everyone, regardless of their age, ability, or status in life” (“Ronald L. Mace”).

In fact, such tools actually do the work of disabling people by preventing them from using digital resources altogether.

While professionals working in educational technology and commercial web design have made significant progress in meeting the needs of such users, the humanities scholars creating digital projects all too often fail to take these needs into account. This situation would be much improved if more projects embraced the concept of universal design, the idea that we should always keep the largest possible audience in mind as we make design decisions, ensuring that our final product serves the needs of those with disabilities as well as those without.

What has remained neglected for the most part, however, are the needs of people with disabilities. As a result, many of the otherwise most valuable digital resources are useless for people who are—for example—deaf or hard of hearing, as well as for people who are blind, have low vision, or have difficulty distinguishing particular colors.

Digital knowledge tools that assume everyone approaches information with the same abilities and using the same methods risk excluding a large percentage of people.

The final two post-survey questions asked participants to discuss when andhow they use design principles in design projects.In response to the question about when they rely on design principles andwhen they use empirical research such as usability testing or focus groups,the most common response placed design principles and design research in adynamic relationship.

Although participants offered diverse definitions, a number of the responsesused some form of one of the following terms:•guideline;•concept;•rule of thumb, heuristic, or strategy;•rule or prescription; or•tips and tricks, technique.By far the most common response centered on terms like “guideline,” “guide,”“guiding thought,” “practice that guides,” “idea which provides guidance,” andso forth.

What (if any) visual design principles did you learn about in your designeducation or training?• What (if any) visual design principles have you learned about through yourown reading?• What (if any) visual design principles do you use consciously in your designpractice?• What visual design principles do you think are important for new designersto learn?

Cluster analysis includes two general approaches: hierarchical and partitioning.Hierarchical cluster analysis also subdivides into two approaches: divisive andagglomerative, which is the most common. For my study I explored designprinciples using both agglomerative hierarchical and partitioning techniques.

The primary advantage of this online approach was quick and efficient accessto participants. However, there were two disadvantages. First, in a face-to-facecard sorting exercise, the researcher often observes the participant as he or shesorts the cards and uses the talk-aloud protocol to gather further informationabout participants’ thinking during the exercise. Because I would not attend thecard sorting, this kind of observation was not possible. Second, I would havelittle control over who agreed to participate. The possibility for spam is alwayspresent with online media

Having determined which design principles are mentioned most commonlyin literature on design, the next question is, how do these design principlesrelate to one another? Rather than arranging the design principles accordingmy own sensibilities or some separate theory (Ahmed [12], Park [13]), Idecided that it would be more interesting to ask practicing designers, designeducators, and design students how they think these 38 visual principles shouldbe grouped

This quantitative review produced a raw list of 198 design principles. Thisnumber might seem discouragingly high except for two outlying works: Leborg[54], which lists 41 principles, 33 of which are unique, and Lidwell et al. [58],which lists 100 principles, 87 of which are unique. Lidwell et al.’s broader focuson “universal principles of design” rather than visual design principles meansthat many of their principles fall outside of the scope of my study. (Some evenstretch the concept of design principle—for example, “uncertainty principle”and “normal distribution.”) If we were to exclude Leborg’s and Lidwell et al.’sunique principles, the list of design principles contracts from 198 to 77—stillhigh, but more reasonable. However, because I included unique principles fromother texts, I retained all of Leborg’s and Lidwell et al.’s principles in the raw list.As might be expected, some of these principles are considerably more commonthan most. Overall, of the 198 principles in the raw list, 160 were mentioned inonly one work. The 198 design principles were listed cumulatively 420 timesin the 46 texts; 61.9% of these listings referred to principles used in at leasttwo works. Despite the large number of unique principles, they were used onlyin 38.1% of texts

However, if an author combined related terms that other authors listed indi-vidually (for example, “similarity and contrast” in one work as opposed to“similarity” and “contrast” in another), I divided those terms so as to considerthem separately (similarity;contrast).

This persistence invokes some questions:•What is a design principle?•How do design principles relate to each other?•How and when do designers use design principles, particularly in these daysof user-centered, research-driven design?None of these questions have straightforward answers. Although many authorsrefer to design principles, hardly any define what they mean by the term

One would think from this narrative that we have progressed from the murkydays of the craft tradition to the more enlightened and progressive landscape ofempiricism. But, in fact, design training still typically involves an introductionto visual design principles, which persist as criteria for judging designs andas heuristics for making design decisions.

