Learning as story-telling

I listened to a great talk this week by Patrick Parrish, an instructional designer with the COMET project.  His topic was "engagement" and he presented a model of layered engagement.  For me, the most interesting part of the talk was Parrish's remarks about the "aesthetics of engagement" and the need for instructional designers, faculty members, and anyone who cares about learning to consider the aspects of learning associated with emotion, passion, and love.  Parrish suggests that we see learning through the lens of story or narrative.  That idea resonated with me and I got to thinking about what elements of good story-telling could apply to creating meaningful learning experiences.

In The Hero with a Thousand Faces Joseph Campbell identified a pattern that all good stories seem to follow in some way or another.  When we read, watch, or hear these stories we like them because they take us on a journey that we can relate to and that creates an emotional response for us.  This has some interesting implications for learning.  What would a learning experience based on some of these same principles look like?

1.  Learning would be built around a challenge, problem, or key question.  The best kind of learning engages learners in a quest of sorts in which they become immersed in developing a solution to a problem, answering a fundamental question, or creating some sort of meaningful learning artifact.  This practice would also engage faculty members in the meaningful activity of distilling their course down to key questions, issues, or objectives and help them connect the often disparate parts of their course (week 1's lecture, next week's exam, the final project, etc.).  

Campbell described this part of a narrative as the "call to adventure" implying that some sort of invitation is extended to the hero.  It would be interesting for educators to think about this principle and ask themselves "How can I invite or entice students to engage in meaningful learning this semester?" or "What do I do when learners resist the initial invitation?".  It also occurred to me that this call to action might occasionally include creating some sort of discomfort or cognitive dissonance for the learner that nudges them into action.  

2.  Great Mentoring.  Good stories usually include some sort of mentor or guide (think Yoda or Rocky's trainer Mickey).  Meaningful learning experiences, while shifting the responsibility for learning on to the student, don't leave them helpless.  The mentor could be a faculty member, but not in every case.  Mentoring could also be provided by other students with particular skill sets or expertise or learners could also be connected with mentors outside of the class (either face-to-face or electronically) that could help drive deeper learning.  I have seen this done extremely well in a Microcomputer Design course on my campus where students each select a project to work on at the beginning of the semester and then spend the next 15 weeks building a network of mentors including classmates, faculty from the department, and outside consultants.  This group becomes like a learning team that helps the student address challenges in their design, learn new skills along the way, and test their ideas.

3.  Discomfort, trials, or "ordeals."  This shouldn't be misconstrued to mean ridiculously challenging exams or any of the other sadistic things that sometimes happen in higher education.  But, if learning is a narrative and good stories involve pain or discomfort then some of our attempts to "satisfy" or "please" (think about the last student rating evaluation you looked at) learners could be misguided (see this article on learning styles that suggests that enjoyment doesn't always mean that the best learning has occurred).  While learning should be fulfilling and meaingful, it may not always be entertaining or pain-free.  Allowing learners to struggle with concepts, work through initial failures, or having high expecations isn't a bad thing as long as students feel supported and can see that their "ordeal" will eventually lead them somewhere they want to be.

4.  Reward or "Elixir."  In a story this might be some sort of tangible object or symbol.  In education these might be the solutions or artifacts.  Even more importantly it could be the lessons learned or knowledge gained.  The key is creating opportunities that allow students to figure out what they have gained through their learning experience.  This could be a portfolio, a personal reflection about what they have learned or how they have changed, or an opportunity to showcase or highlight their learning.  Campbell argues that this "elixir" is generally something with use or benefit either to the individual hero or to the community at large.  That idea suggests that part of our role as educators is helping students step back from their learning and consider how what they have learned matters or what use it may have in the future.  A week ago I would have suggested a final presentation as one way of doing this, but my friend Gary Dayne's recent blog posting on the problems with final presentations has made me rethink that.  As Gary points out the problem with presentations is that they don't allow students to demonstrate their learning in a meaningful context.  Good learning journeys will end with contextual demonstrations of learning.  This could be as simple as Q & A sessions or something more complex.  But, the point is to find a way for (1) learners to demonstrate to themselves that they have learned something (which a 5 minute presentation generally doesn't do) and (2) to provide the rest of the class with a showcase of good learning.  In some cases this might mean a final challenge or trial that asks students to bring what they've learned to bear on a new problem or situation.  

I saw a lot of these principles at work in a class that was taught in my department this semester.  The course was a freshman seminar (UNIV 101) course, but it was unique in a fundamental way.  Rather than a traditional student success course where students have a lecture each week on time management, test preparation, working in groups, etc. the course attempted to help students learn useful skills and principles by working on a project--building a set of loudspeakers.  The challenge was pretty clear, build a functioning set of loudspeakers from scratch, but I saw the other principles demonstrated as well.  There was a great mentor (the faculty member) who spent significant amounts of time consulting with teams on their design and helping them work through problems that arose.  Students talked about the pain and frustration that came with the project.  And, the last day of class was a tradeshow of sorts where they demo'd their speakers, answered questions about their design, and shared the "lessons learned" from the project.   It was a little messy, frustrating for students & the instructor at times, and probably didn't address all of the transitional issues that some freshman seminars might.  But, as I listened to and watched the students on the last day it was obvious that they had the sort of "aesthetic" experience Parrish describes.  They had accomplished something challenging and meaningful, had learned lessons that could be applied across their university experience, and they were smiling at the end of it all.  Those all seemed like good things to me.

Policy-making is not problem-solving

Just before the Thanksgiving break I attended a meeting of associate deans as a substitute for my direct supervisor who was out of town.  I realized that, as a "replacement player" my wisest course of action during the meeting was to sit back and just observe, so that's what I did.  The day's topic of discussion was the time-to-graduation issue wherein BYU students are taking longer to graduate than we would like them to.  This seemed like a fair issue to address because we want to make a BYU education accessible to as many students as possible.  And, if a student stays for 6 extra semesters, that means denying admission to another student during that time. 

I'll give you some key pieces of information in the hopes that you'll start to develop your own solution, then I'll tell you what actually happened.

Fact #1:  The largest contributor to extended stays at the university was determined to be course repeats.  Simply put, students are taking one or more classes multiple times.  That means they're here longer.

Fact #2:  The vast majority of students who repeat courses do so because they have earned a failing grade.

Fact #3:  The most commonly repeated courses are introductory level courses that are part of the university core (that's code for gen. ed.) program.

Fact #4:  Of the 20 most commonly repeated courses, 11 fall within three academic departments (4 in department A, 4 in department B, and 3 in department C).

So, what do you think?  How would you go about addressing the situation given these scraps of data?  I'm not naive enough anymore to think that there is a single solution or magic bullet for something like this.  But, as I sat listening to the conversation play out I was a little amazed at one thing that was never mentioned:  how do we help students be more successful so they don't repeat courses?

Rather, the rest of the 90 minute discussion focused on policies that could be enacted that would either punish students for repeating a course or deter them from making that decision in the first place (a limit on the number of courses that can be repeated, averaging all of the grades for a given course rather than awarding the highest grade, extending the withdrawal policy so that a student has more time to pull out of a class if it looks like they're going to fail, etc.).  What I observed was an attempt to problem solve through policy-making.  I attended a meeting of academic advisors yesterday and the same issue was discussed and, again, everyone wanted a policy and "something in the catalog" so they could have "back up" when they tell a student they can't repeat a course or can't add a 3rd minor.

This left me wondering whether policy-making is always the best way to solve problems.  Such a response is common because it is quick and dirty.  In our minds we see the scenario playing out something like this:  If we implement the policy, students will get it, follow it, and these problems will go away.  But too often policies mask the problem and have only superficial influence on the underlying issue.  

This seems both cowardly and misguided.  It removes from us the responsibility of both improving instruction and working to help students understand what their responsibility is as members of a community of learners.  Essentially, this issue of course repeats boils down to human beings and the way they behave.  Whether it is faculty members doing a poor job of teaching or students who aren't taking their studies as seriously as they should (my hunch is that it's some of both) a policy won't change those things, only mask their visible consequences.  

At some point administering programs has to move from back-door policy making to relationship-based problem solving that makes positive changes in thinking and behavior.  

  

Does being "educated" include being "fit?"

This article describes a unique program at Lincoln University (Oxford, PA) that requires students identifed as "obese" to either demonstrate  that they have decreased their body mass index (BMI) or take a specially-designed "fitness for life" course that, in theory, should encourage students to adopt a more healthy lifestyle.

As you can imagine this has elicited a variety of interesting responses from members of the Lincoln community and others across the country.  My undergraduate degree is in Exercise Science and I moonlighted as a soccer coach before coming back to the academy, so you can guess where my leanings are (although I wouldn't say I agree with LU's methodology or logic).  But, the real question that this issue raised in my mind was what it means when a university awards a student a degree.

While every institution has its own unique mission and learning goals for its students, I think most would agree that one of their purposes is to provide students with experiences and opportunities that prepare them to be productive, engaged citizens who go out and do good things in the world.  To that end, institutions develop general education or core curricula that are intended to equip students with a general set of skills, attitudes, or abilities that will serve them well whether they end up performing heart surgeries, teaching 3rd graders cursive (btw, how long will that continue?  when was the last time any of us used that "general" skill?), or writing columns for the local paper.  Institutions also develop means of measuring or "assessing" what students have learned or gained in these areas and hold them to some sort of minimum standard.  If those standards are met, the student is granted a degree.  So, in some sense my degree from Brigham Young University is an indication that I have achieved a certain level of competence in the core areas that BYU deemed important when they created their University Core curriculum.

One of the many problems with the logic I have just described here is that universities don't have very good ways of measuring competence.  We subject students to a battery of tests, projects, papers, group-assignments, etc. that we hope will give us some insight into what they've learned, but most are articifial and disconnected from the real contexts and situations students will find themselves once they leave our campuses.  For instance, does the fact that I scored a total of 91% on the exams in my Child Development course mean that I will be a good father?  So, if we extrapolate this to some sort of health & wellness requirement (assuming that an institution has decided that part of a well-rounded education includes the ability to make good decisions about one's health), how does a university determine whether or not a student has achieved competence in that area?  

Looked at from this perspective, the Lincoln issue takes on a little more complexity.  Might they be onto something?  I'm not sure that I agree with the specifics of their requirement (among other things, measuring obesity at the beginning of the freshman year seems to leave out all those that become unfit during college), but there is something intriguing about a policy that requires students to demonstrate competence in a very concrete way.  Imagine how different our institutions would be if students left with a portfolio of hard evidence demonstrating what they had learned (or how much more fit they had become).  A university degree would take on a completely new meaning and employers, graduate schools, and anyone else who cares about higher education could have more confidence in knowing that college graduates do actually possess useful skills.  Right now a college degree is looking more and more like a written testament to a student's abilities to sit through long lectures and jump through hoops.

As much as we might dislike the problems with a policy like the one implemented at Lincoln, let's see what we might be able to learn from them in terms of accountability and real evidence for learning.

On Designing Schools

In my most recent post ("College as a Playground or Design Studio") I explored the feasability and value of providing students with informal opportunities to come together to solve problems facing a campus community.  In response to this post, Gary Daynes asked whether something like this could become a curriculum or whether an entire school could be built around such a practice.  These are interesting questions that forced me to grapple with an even larger question:  If I were to design a school, what principles and practices would it be based upon?  

Part of what has made answering that question difficult for me is a basic design dilemma that any designer (graphic, architectural, instructional, etc.) deals with--balance & constraint.  As described in Gibbons & Rogers chapter ("Coming at Design from a Different Angle") in Learning and Instructional Technologies for the 21st Century each decision made during a design places constraints on what can happen during later stages of the design.  For example, a graphic designer must balance the amount of textual and visual material on a page.  While visual material may be more aesthetically pleasing, the decision to increase visual images in a design may limit the amount of textual material that can be included.  

For those who build and design schools this seems pertinent when considering the articulation of a mission, set of objectives, or basic philosophies upon which a school will be based.  Does the the decision to be a "Talent Code School" or to have a school based on the idea of a "non-traditional classroom" place a set of constraints on those who work in the school that might limit learning?  Phrased another way, could the way a school lays out its mission or purpose limit its flexibility in providing opportunities for the best types of learning to occur for its students?  

We can all cite examples of zealots who advocate a particular political ideology, research method, or instructional technique.  They are so passionate about a particular way of doing things that they become blinded to the virtue and value in other viewpoints or methodologies.  I occasionally see instructional technologists that are so preoccupied with "integrating technology into the classroom" that they discount good but simple pedagogies simply because they don't involve the bells and whistles of the latest technological breakthrough.  My fear is that some well-intentioned school builders might fall victim to the same malaise.  

So, the question I am left with is how a school can be built on a solid educational philosophy without creating an environment that doesn't allow for flexibility and innovation.  I recognize that my call for the creation of "Talent Code Schools" could now be called into question, given this most recent argument.  An interesting paradigm shift that might avoid some of these problems would be to build schools around questions like Gary Daynes has suggested.  This sort of model would free schools and those who work and learn in them to pursue answers to those questions in any way that works, rather than feeling tethered to a particular methodology or structure.  One week students might be working in small groups to develop solutions to a social problem, the next they might be online engaging in distance learning or creating portfolios. 

Too much variety or flexibility could lead to fragmentation within a classroom or across a school.  Too much rigidity limits learning.  Where along the spectrum do the best schools fall?

 

College as a Playground or Design Studio

Yesterday as I was leaving my office late at night I saw something that has had me thinking ever since.  Near the door where I exit to go to my car there was a large advertisement for my institution's ORCA Grant program.  When it was placed there it wasn't all that different from any other advertisement I might have seen on campus--a couple of images, a bit of detail about the program, and a contact--however; it had been transformed into something much more creative and interesting than a poster advertising research grants.  There were a couple of reasons why this happened.  First, the poster (in its infant stage) was largely white, with a few black lines here and there.  On top of that, someone had taped a package of colored magic markers to the posterboard.  Finally, the posterboard was placed in a high-traffic student commons area where students gather to sleep, eat, study, etc.  All of these things added up, in students minds, to be an invitation to engage with the ad and create something completely original.  What was even more interesting to me was that this urge to create led students to create another "original creation" if you will, on the microwave stand nearby the ad.    Next to these nicely decorated styrofoam cups was a hand-written sign that said "Feel free to drink from one of these clean, decorated cups. "

This was all quite fascinating to me.  Without any real direction and in a wikipedia-like and asynchronous collaborative way, a group of students had produced something that was actually quite sophisticated (the artwork on the poster and the cups was quite well done--probably because students in the visual arts program take their classes on the floor just above where my office is located).  It left me wondering how we might engage students creativity and desire for play in ways that would both lead to good learning and also result in the creation or development of meaningful artifacts, solutions, etc.