One of the key approaches to achieving layout nirvana is a clear sense of structure and hierarchy.

Finally, the use of scale can be a very effective method for achieving a good visual balance in your layout. By making some elements larger than others, a sense of order and hierarchy will emerge. This helps create a comfortable layout because the viewer will automatically look at the larger elements within the layout first, progressing through to the smaller elements as they read.

Look at the different elements that make up your page and decide which is the most important. Use this element to provide a structural hook for the remaining elements on the page,

repetition can provide a strong sense of connected design and balance to a composition.

It's common for novice designers to make use of every single bit of space on a page, stuffing in content until every gap has been filled. The more experienced know that sometimes the best bit of design involves leaving elements out, rather than shoehorning them in.

Put simply, the rule of thirds says that if you divide your page into thirds both vertically and horizontally, the points at which the grid lines intersect provide the natural focal points of a composition.

One of the most effective ways to provide a sense of balance is to choose a single focal point for your layout. A good example of this in practice is the use of a large image as the biggest single element on a page.A strong visual can provide a powerful way to lead the reader into your page, and also supplies a useful structural element around which to arrange the remaining content in your layout.

By using a grid to inform the position of different elements on a page, you'll create a connection between the different elements that make up your page.

A good page composition should be both pleasing to the eye, but also communicate those key messages clearly to the intended audience.

While this can lead to some excellent happy accidents, there is a risk that using a free-form methodology can result in a lack of visual balance on the page.

The primary objective of any page you design, whether it's for a printed brochure or the latest web app, is to communicate information clearly and effectively to the reader. One of the best ways to ensure that the key messages are delivered to the reader is to create a balanced layout.

I believe there are significant instances of technical writing and the use of technical documentation that occur within the household. Many of the tech­nologies produced by industry are targeted for home use; the associated doc­umentation is used primarily within the household (by women and by men). Examples include instructions for computer hardware and software, but also those for vacuum cleaners, lawn mowers, blenders, and even coffee mills (note that Dobrin finds instructions for the coffee mill worthy of analysis; see "Do Not Grind"). Further examples of other types of technical communica­tion that enter and are "consumed" within the household include credit card agreements, billing statements, and tax and insurance forms and documents. Daily life is not devoid of instances in which individuals might produce arti­facts we would find worthy of study if they had originated within the "work­place" : there are any number of situations in which private individuals must interact by text with organizations. Surely correspondence challenging billing errors or notifying insurance carriers of changes to personal information are as "significant" as intercompany correspondence and job postings.

An irony of our focus on workplace writing is that it comes at a time when the "workplace" itself is disappearing. To define technical writing by placing it strictly within the workplace denies the historical contributions of women, but in doing so it also denies a larger past—and future—where the household is a primary location for the economically productive activities of women and men. According to Shoshana Zuboff, "home and workshop continued to be the prin­cipal centers of production as late as 1850" (227); with the increase in computer technologies, the prevalence of two-income households, and the rise of an information economy, the separation of home space and work space blurs, and as Joan Greenbaum asserts, "the office of the future may be the home" (117). Many people (myself included) spend many of their productive hours working in a home office, connected to clients and coworkers by computer networks, fax, and phone. Barber welcomes these changes, and the increased flexibility they offer child-rearing members of our society: "We are looking forward into a new age, when women [and men?] who so desire can rear their children quietly at home while they pursue a career on their child-safe, relatively interruptible- and-resumable home computers, linked to the world not by muleback or the steam locomotive, or even a car, but by the telephone and the modem" (33).

Because there are almost no cultures in which men bear the primary responsibility for child care, this task typically has fallen to women and influenced the variety and type of work they do (Brown 1075). We might agree then, that as scientific inquiry and technological innovation have been primarily the work of men, the contribu­tions of women have consequently been subsumed, lost, or overlooked.