What if campuses intentionally designed spaces (physical or otherwise) that invited students to engage with some sort of meaningful problem or task on an informal level and that also provided them with access to resources or tools that would help them create or produce something worthwhile?  I'm not talking about a studio, lab, or workshop.  Good things happen in those places, but the formal nature of the interactions and work there can sometimes limit learning.  Additionally, only a student registered for the course or invited by the lab director can participate.  What I am describing here is a sort of emergent workspace that grows on its own as students make the choice to be there and participate.  

For example, a department who wants a new logo or brand that could identify them and communicate their mission could create a large posterboard like the one I referenced above and place it in a very public space.  On the posterboard could be a couple of concise, simple directions (e.g. "We are the Office of First-Year Experience.  Our mission is to help students successfully transition into BYU and become members of our community of learners.  We need a new logo.").  Around the posterboard would be some basic materials that could be used to create something--markers, construction paper, double-sided tape, and pipe cleaner.  I wonder what might happen.  Would students pay attention to it?  Would they create something of enough quality that we might consider using even a part of it?  Would they steal my pipe cleaner?  I don't know.   

To make something like this work, it might need to be a bit more formal, but I think it could be done.  It could start with simple, but meaningful challenges that the university wants solutions for (e.g. The significant financial cost of people taking far more paper towels from a restroom dispenser than they reasonably need to dry their hands).  A call could go out across campus asking for students willing to come together to work on the project--it would be important that this invitation be broadly spread so that interdisciplinary teams form.  Students could have an advisor from administration that could help connect them with resources and be an advocate for the adoption of their solution (given that it is of sufficient quality).  Then, and this is key, students could be brought together after the completion of the project to reflect on the process and what they have learned, with particular emphasis on helping them connect their experience to coursework from their discipline.  

Would it work?  How could it be structured enough to pan out, but informal enough that students engage willingly and leave their "this is an assignment and I'm going to jump hoops" mentality at home?

Why do students hate school, but love learning?

A few weeks ago my wife and I had some friends over for dinner.  Just before they left we we got to talking about blogs and I mentioned, somewhat casually, that I have a blog that I post to about once a week or so.  At that point my wife turned and looked at me like I was a stranger she had never seen before and then said, rather emphatically, "No you don't."  You see I have never been particularly fond of or good at writing (as many of my posts reveal).  But, for the past year or so I have been a regular blogger.  What's more, it is one of the more enjoyable things that I do in my work.  This didn't make sense to my wife and has only recently started to make sense to me.  

In high school, and to some extent in college, I cringed any time a teacher mentioned an essay, research project, or even Haiku (I still wince at writing reports, memos, and evaluations).  I hated writing.  I was forced to do it, couldn't write about anything other than what the teacher wanted, and no one other than my teacher (who I didn't really care about anyway) was going to read it.  So, I've always been a little intrigued by the fact that writing for a blog is something that I do willingly.  Last night I got some answers that shed some light on this split personality I've developed.   

I listened to a talk by Clay Shirky ("Where do people find the time?"--for part 2 of the talk click here), a professor of new media at NYU, where he describes what he calls an "architecture of participation."  This architecture consists of three factors:  an ability for individuals to (1) consume, (2) produce, and (3) share all of which Shirky argues are critical for meaningful participation.  The more I listened I started to realize that my blog has allowed me to do all three of those things and I started to believe what Shirky was saying.  My blogging is different from the academic writing asked of me in school in very important and fundamental ways.  First, when I blog I get to write about what I am interested in and it isn't restricted to a particular discipline.  I am, at heart, an educator so many of my posts center there.  I've also written about politics, language, design, and health care. . .things I know little about, but am interested in.  Blogging also allows me to produce my own digital footprint.  I enjoy creating a post that links to books I've read, talks I've listened to, and other blogs.  It's also gratifying to google a term like "deep practice" and see one of my postings come up in the search.  I feel like I've created something that matters.  Lastly, because blogs are public I know that what I'm writing may actually be read by someone (I recognize that may not be true, but the theoretical idea sounds good to me).  That, incidentally, makes me care a lot more about what I write about and how I write it.

This all leaves me wondering how we can make school a little more like blogging.  What if schools were more thoughtful about creating an architecture of participation that would support the type of learning we hope happens in our classrooms?  How would assignments be structured differently?  How would the teachers role in the classroom change?  How would relationships and roles among peers look?  

The idealist in me wants to believe this would make a difference and that students would start learning in school in the same ways we see them learning once they leave our classrooms and campuses.  Am I being naive?    

Deep Practice for Teachers or. . . what we can learn from "Big Brown"

I've been thinking a great deal about how to train people to do things as of late.  And, as a teaching drop-out (I left public education after only a year of teaching), my thoughts have turned to my own teacher preparation experiences and how well they equipped me to be in a real classroom. 

 In the middle of all of this musing I came across a November 2007 Fortune magazine article  ("The Making of a UPS Driver"), that describes how UPS has adapted its training programs to address the problems of declining performance and high turnover among new drivers (which, by the way, is a job that is much more physically demanding and technical than I ever realized).  These two problems seemed very similar to those facing education and I wondered what we might be able to learn from UPS.  

The most interesting part of the article was the description of the UPS training center in Landover, Maryland.  Everything about the center seems to have been designed with learning and deep practice in mind.  I wonder how different our campus buildings would look if this were the case, particularly those classrooms where teacher education courses are taught.  The UPS training center is equipped with full-size "truck classrooms," mini-neighborhoods, and a driving course.  This all makes sense because aspiring drivers can practice being UPS drivers in the very same conditions that they'll be working in when they leave the training center and are delivering my Christmas presents and your office supplies.  Additionally, UPS gathers as much data about driver performance in these simulations as possible and then uses that data (e.g. videotape footage of truck exits, force sensor readings to measure impact on joints, etc.) to show learners how well they are doing and where they can improve.  They also put new drivers through simulations where they are forced to adapt to challenges and problems that they are almost certain to encounter (my favorite part of the article might been the description of the "fall simulator").

So, what can we learn from UPS that could be applied to training teachers?  First, where we train them is important.  A random building assigned by the campus scheduling office won't do.  We need rooms that have been designed as "teaching labs" that look like the classrooms where our teachers will teach, and that facilitate data gathering on teacher performance (in house video equipment comes to mind immediately, but someone more creative than me could think of what else this might mean).  Additionally, we need to think through the "trouble spots" that teachers are going to encounter (an angry parent, belligerent students, a faculty meeting gone awry, etc.), build these sorts of simulations or role-plays into the instruction, and then provide lots of opportunities for practice and feedback.

What I'm describing here is more than a semester of student teaching.  Although a nice capstone (potentially), more often than not it looks a little like throwing a child in the deep end without a life jacket and then checking on them every three weeks or so and providing a one page written evaluation of how well they kept their head above water.  What I'm suggesting are deep practice experiences that closely simulate real teaching and that provide near-instant feedback about how the teacher has performed, so that they can improve on the spot.  Data or feedback that help learners see how they are performing and make comparisons to expert performances and also see their own progression would be incredibly valuable (see Andy Gibbon's discussion of "contrast" and "trace" in this very interesting paper).   

Given the growing pressure to improve the educational system and ever loudening cries for better teachers, some kind of change is going to be necessary.  Something like a teaching lab would be an interesting thing to explore.  Additionally, as a concluding aside, universities might structure their faculty support centers (on my campus, the Faculty Center and Center for Teaching and Learning) in a way that these opportunities for deep practice are provided to faculty members.  

If you want something else to read along the lines of deep practice and training, check out this article from Play magazine on a backwoods Russian tennis academy that has produced more top players than nearly anywhere else in the world.

What are our institutions learning?

Higher education, by definition, is about learning. Students attend lectures, work on group projects, and write exams. Faculty members deliver instruction and conduct research. And, attending professional conferences to stay abreast of developments is standard practice. All of these behaviors are, in theory, intended to facilitate learning. I wonder, however, what and how our institutions are learning. Ironically, in our efforts to educate students we seem to occasionally neglect our own collective education. There was a time when doing things the same way year after year probably didn't pose a significant problem for universities and colleges. But, to stay relevant it will be critical that institutions find ways to drive their organizational learning.

Institutions that learn don't need to reinvent the wheel every year--there are some educational practices that have worked for hundreds of years and those things shouldn't be meddled with--but, there are some things that I would like to see happen a little more often in higher education.

Learning from other successful organizations and industries. Too often we make excuses for our failings with the refrain "Education is just too different; what works in business, healthcare, government, etc. (you can fill in the blank) just won't work for us." While education is a unique setting, closing our eyes and ignoring best practices from outside our field will ensure that we stagnate. One excellent example of an organization that has increased quality while driving down costs is Intermountain Healthcare (IHC). IHC uses data to trigger reminders to physicians and nurses of "care guidelines" that have been shown to make a difference in patient care. Data also drives the decision-making at IHC hospitals and clinics. The result? Better healthcare and lower costs for patients and insurance companies (interestingly enough, at times this practice has decreased revenue for IHC). For a slightly more abstract discussion of learning from other settings, see this TED talk by biomimicry expert Janine on what designers can learn from nature.

Learning from disasters and failures. This article describes a study performed on the mining industry and whether or not mining professionals learn from fatal mine accidents. Two very interesting recommendations are made by the researcher (Peter Madsen) that could be applied to education: 1) organizations should seek to learn more from minor accidents/failures, creating a culture of continual improvement and 2) investigations into organizational failures should focus more on determining what went wrong and less on scapegoating or finger pointing. Imagine how much more could be learned from our institutional failures if we were more concerned with improving and stopped trying to find someone to blame. Essentially, these practices help organizations adopt the "growth mindset" described by Lois Dweck in Mindset.

Learning from the stories and lives of those within our institutions. There is likely a great deal of wisdom and intellectual capital in places we wouldn't normally look (e.g. students and staff members). On most campuses the only members of the institution with a seat at the decision-making table are faculty members and high-level administrators (who some might argue have the most narrow and biased perspective). It would be interesting to explore ways of involving those on the margins of the academy in meaningful ways, particularly in telling stories about their experiences on our campuses. A qualitative analysis of those stories might yield some interesting lessons for organizations. See "Unexpected Philosophers" and/or The Philosopher Kings for an example of what I'm talking about.

My sense is that higher education is going to need to adapt and change over the next few years. To do that we'll need to be much more vigilant in trying to drive organizational learning than we have in the past.

President Obama's Address to Students

President Obama will be delivering an address to young students on Tuesday, September 8th.  According to the White House press release his remarks are intended to stress the "importance of students' taking responsibility for their education, challenging them to set goals and do everything they can to succeed."  The White House has encouraged educators to view the address with students and provided resources that teachers can use to engage their students in a meaningful dialogue about the President's remarks.  

Regardless of what political motives might be involved here (I, personally, doubt that there are any other than to send a message that education is critical to the wellbeing of our country), this seems like a useful thing for students and teachers to be a part of.  Some parents and conservatives have objected to schools participating saying that they don't want students "forced" to listen to the speech and that it will eat up "precious" class time. 

 I think it would be a mistake for any parent or teacher to keep students from hearing the address for a number of reasons:

1.  The message is an important one (regardless of who the messenger is).  Whether you agree with Obama's policies and political leanings or not, the fact is that education is an integral part of the success of our nation.  A message intended to excite students about learning and help them see its value is one we want them to hear.  And, the star power of a president (especially this one) is a rhetorical tool that can help.  If the White House has said that this is not a political speech and intended only to underscore the importance of education, let's trust them until we know otherwise.  The speech will be available online beginning Monday for parents and educators to review.  If at that point it becomes apparent that the Obama camp was lying and that the speech is filled with propaganda (which would be incredibly stupid for them to try and pull off), that would be the appropriate time to decide that your student or class will not view the address.  

2.  Blindly refusing to allow your child to listen to the address sends a dangerous message.  Children watch what adults do and make decisions about what is "normal" behavior based on these observations.  When a child hears mom say, "I don't agree with Obama's politics, so you aren't listening to what he has to say" they infer that such behavior (i.e. that when you disagree with someone you should refuse to listen to anything and everything they have to say) is the norm.  I'm not arguing that we should accept all of the current administrations policies.  What I am arguing for is openmindedness and dialogue.  If you disagree with Obama (or even things he says in the address), have a conversation with your student/child about those things and what you and they think about it.  Insulating them from differing viewpoints won't serve them in the long run.

3.  Schools are meant to be democratic spaces.  Historically, educational institutions were intended to prepare young people to be engaged citizens, capable of dialogue, productivity, and service to the community.  Only recently (relatively) did public schools become focused on preparing students for college or university study and/or the workforce.  Schools serve a democratic function and, accordingly, should model for students what a democratic society looks and feels like (I could blog about the failings of modern school systems in this realm for days, but I'll end here).  Participating in a presidential address and then discussing its implications presents a marvelous opportunity to involve students in the democratic process.  Too often we give students the impression that being in a democracy means going to the polls. There is a lot of preparatory work (e.g. listening to the views of politicians) that we don't ever mention.  Furthermore, as mentioned above, our schools should provide opportunities for meaningful dialogue about political issues and prepare students to become part of the engaged citizenry when they leave our institutions.

For the record, I am independent and disagree with plenty of the democratic parties policies.  However, if my daughter were in school (we're about 5 years away), I would want her hearing what the president has to say.  His message is a good one and it would give me something to talk to her about that's a little more important than whatever reality TV show we watched on tv last night.

The implicit messages we send: What do students hear when we talk?

Some interesting things have been happening on my campus as of late.  We have eliminated our College of Health & Human Performance and discontinued the wellness requirement that was formally part of our general education requirements for graduation.  It's important to know that I am a graduate of that college and former physical educator and coach; consequently, one could say that the views shared here are biased (I won't argue with that).  However, that aside, this has raised some questions for me about what students may infer when decisions like this are made.  I'll use the decisions referenced above as an example and foundation for my argument and then offer some supporting examples.

In the email that students received from our University Administration this afternoon they were notified that they would not be required to complete a wellness requirement in order to graduate but that "As part of this change, we encourage you to make a healthy and active lifestyle a priority."  