Yet another possible reason why the history of technical communication is so barren of women is that (as feminist scholars have noted about histories of technology) "the absence of a female perspective . . . was a function of the his­torians who wrote them and not of historical reality" (Cowan, "From Virginia Dare" 248). In our case, the omission arises not from the absence of women historians (after all, nearly one third of the articles named by Rivers in his 1994 bibliographic essay were authored by women), but instead can be attrib­uted to the "peculiar set of cultural blinders" (Cowan, More 9) that make it difficult for us to see many of the ways in which women may have con­tributed to technical communication

While it is true that we have yet to agree upon what constitutes modern technical writing, popular definitions often exhibit either or both of two key characteristics: first, a close relationship (in subject matter or func­tion) to technology; and second, an understanding that technical writing is associated with work and the workplace. An example of the former is David Dobrin's definition of technical writing as "writing that accommodates tech­nology to the user" ("W hat's Technical" 242); an example of the latter is the premise proposed by Tebeaux and M. Jimmie Killingsworth to guide histori­cal research, that "technical writing exists to help its readers to achieve work- related goals —to perform work; to solve problems in a work context" (7). It follows then, that "what counts" as technical writing is derived from what is considered technology, what we consider work, and where we understand the workplace to be

"The consistent theme unfolding here is this: women are to be found in great numbers operat­ing machinery . . . [b]ut women continue to be rarities in those occupations that involve knowing what goes on inside the machine" (Cockbum 11). As Cockbum puts it, "[w]omen may push the buttons but they may not meddle with the works" (12). The popular image of Rosie the Riveter and the fact of women's successes in all facets of industry during World War II testifies to women's tech­nological competence; their immediate dismissal at the conclusion of the war punctuates the persistence of the view that a woman's place is in the home.Both Cockburn and Wajcman observe technological competence is involved in establishing masculine and feminine difference. According to Wajcman, "skilled status has . . . been traditionally identified with masculini­ty and as work that women don't do, while women's skills have been defined as non-technical and undervalued" (38). She illustrates her point with the example of sewing: "It is not possible for anybody to sit down at sewing machine and sew a garment without previous experience.. . . Although this is one area where women are at ease with machines, this is seen as women's sup­posed natural aptitude for sewing and thus this technical skill is devalued and underpaid" (49). Women are accepted as users of machines, particularly those, that are used for housework, but such knowledge is not considered as compe­tence with technology

Feminist critics of technology contend that women are excluded from that which we consider technological by definition: As Stanley puts it, technology is "what men do" rather than "what people do" ("Women" 5). The basis of this assertion lies in cultural views that:• Deny women's identities as inventors and women's work aids as "tools"• Deny women access to knowledge necessary for inventing and protecting tools and ideas

The industrial revolution brought with it not only great technological innovation, but increasing differentiation between appropriate work roles for men and for women (see Kerber; Oakley). "One of the most profound effects of industrialization was, and is, the separation of 'work places' from 'home places' —and the attendant designation of the former as the 'place' for men and the latter as the 'domain' of women," asserts Cowan (More 18). During the rise of industrial society and capitalism, "the modern concept of work, as the expenditure of energy for financial gain" (Oakley 4) came to further dis­tinguish the stereotyped expectations of productive activity done by men and women.

Furthermore, technologies that pertain specifically to women's biological functions and social roles have been essentially ignored by historians of tech­nology. "The indices to the standard histories of technology . . . do not contain a single reference . . . to such a significant cultural artifact as the baby bottle," a technology that Cowan asserts has "revolutionized a basic biological process, transformed a fundamental human experience for vast numbers of infants and mothers, and been one of the more controversial exports of Western technology to underdeveloped countries" ("From Virginia Dare" 248). Such omission by categorization presents obvious problems for the researcher, who would find few women's technologies (such as horticulture, cooking, and childcare) in the standard indices of technology

Women's general absence from the patent record (and consequently, from histories of technology) is attributed by Stanley (Mothers xxviii-xxix) to sev­eral factors:• Patents require disposable income and time, both resources of which women historically have had less than men• Married women in the United States and Britain could not own their inven­tions or patents until after the Married Women's Property Acts passed (first in New York in 1848 and 1860; in Britain in 1870 and 1882)• The technical and mathematical training necessary to build models of inven­tions and patent them was not available to women because of gender- segregated education• Cultural stereotypes discourage women from claiming credit for their achievements• These same stereotypes also encourage women to be generous and giving, resulting in sharing ideas rather protecting and profiting from them

All of these articles effectively and critically shed light on issues of race,ethnicity, and multiculturalism in technical communication. While theseissues often are overlooked, go unnoticed, or are silenced, the articlesincluded in this special issue ofJBTCdemonstrate the prominence, andmuch-needed analysis, of race, ethnicity, and multiculturalism in technicalcommunication. As guest editors, we look forward to the intellectual discus-sions and writings that respond to these articles.