I'm fairly sure that this is a sincere plea to students to continue to make good choices about their personal wellness; however, the question that wasn't asked by those that made this decision and drafted the email was how students would interpret this policy change.  What does a student really hear in all of this?  For most students I think the message they get is that health & wellness, at least during the college years, isn't all that important.  After all, if it was, wouldn't BYU require it?  And, what's with discontinuing the College of Health & Human Performance?  Are those departments and courses not as important as Biology or Business Marketing?  While many students will still take advantage of the elective courses offered by BYU, the students that needed the Wellness requirement most (those that wouldn't engage in exercise or healthy living on their own) will likely leave the university without ever being exposed to those faculty members, ideas, or activities.

The sad state of American's physical health aside, the larger issue here is that we need to think more carefully about how the policies we implement communicate our values to students (for a much more thoughtful and academic commentary on this idea see John Tagg's discussion of espoused theories and theories-in-use from Chapter 2 of his book The Learning Paradigm College).  Some other poor examples:

• Notifying students that they have received institutional scholarships by referring them to their "My Financial Account" page where the scholarship amount appears, rather than sending a congratulatory letter.

Message:  Don't be too impressed with yourself, if this was an important scholarship or a noteworthy honor we would have told you.

•   Teaching first-year courses in large lecture halls seating upwards of 800 students

Message:  Interacting with faculty members, getting to know other students, or participating in class aren't important parts of learning.

• Encouraging students to bring as much AP or concurrent enrollment credit with them as possible as they move from high school to college.

Message:  Higher education is just another set of hoops to jump through on your way to "real life."  Education means checking things off a list.

I'm sure you could add to this list if you thought hard enough.  Now, the good news.  There are schools that have aligned their decisions and actions very closely with their core values and students are picking up on it.  Although not universities, KIPP Schools are a great model for what I'm talking about here.  Some examples:

• Introducing every new student by name on the first day, to the entire student body.

Message:  Individuals matter; we know you and care about you

• "Stopping the School"--When someone violates a significant school rule, classes screech to a halt, and teachers and students hold a meeting to discuss what happened and how to fix it.

Message:  The things we ask you to do really matter; rules are a way of helping us become who we want to be.

• College visits by 5th graders (local colleges) & 7th graders (prestigious east coast schools).

Message:  My teachers really mean it when they say that what they want most is for me to make it to college.

For another excellent example of an organization (outside of education) that aligns its practices with its values see Tom Kelley's book The Ten Faces of Innovation and his anaylsis of IDEO, a design consulting firm based in San Francisco, California.  

What a Pakistani village chief has to Teach Higher Education

I recently read Three Cups of Tea, by Greg Moretenson & David Oliver Relin.  In Chapter 12 of the book ("Haji Ali's Lesson").  The authors share an experience that Mortenson had with a Pakistani man named Haji Ali.  In a nutshell Mortenson learned an important lesson from that encounter--namely, that building relationships is critical for any individual or organization that wants to do work that makes a difference.  

That seems somewhat paradoxical in the age of tweets, power lunches, and other "efficient" or "time-saving" practices.  But, those of us in education--a business that claims to be about improving people's lives through learning--should take notice and consider the way in which we do things.  If your campus is like mine, you have probably seen a lot of "innovations" in the last few years that seem very forward and progressive, but that beneath the bells and whistles actually hurt relationships.  

Here are a few examples from my own experience:

• No more admissions letters.  On my campus we have decided to save time and money by discontinuing the practice of sending letters to students informing them that they have been admitted to our university.  Rather, they are instructed to visit their application page and to check their "application status."  A status of "admitted" is meant to replace the letter most of us remember receiving.
• Online "One-Stop" student services.  In the past our institution staged a "one-stop" shop during the first two weeks of each semester.  This was a place where many of the useful campus resources (tuition payments, parking services, registration, etc.) were centrally located and available to students from 8 - 5.  This allowed students to visit a single "shop" to run their pre-semester errands.  We have now discontinued this practice and have moved everything online.
• Electronic Advisement Tools.  Within the last year we have launched a "MYMAP" registration and course planning system that allows students to create four year educational plans in an electronic medium.  The system helps students "organize" the list of courses they plan to take, "plan" which specific semesters they plan to enroll in those courses, and then "register" for courses during the appropriate semester.  

The list could be longer and I'm sure you could add to it.  At this point let me say that none of these things are inherently bad.  The university will save money by not mailing admissions letters, money that could be used to improve instruction.  Allowing students to purchase parking passes online before they arrive saves them from the headache of waiting in a line during the first week of classes.  Technology can definitely improve education and we have plenty of examples of that.  But, this also seems like a slippery slope that has the potential to move us away from some of the personal interactions, conversations, and relationships that I believe are critical to good educational practice.

In our efforts to be quick, seamless, and efficient, we sometimes eliminate opportunities for meaningful relationships to form.  There is power, for example, in a new student having a face-to-face conversation with a caring financial aid counselor who takes the time to help the student explore their options and find a financial aid package that best suits their needs.  The student leaves knowing that their are people on campus that care about their success.  That sort of experience, early in a students time on campus, can help shape their perspective of the institution and motivate them to excel.  An online financial aid selection tool might be faster, but something is lost when we eliminate the need for personal conversations.  In terms of advisement, some students may be able to navigate their experience using an electronic tool and even craft a very good educational plan.  But, an academic advisor, trained to engage students' in reflective conversations can do much to help students articulate their goals, dreams, and aspiratioins.  The vision that emerges in these conversations would seem to pay dividends in terms of student movitation, engagement, and persistence.

So, while relationships take an investment of time, effort and, often, monetary resources.  Those investments seem necessary to make if we want our educational enterprise to lead to the personal development of students.  It also positions those of us who interact (or should interact) with students--faculty members, student affairs professionals, admissions staff, etc.--to learn and develop through those interactions.  

Let's not get to antsy to innovate and streamline things.  It could come back to bite us.  Building relationships is just as important as building websites, curricula, or campus infrastructure.

Customized Learning & Civic Purposes of Education

After my last post (What would a Talent Code school look like?), my friend Gary Daynes raised an interesting question that I had not yet considered:

"How do the civic purposes of education fit in this model, which is so focused on differentiation and students moving at an individual pace?"

This is an important question to address because, like Gary has pointed out, a school like the one I described in my post has the potential to become a place where we see fragmented, isolated learning--not exactly the type of school I argued for.  In this scenario students would become self-absorbed learners with no real concern for using their education to make a difference in their community.

But, think that a combination of two things could keep this from happening.

1.  Humble learners:  Humility--characterized by a recognition that one's knowledge, perspective, and experiences are limited--would seem to draw a student to other learners in an attempt to glean from their studies and experiences.  Even if a student is pursuing their own learning, this element of humility would seem to engender a curiosity and desire to see how their learning fits with the others in their learning community or classroom.  How does what my classmate is studying connect to my learning?  What might I learn from her that could advance the learning I am doing in my realm?

In a related way, humility would also seem to lead to a gratitude for the learning one has acquired.  When a learner is grateful they seem to want to share their learning and use it to improve the people and things around them.  A humble learner would then look for opportunities to apply their learning towards grappling with authentic questions and problems in their environment.  For example, A high school soccer player studying human anatomy and basic principles of sports medicine might seek out opportunities to help teammates experiencing injuries.  

Teachers and schools should explore ways of helping students to develop this attitude of humility in their approach to learning.  At first glance it seems inefficient and disconnected from their purposes.  But, it could pay big dividends in terms of the way learners interact with each other and their communities.

2.  Teachers who know how to integrate students' learning in meaningful ways.  Gary's question has helped me realize that good schools don't just allow learners to pursue individual learning goals.  At some point, in the process they also bring learners back together and engage them in meaningful collaborative work.  In my mind's eye I see students invidividual learning equipping them to serve as "expert stakeholders" or "consultants" on group projects that require each group member to bring their learning and apply it towards developing a solution to a real problem that has been presented by the instructor.  In this way students personal learning goals are honored and validated, but they are also shown how their individual learning can be joined with others to produce powerful results.  In these classrooms an instructor's role is to, first, help students pursue their own learning and, then, to craft and identify problems/tasks/projects that bring groups of students together in a democratic way.

In short, while differentiated and self-paced learning might appear to run counter to the civic purposes of learning, if facilitated in the right way it may have the potential to be even more powerful than the type of civic and democratic learning we see in more traditional classrooms.

What would a Talent Code school look like?

One of the best books you've never heard of is probably The Talent Code by Daniel Coyle.  He writes about how to "grow" talent and what conditions lead to the development of skill.  I think his book has some interesting implications for the way that we design and administer schools.  Here is what a school might look like if Coyle designed it.

1.  An emphasis on deep learning through authentic practice & feedback--The best kinds of learning and growth occur when learners are in the "sweet spot", that zone where the learning task is just beyond their current abilities.  In this place a learner can attend to mistakes (which Coyle identifies as critical to improvement) and become fully absorbed in learning.  It is learning through these mistakes that a student experiences the greatest amount of growth (think about the student who takes seriously her teachers red-inked comments on the first draft of her essay).  In a Talent Code school, we would find classrooms full of students working on a variety of learning tasks, each suited to the learners needs and abilities.  Gone would be the days of 30 students working on an identical set of worksheets or the same set of math problems.  This, of course, implies the need for smaller class sizes, increased adult guidance, and teachers trained to quickly identify learner needs and respond with appropriately designed learning activities.  

This also means a paradigm shift in the way teachers and students approach learning.  If mistakes make me better, I must embrace struggle.  Far too often teachers and those they teach see mistakes and slip-ups as a sign of stupidity or inability.  A Talent Code school will help students develop a growth mindset, wherein struggle, effort, and hard work are valued and seen as the path to eventual competence and excellence.  In this school, the "smart" kids are the ones who learn from their mistakes, not the ones who never make mistakes.

2.  A focus on "igniting" a passion for learning--As described above, a Talent Code school asks a lot of its students.  There is a great deal of hard work and high levels of commitment required in order to experience the kind of success expected of students.  If students are not passionate about what they are doing, they will never engage in the deep practice and hard work necessary to experience significant growth.  Thus, teachers and administrators at a Talent Code school will spend a great deal of time thinking about how to ignite this passion in learners.  This will probably look different at each school, but some general principles apply

a.  A desire to belong:  KIPP schools (see Chapter 7 of Talent Code) have a very

 concrete and explicit culture; they clearly communicate to students that being a "KIPPster" means doing certain things.  It becomes a learning club of sorts, a club that students long to feel a part of.  This desire for belonging can be tremendously motivating (I think we see this same principle at work in a destructive way among gangs and terrorist groups).

 b.  A vision of what one can become:  When a young student can see what they are working towards (for KIPP students this is enrollment in college) they also see how their efforts are connected to a future goal.  A Talent Code school will use images and language that help to create this picture for its learners.  Keeping alumni connected to the school and inviting them to return to interact with students seems critical here.  When a student sees someone that was once "like them" and became something great, they start to see and believe in what they can become (see Coyle's discussion of the Curacaoan little league teams for an example of this principle at work; Chapter 6). 

 c.  Connection to personal interests and goals:  A Talent Code school will provide students with choice in what and how they learn.  This will be messy, but it is allowed because it leads to better learning.

  

3.  Master Coaches & Teachers:  Talent Code schools will aggressively pursue the best teaching talent available and then continue to develop and evaluate it.  Teachers in Talent Code schools (Coyle might call them "Talent Whisperers"--Chapter 8) listen and watch far more than they talk or lecture (in fact, they might never lecture) and then offer small, targeted, highly specific adjustments and feedback to learners.  They deliver information precisely at the moment that learners need it most and they model effective learning, leaving an image in memory of what good learning or performance looks like.  More than anything, they see and help learners correct errors and they do it in a way that signals to the learner that they are cared for and valued.  Not only are they pedagogical masters, they also possess a deep matrix of understanding within their discipline which allows them to make quick and accurate judgments (similar to the ability described by Malcolm Gladwell in Blink) about students abilities and needs, and then respond in a customized way.  I think that Michelle Rhee, chancellor of Washington DC Public Schools is doing some interesting things along these lines. 

Why would anyone take the effort to create schools like this?  Because they would work.  Students would learn, parents would be engaged in the school community, teachers would value their work and persist at it, and communities would be transformed.  Granted, what I have described here is an ideal; however, working towards ideals is what leads to change.

Creating as a way of Orienting

My friend Gary Daynes recently made a call for higher education to move "from consumption to creation" ("No more teaching to learning").  I think this idea has interesting implications for the way we orient new students to our campuses.

Of course, new students are in need of a certain amount of critical information (e.g. How do I register for classes? Where do I buy my books?); however, I wonder if our attempts to provide easy, pre-packed answers to  these types of questions might reinforce a consumer mentality.  At it's core, new student orientation is a learning experience just like sitting in a class or taking an exam.  And, if I'm right in assuming that engaging learners in a creative process leads to meaningful learning, then there is no good reason why orientation shouldn't do the same.  

If I was remaking an orientation program on a college campus (particularly a smaller campus where numbers and logistics aren't a huge problem) this is how it might look:

1.  Fewer "Easy" Answers:  Rather than sitting students down in an auditorium and bludgeoning them with slide after slide of dry information, it would be interesting to expect students to find some of their own "answers."  This would not be a scavenger hunt--I don't think gimmicks are the answer.  But, if we could design a meaningful experience that requires students to locate key resources, pieces of information, campus locations, etc. and then report back to a larger group, I think we would see students learning more.  We make a mistake when we try to make learning easy.  Struggle on the part of a learner can pay dividends (see Chapter 1 of Daniel Coyle's The Talent Code for a more in-depth discussion of this concept).  Of course, we don't want students wandering aimlessly across campus during orientation, but guiding them in finding or creating their own answers could have some interesting outcomes.

2.  Opportunities for Meaningful Written Reflection:  Even more important than transmitting specific information, orientation is as a time to transmit the values and culture of a particular institution.  For instance, what does it mean to be Yale Bulldog or a Delaware Blue Hen?  What kinds of things do students at Harvard do?  While orientation programming can hep create this vision for a new student, an equally valuable component  is the personal reflection that a student does after orientation is all over.  What if students were asked to reflect in writing about what it means to be part of the heritage of Washington State University or what Boston College really expects of its students?  For colleges that require enrollment in a freshman seminar course of some kind, this could be the first assignment and bridge the gap between orientation and the first day of the course.  This sort of activity engages students in creating their own picture of what it means to be a college student at their particular institution, which could help frame the way they approach learning.  Asking students to share "orientation stories" of struggle, anxiety, excitement, celebration, etc. could also drive interesting reflection, reflection that could help students make meaning and grapple with transitional issues (as an aside, these stories might also provide some interesting qualitative data that could be used in assessment of orientation programs).  