In the final article, ‘‘Reimagining NASA: A Cultural, Political, and VisualAnalysis of the U.S. Space Program,’’ Miriam F. Williams uses conceptsfrom narrative theory and visual rhetoric to analyze the images used in theNational Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) History Time-line, paying special attention to whycertain images of social, political,and cultural significance were selected as historical markers over otherphotographs. Specifically, Williams uses arguments from Sontag’sOnPhotographyand Barbatsis’s ‘‘Narrative Theory’’ to explain how NASA’sphotographic narrative provides a plot that spans from triumphs and trage-dies in space exploration to pioneering efforts in racial, ethnic, and genderdiversity.

discourse in a way that Latino construction workers could more fully under-stand. Evia and Patriarca specifically demonstrate how Latino constructionworkers collaborate to design safety-related artifac ts that are culturallyrelevant to their needs

In the second article, ‘‘The Double Occupancy of Hispanics: CountingRace and Ethnicity in the U.S. Census,’’ Charise Pimentel and DeborahBalzhiser examine the historical and current racial implications of theU.S. Census questionnaire. In this analysis, Pimentel and Balzhiser demon-strate the problematic nature of both the Hispanic-origin and race questionsthat ultimately reproduce racial inequities. Through a careful, criticaldeconstruction of the 2010 census form and census data reports, Pimenteland Balzhiser propose a ‘‘double occupancy of Hispanics’’ whereby theHispanic-origin and race questions simultaneously encourage the U.S. soci-ety to keep a tab on Hispanic growth and inflate the white count.

The first article, ‘‘Race, Rhetoric, and Technology: A Case Studyof Decolonial Technical Communication Theory, Methodology, and Peda-gogy,’’ by Angela M. Haas, is a case study that examines the place of race,ethnicity, rhetoric, and technology in a graduate-level technical communi-cation classroom. This study demonstrates the importance of race and eth-nicity in the technical communication curriculum design and pedagogy

on race has become prominent. In this special issue, scholars in technicalcommunication and multicultural education add their voices to this nationaldiscussion

We acknowledge, though, that many, inside and outside of our field,believe that race is not a relevant concept in our society or field. Some arguethat we live in a nonracist society, and thus the need to acknowledge colorno longer exists. Gordon (2005) explained that color blindness ‘‘maintainsthat race does not exist as a meaningful category and posits that the benefitsaccrued to White people are earned by (gifted) individuals rather than sys-temically conferred’’ (p. 281). For example, in some technical communica-tion classes, as in most classes, instructors adopt a color-blind perspective,reiterating the sentiment that race has no place in the classroom (Hairston,1992). According to this perspective, to see or speak of race is to give life toa racist social system that has historically marginalized people of color andgiven unfair advantages to white European Americans (WEAs).The foundation of a color-blind perspective is grounded in the belief of amerit-based system of reward and penalty. Yet this merit-based systemrarely works to the advantage of people of color. As Bonilla-Silva (2003)and others have shown, the color-blind ideology is false and usually trans-lates into societal practices that build on and bestow neutral WEA cultural,linguistic, and racial knowledge

Thus, despite electing its first African-American president and having agrowing Hispanic population, the United States is not a postracial society.Unfortunately, we still live in a society that produces racial constructs andwhere people live out racialized lives as part of their everyday experiences.Even though (or quite possibly because) race as a concept and therebyracism still exist, many people, if not color-blind, avoid topics of race, eth-nicity, and culture in their daily conversations

EditorialIntroduction:Race, Ethnicity,and TechnicalCommunicationMiriam F. Williams1and Octavio Pimentel1According to the 2010 U.S. census, the Hispanic population has reached50.5 million people, making Hispanics the largest minority group in theUnited States. Between April 1, 2000, and April 1, 2010, the Hispanicpopulation increased 43%, which makes it the fastest growing populationin the United States.