3.  Opportunities to engage with real problems or issues on campus:  What if each orientation group was tasked with developing a solution to a real campus problem during orientation?   A good problem or task would require students to make use of a variety of campus resources (e.g. the library, the Student Union building and its offices, campus maps, etc.) in gathering information and articulating a thoughtful solution.  Even if none of the proposed solutions are feasible, students will have been engaged in an authentic learning experience that introduced them to campus and modeled the type of learning (learning that benefits a community) that we hope happens during their time on campus.  In the best case scenario, some of the elements of these "solutions" could be adopted and highlighted so as to reinforce the importance of students adding to or enhancing the learning community that they are a part of.

We are experimenting (in a very small way) with some of this on my campus.  We have selected 20 students to be part of a small pilot program that involves them in creating film documentaries of their orientation experience.  These 20 students will be broken into groups of 4 (within their larger orientation group) and each group will be provided with a video camera.  We will provide them with a short list of learning outcomes for orientation and ask them to, using the medium of film, illustrate that they have learned or experienced the things we hope they will.  Ideally, we hope that the act of creating something during orientation helps focus their learning.  We have also made these students aware that what they are creating could be used to market orientation to new students that come to our campus in the future.  

We'll see how things go.  Maybe it will crash and burn, but I feel good knowing that we are at least making an attempt to provide a more interactive and engaging experience during orientation.

BYU's Dirty Politics

That title might get me in trouble, but something afoul is afoot at BYU and people need to talk about it.  BYU and the city of Provo are making it increasingly difficult for students to have any real voice in their community.  Students and those who care about students should be up in arms at the latest developments in this saga.  

Yesterday the Daily Universe (BYU's campus newspaper) ran a series of articles focused on student involvement in the political process of Provo, Utah (the city where Brigham Young University is located).  It is, in my opinion, the best journalism I've seen the Daily Universe do in the 6 years I have been here on campus.  For some good reading check out any of the following articles 

• "Divided districts diminish effects of student votes"
• "BYU, city reject proposal to put student on council"

The article regarding the failed attempt to put a student on the city council is particularly telling.  I'll address a few comments made in the paper below.  In general, the comments made by Nathan Ward, the assistant director of Student Leadership at BYU are vague, non-descript, and appear to be attempts to make the university look good without committing to any meaningful change.

"We declined to participate when it became clear that it was an inconsistent way to choose a good representation of the community"

What does that even mean?  What was inconsistent about the "way" this student representative was going to be chosen.  When were BYU students consulted about this?  And, why is a full-time administrator speaking for the BYU Student Association?  Shouldn't we be hearing from an actual student? (On a side note, this another indication that BYU's student leaders don't have any meaningful involvement in actual decisions impacting the students they represent--this isn't the student leaders fault, it's bad leadership on the part of those leading them).  

"One reason for concern about the idea of a BYU Provo City community representative was that BYU's and Provo City's interests are sometimes not identical."

Are you kidding?  Of course BYU and Provo city's interests are different.  This statement actually strengthens the argument that student's should be represented on the council--none of the other members of the council have similar interests or a desire to ensure that student interests are addressed.  Additionally, this statement is full of bad logic.  The whole idea of a democratic process is to allow for a diversity of interests and views to be represented and addressed.  If the discrepancy between BYU & Provo City's interests precludes students from sitting on the council, then, applying the same logic, anyone that doesn't fit the mold of the typical Provo resident should not be represented either.  Non-LDS Hispanics, Single-Mom's, non-BYU attending college aged-students--you're all out of luck.  If your interests don't align with the oligarchy holding positions in city or university leadership, then you don't have a voice.

"We applaud the efforts of students to engage in the civic process."

Really?  That seems very disingenous given the fact that BYU has done very little to allow students to have a meaningful role in the civic and political process here in Provo.  Yes, students can vote, but as illustrated by the first article I reference, the student voting bloc has been split so many ways that it would be virtually impossible for students to have a meaningful voice in the political process.  What BYU really means when they encourage students to be "civically engaged" is to provide the city with free service (tutoring in local schools, bolstering the economy by shopping at local stores and eating in local restaurants), put on a pretty face so BYU looks like a "well-kempt" campus, and vote in the BYUSA election.  I don't doubt that there are some very sincere individuals in the campus administration that want students to be involved, but let's put our money where our mouth is and actually go to bat with students.  Are we using buzz words like "civically engaged" because we mean it or because it looks good in newspaper articles?

"We've tried to communicate with BYU, and this is where it has gotten us."  

This was a comment by current council chair Cynthia Dayton.  It may be the dumbest thing I've heard this month.  Dayton was referring to the city's current struggles in developing parking guidelines for the area south of BYU campus (commonly referred to as the "Joaquin neighborhood").  Apparently Dayton believes that being on the city council does not include addressing significant issues.  This issue of parking has been an issue for years but the city and university ignored it until students made enough noise that it had to be addressed.  Being a political representative means dealing with hard things, having hard conversations, and working hard to make the city a better place to live for all citizens, not just those over 30 with families and full-time jobs.  Heaven forbid Cynthia actually make a difference.

BYU students should be outraged at this.  Provo wants them to serve, spend, and look pretty.  But, from the look and sound of things, they don't want students to be involved in any meaningful ways.  Likewise, BYU wants to prepare students to "go forth to serve," but they aren't willing to do much to provide authentic opportunities for students to be involved in the political process.  

Sad, very sad.  Thanks Daily Universe for doing a great job of bringing these issues to light.

"

Education as a Social Contract

I recently read Predictably Irrational, by Dan Ariely, and was intrigued by his commentary on how our behavior is heavily influenced by either market or social norms.  When we perceive ourselves to be in a "market" situation, one where we have a business-like contract that requires us to do certain things with the expectation that we will be compensated for our efforts, we act very much like a consumer, employee, client, etc.  Contrastingly, in other situations (e.g. volunteer work, familial interactions, etc.) we perform certain actions not because we believe we will or should be compensated, but because it is the sociall acceptable thing to do.  The work of Ariely and others indicates that we are much happier, more engaged, and likely to report enjoyment when we are driven by social norms and acting without the sort of cost-benefit analysis that drives our actions in other settings.  This made me wonder what type of paradigm students in higher education function on when they enroll in courses, complete assignments, etc.  

My sense is that most students approach education with an attitude that they are here to get something from the university (a degree, certification, and if we're lucky, knowledge) and that in order to procure that set of goods they are required to make some type of payment.  That payment comes in the form of studying, taking exams, writing papers, and in general jumping through the hoops we set up for them (hence the image at the top of the page).  Following Ariely's thinking, this is likely to lead to a very superficial learning experience, one in which students do as little as possible to garner the largest reward (i.e. high gpa's, nice letters of recommendation from faculty members, etc.).  Furthermore, they aren't as likely to enjoy the experience because they are much like the employee who goes to work merely to earn a paycheck and collect insurance benefits.  There is little to no meaning in the endeavor.  