Perhaps even more indicative of the country’s chang-ing demographics and views on race was the election of the first African-American president of the United States, Barack Obama, in 2008. While thenation has shown progress by electing its first African-American president,the education, employment, income, and health disparities between WhiteAmericans and historically marginalized groups still exist. Because of theseinequities, African-American, a group whose civil rights movement hasserved as a model for historically marginalized people around the world,continue to have the strongest political and racial group identity in theUnited States. While scholars from various disciplines study the effectsof major demographic and social changes in the United States, they alsoacknowledge that these changes have not alleviated obvious, and sometimesgrowing, inequities in health, wealth, and education. Noting these majorchanges in the United States, we are not surprised that a national discussion

Let us tie the "what" and the "how" of literacy pedagogy back to the large agenda with which we began this article: focusing on Situated Practices in the learning process involves the recognition that differences are critical in workplaces, civic spaces, and multilayered lifeworlds. Classroom teaching and curriculum have to engage with students' own experiences and discourses, which are increasingly defined by cultural and subcultural diversity and the different language backgrounds and practices that come with this diversity. Overt Instruction is not intended to tell - to empower students in relation to the "grammar" of one proper, standard, or powerful language form. It is meant to help students develop a metalanguage that accounts for Design differences. Critical Framing involves linking these Design differences to different cultural purposes. Transformed Practice involves moving from one cultural context to another; for example, redesigning meaning strategies so they can be transferred from one cultural situation to another.

Situated Practice: Immersion in experience and the utilization of available discourses, including those from the students' lifeworlds and simulations of the relationships to be found in workplaces and public spaces. Overt Instruction: Systematic, analytic, and conscious understanding. In the case of multiliteracies, this requires the introduction of explicit metalanguages, which describe and interpret the Design elements of different modes of meaning. Critical Framing: Interpreting the social and cultural context of particular Designs of meaning. This involves the students' standing back from what they are studying and viewing it critically in relation to its context. Transformed Practice: Transfer in meaning-making practice, which puts the transformed meaning to work in other contexts or cultural sites.

Available Designs Available Designs - the resources for Design - include the "grammars" of various semiotic systems: the grammars of languages, and the grammars of other semiotic systems such as film, photography, or gesture. Available Designs also include "orders of discourse" (Fairclough, 1995). An order of discourse is the structured set of conventions associated with semiotic activity (including use of language) in a given social space - a particular society, or a particular institution such as a school or a workplace, or more loosely structured spaces of ordinary life encapsulated in the notion of different lifeworlds. An order of discourse is a socially produced array of discourses, intermeshing and dynamically interacting. It is a particular configuration of Design elements. An order of discourse can be seen as a particular configuration of such elements. It may include a mixture of different semiotic systems - visual and aural semiotic systems in combination with language constitute the order of discourse of TV, for instance. It may involve the grammars of several languages - the orders of discourse of many schools, for example.

Designs of Meaning   Available Designs: Resources for meaning; Available Designs of meaning   Designing:  The work performed on/with Available Designs in the  semiotic process   The Redesigned:  The resources that are reproduced and transformed Dimensions of Meaning

In relation to the new environment of literacy pedagogy, we need to reopen two fundamental questions: the "what" of literacy pedagogy, or what it is that students need to learn; and the "how" of literacy pedagogy, or the range of appropriate learning relationships.

In responding to the radical changes in working life that are currently underway, we need to tread a careful path that provides students the opportunity to develop skills for access to new forms of work through learning the new language of work. But at the same time, as teachers, our role is not simply to be technocrats. Our job is not to produce docile, compliant workers. Students need to develop the capacity to speak up, to negotiate, and to be able to engage critically with the conditions of their working lives.

Second, we decided to use the term "multiliteracies" as a way to focus on the realities of increasing local diversity and global connectedness. Dealing with linguistic differences and cultural differences has now become central to the pragmatics of our working, civic, and private lives. Effective citizenship and productive work now require that we interact effectively using multiple languages, multiple Englishes, and communication patterns that more frequently cross cultural, community, and national boundaries.

The first relates to the increasing multiplicity and integration of significant modes of meaning-making, where the textual is also related to the visual, the audio, the spatial, the behavioral, and so on.