So, my question is how do we help students approach their education as a social contract where they are driven by social norms rather than the market norms that seem to govern the vast majority of our lives?  Is that even realistic?  

I think it is, but it will take a lot of change on the part of our insitutions and those of us who interact with students on a daily basis.  John Tagg has some interesting ideas that seem to be connected to this issue.  If you're interested, read up on what he has to say about "hot cognitive economies" in The Learning Paradigm College. 

We're all Designers

I had an interesting conversation a few weeks ago with Ann  Lambson, curator of the "Education in Zion" exhibit at Brigham Young University.  Ann is a great and innovative mind who cares deeply about education and is doing great things at BYU.  In our conversation she mentioned that she is sometimes discouraged by our failure to equip students with the skills they will need when they leave our academies.  She was making an argument for the inclusion of "design" as a core competency in our general education requirements.    

Ann is right, I think, in her assertion that we (meaning Universities as a whole)  often fill students minds with a lot of knowledge, but don't ever do very much to teach them how to solve real-world problems.  This is not an indictment of entire universities, I think there are individual departments that do this very well (engineering departments, industrial design departments, and others with a more interactive and hands-on approach to learning), but what about students who find themselves in a department like French, philosophy, or chemistry?  Are these students prepared to leave campus and confront substantial and authentic problems or challenges?  As I look around at what is happening in our country and the multitude of problems we face--global climate change, loss of civility, economic woes, and more--I hope that the students we are graduating are prepared to solve these problems.  If not our college graduates, then who?

At the danger of sounding over-zealous, I would argue that we are all designers.  A teacher designs educational environments and experiences, attorneys design legal arguments, plumbers design solutions to leaky toilets.  The problem with colleges is that we often naively assume that by helping students be "well-rounded" or "broad" learners they will somehow magically learn to use the skills and knowledge they acquire to solve problems.  I think this is foolish.  We have to explicitly teach them how to be engaged citizens  who use their skills and training to make a meaningful difference.

What if universities (and some do--please share good examples if you are reading this) included a "design competency" as a graduation requirement?   By "design" I don't mean the same old visual arts requirement that is so easy to tack on to a curricula.  As I have mentioned above, design doesn't just mean producing something tangible; it also means approaching problems critically and working to develop thoughful solutions in a strategic way.  

In my mind there is a right and wrong way to do this.  The wrong way would be to create Design 201 or some other such course.  That would lead to a generic and largely unproductive experience for students.  They would approach it like any other course by jumping through the hoops, disconnecting the content from their lived experience, and treat it as a transaction where they do certain things to receive a particular grade.

The better way would be to adopt the design competency as part of a broader portfolio initiative (no, portfolios are not just for artists anymore).  As part of their university experience students would be required to demonstrate that they have acquired design skills by submitting examples of work that illustrates how they have used content knowledge (nursing skills, engineering principles, the things learned in teacher prep courses, etc.) to develop solutions to real problems that real people actually care about.  Even better would be to ask students to tackle problems existing on their own campuses (the overcrowded cafeteria, the dying grass along side the campus walkways, student behavior problems, etc.).  Students could even approach these problems in interdisciplinary teams where they would learn to work with peers who bring unique skills and perspectives.  

Granted this would take a fair amount of work to coordinate; however, it can and should be done.  If we fail to equip students to make a meaningful difference in their local, national, and global communities, we don't deserve to be in existence.  And, lecturing, administering exams, and asking for writing samples just won't do it.

Are we selling our soul to the devil?

I just recently learned that blogger will allow me to "monetize" my blog and, in theory, make money off my blogging efforts.  That scenario, of course, rests on the assumption that there is someone out in cyberland that actually reads this (and I'm not convinced yet that is true, but I press on nonetheless).  

When I first heard about all of this I was somewhat excited.  The thought of generating even a little money from blogging (something I would do for free anyway) seemed like a good thing.  I was ready to click on the "monetize" tab at the top of my page and start building my kingdom. But, then my irksome conscience kicked in and I had to pause.  I'm not ready to say that those who do post ads on their blog are unethical or breaking some unwritten rule of blogging; however, I do think that this issue warrants some discussion.

The argument for or against revenue producing blogs seems to rest on two key questions:

• What is the purpose of a blog?

• How does one's knowing they have a real audience, impact what they write or blog about?

I would argue that there are two major types of blogs:  the "mommy blog" and the amateur scholar blog.

The Mommy Blog--Hopefully this doesn't offend any one too much, but I couldn't think of a better way to put this.  These are the blogs packed with pictures of family vacations, trips to the park, etc. and that individuals use as a year-long christmas card letter of sorts.  They tell about what is going on in their lives, share funny stories about themselves or family members, etc.  It's almost like an electronic scrapbook open to the world.  

The Amateur Scholar Blog--These are the blogs like the one you're reading right now, maintained by individuals who feel like they know enough to attempt to write intelligently about a topic or field and who hope to get connected with others holding similar interests.

Neither blog is inherently good or evil.  The point is that they have different objectives and different audiences.  My sense is that ads on the mommy blogs  of the world will never really take off because, other than family members and close friends, who wants to read about how your three year-old vomited on the rug?  However, there are a handful of the "scholarly" blogs that probably have enough of a following that an advertiser could see benefit in using that space to market their product or service.   My initial excitement about "monetizing" my blog rested on the probably naive beliefs that one day my blog might have traffic like that.  

There is a problem, though, in all of this.  My feeling is that blogging is mostly for the blogger (see this clip for a concise and thoughtful description of this argument).  Blogging forces us to reflect, make connections between ideas, and articulate our thinking in a way that is at least somewhat coherent.  While some readers might benefit from the ideas I have posted here, the real value is for me because I am engaging in a behavior that promotes active learning and deeper thinking.  What's more, when I blog, I know there is a chance that someone might read it and I work harder to flesh out my ideas and articulate them clearly.  I want people to read my blog because I want to be part of an intelligent dialogue about higher education, learning, design, etc.  

Some would argue that this focus on audience makes "monetizing" a blog seem like a natural fit.  We want an audience anyway, why not get paid for bringing people to the blog.  The problem I see is that catering to an audience of advertisers and consumers is much different than writing for an audience of professional colleagues.  A good example of this same principle is the difference between popular magazines and scholarly journals.  Magazines have to be fun or entertaining because they depend on ad revenue and advertisers want to be sure that what consumers read in the magazine is interesting enough that they keep coming back.  Entertainment, not accurate information or learning, is the objective.  While scholarly journals definitely want a readership, their ultimate goal is to advance knowledge, not entertain.

When we start to blog in an attempt to make money, something seems to change.  No longer are we writing for ourselves or for an audience of peers, but we're writing for the advertiser and for the consumer that we hope will visit our site.  The reflective and pedagogical value of the blog seems to be diminished at that point.  If I'm a big time blogger about design and have a good following, would dipping into the ad pool eventually change the way I write?  I don't know, but it seems like a slippery slope.  Would I start blogging about design software in hopes that the company might approach me about an ad?  Is this really the best software I've seen?  etc.  There just seem to be some problems here, but I recognize that my ideas are still embryonic.  

Am I wrong here?  Can a good scholarly blog also be a marketing & revenue tool?