   Being ten distinctly different people, we brought to this discussion a great variety of national, life, and professional experiences. Courtney Cazden from the United States has spent a long and highly influential career working on classroom discourse, on language learning in multilingual contexts, and, most recently, on literacy pedagogy. Bill Cope, from Australia, has written curricula addressing cultural diversity in schools, and has researched literacy pedagogy and the changing cultures and discourses of workplaces. From Great Britain, Norman Fairclough is a theorist of language and social meaning, and is particularly interested in linguistic and discursive change as part of social and cultural change. James Gee, from the United States, is a leading researcher and theorist on language and mind, and on the language and learning demands of the latest "fast capitalist" workplaces. Mary Kalantzis, an Australian, has been involved in experimental social education and literacy curriculum projects, and is particularly interested in citizenship education. Gunther Kress, from Great Britain, is best known for his work on language and learning, semiotics, visual literacy, and the multimodal literacies that are increasingly important to all communication, particularly the mass media. Allan Luke, from Australia, is a researcher and theorist of critical literacy who has brought sociological analysis to bear on the teaching of reading and writing. Carmen Luke, also from Australia, has written extensively on feminist pedagogy. Sarah Michaels, from the United States, has had extensive experience in developing and researching programs of classroom learning in urban settings. Martin Nakata, an Australian, has researched and written on the issue of literacy in indigenous communities.

Clark argues that, while the separation of form fromcontent is not a new concept, “no content is [truly] free of presentation” and that“[c]ontent and presentation are never separated.” Within the content managementcontext, therefore, Clark suggests understanding this separation in two ways: (a) ascontent being complete texts, and presentation being output structure, navigation,and visual style; and (b) as content being content modules, and presentation beingoutput structure, navigation, visual style, and genre definition. This separation,dictated by the nature of structured writing and single sourcing and by the techno-logical nature of content management systems, is perceived in different ways interms of its affordances by different participant groups involved in the contentmanagement process.

For a content management system to be successful, Hall (2001) argues, two im-portant factors must be emphasized: end users (documentation specialists) anduser needs.

as far as we know, books on content manage-ment systems have almost exclusively approached the topic from the practical per-spective. In other words, they teach you how to design and/or use such systemswithout critical examinations of why such systems should be used in the first placeand why they succeed or fail. Nor do they consider what effect working in such en-vironments has on writing as a practice

“the process of coming to content management touches nearly everythingabout the culture of writing in an organization, beginning with how texts are under-stood and encompassing every step of the text generation life cycle up to and in-cluding the way a text should behave when a user interacts with it.” More impor-tantly, they argue, organizations should view content management “as a change inthe technological and social infrastructure that makes their organization work.”

A potential solution to this problem, proposes Whittemore, can be found inthe heart of technical communication theory—the rhetorical tradition—and, morespecifically, the rhetorical canon of memory. To Whittemore, the rhetorical canonof memory’s “concern for retrieving and adapting existing knowledge to the exi-gencies of shifting rhetorical situations” provides valuable insights into tacklingsome of the contemporary issues confronting content management: “contentcustomizability and granularity, information retrieval, and on-demand delivery.”

The very expressioncontent managementexcludes any idea of writingor communicating and focuses on information independently of the people whoproduce or consume it.

Content manage-ment, no doubt, is still a relatively new area within the academic circle, although itis by no means a new practice in the industry.

Content management, broadly defined, refers to the “process of collecting, manag-ing, and publishing information to whatever medium you need” (Boiko, 2005, p. xv).A content management system, then, is any systematic method designed to organizeand distribute information, while content management system software automatesthe system, typically providing “a platform for managing the creation, review, filing,updating, distribution, and storage of structured and unstructured content”

The authors here in-vestigate not just thehowfor content management but thewhy, not just to rational-ize the content management practice and our participation in the practice but torhetoricize such practice, i.e., to construct and deconstruct the discourse surround-ing content management and to contextualize the design and implementation ofCMSs for the benefit of not only the end result—information design and dissemi-nation—but also the end users—technical communicators.

plementation in business settings, and sadly in university settings as well, involvesonly managers and IT personnel such as developers. The most important part ofthis whole puzzle—th

Technical communication is a broad field and includes any form of communication that exhibits one or more of the following characteristics: Communicating about technical or specialized topics, such as computer applications, medical procedures, or environmental regulations. Communicating by using technology, such as web pages, help files, or social media sites. Providing instructions about how to do something, regardless of how technical the task is or even if technology is used to create or distribute that communication.