Can good people make it in corrupt systems?

In a recent post, I wrote about situational forces and the impact they can have on individual behavior.  The argument made is that good people can do terrible things under the right (or wrong) circumstances.  On Wednesday, this became a little more personal to me when a Provo City Council member, who is also one of my neighbors, was charged with 10 felonies relating to his dealings in local real estate development.  He isn't a next door neighbor and I've never been to his home, but I see him once a week or so and always got the impression that he was a pretty good guy--not someone I would take for a felon or defrauder.  The saddest part of it all is that he has a wife and young children that now have to deal with the fall out and find a way to hold a family together.  

I have no idea how much truth there is to the claims being made and don't care to make any kind of judgment.  It's just a sad situation and one that has brought me back to a question I have wondered about off and on over the years:  Can good people survive in systems or environments that seem to incentivize unethical and corrupt practices.  I first began asking this question as a new voter trying to make informed ballot decisions.  I saw the media regularly uncovering corrupt politicians and started to wonder if candidates in any very visible election or anyone in high profile public positions could hold on to their values and integrity.  As a student in an introductory political science class I asked this question of my professor (mostly because he gave us extra credit for visiting him during office hours).  After beating around the bush a little, he eventually told me that, no, he didn't think very many politicians stayed 100% honest (which is a little ironic given that until just a few months ago this professor was the chair of the Utah County Democrats now the chairman of the Utah County Democratic Party) and most compromised on their values.  Even as a fairly dense adolescent, I was a little shocked and pretty discouraged by his response.  And, voting that November wasn't as much fun as I thought it would be.

It would be unfair to paint all politicians or all business people as dishonest, but the reality is that those who work in these environments are often under extreme pressure to produce results, be it a victorious campaign or great quarterly report.  Similar pressures exist for professional and high profile collegiate athletics, some branches of academic research, and plenty of other settings as well.  And, because we are increasingly becoming a society which values "results" above all else (and, by results, we usually mean things that are easy to measure like profits, votes, and wins), we create systems that reward "producers," sometimes at the cost of values, relationships, and community.  

In my heart of hearts I know that there are plenty of good politicians, CEOs, and sports executives that are successful and upstanding.  But, I wonder how rare they are becoming and how many of them we'll see 10 or 25 years from now.  

Cafe West: An unlikely gathering place

My wife and I had a new addition to our family early on Monday morning.  Her name is Ashlyn and she weighed in at a hearty 6 lbs. 10 oz. (which, surprisingly, is a pound heavier than our first daughter).  Needless to say, it has been an exciting and tiring week as we've adjusted to having both an infant and a toddler at home.  But, she slept nearly 6 hours without interruption last night and our two year-old has only had a minor show of jealousy, so we are feeling like things are going well.

In between holding Ashlyn and watching a ridiculous amount of baseball while my wife recovered in a hospital room, I discovered "Cafe West," what, at first glance, appears to be a typical hospital cafeteria at Utah Valley Regional Medical Center in Provo, Utah.  I had eaten at Cafe West three years ago when our first daughter was born and knew the food was good, so I went back the night after Ashlyn was born.  It was nearly 11:00 p.m. when I walked down from the hospital room, so I expected things to be pretty quiet.  However, when I got to the cafeteria, I was surprised to find nearly 30 college-aged students camped out in a corner of the cafeteria eating, laughing, and just hanging out.  And, it was fairly obvious that none of them were patients at the hospital or there to see patients.  I went back the next night (mostly out of curiosity, but also for the most amazing onion rings I have ever had in my life) and there was a completely different (and smaller) group of students there.

Provo is a college town, so to see a group of students  out enjoying a late night meal at a local gathering place isn't uncommon at all.  But, I would never have guessed that gathering place would be a hospital cafeteria.  Let alone a cafeteria whose web presence is 4 lines on the general visitor info page of the hospital, who has no signage visible from outside of the hospital, and which a large percentage of the full-time citizens of Provo probably don't know about.  What has made Cafe West a gathering place?

I'm guessing here, but these are my hunches:

1.  Really good food.  No one hangs out at hospitals unless they have a good reason for it.  The food is what brings students to Cafe West (and keeps them coming back).  Not only does it give them a reason to gather, but facilitates conversation and connection.  And, yes, the food is that good.  I wasn't lying when I said their onion rings are the best.  They make my top 5 milkshake list as well (although there are only 4 flavors to choose from).  It also helps that their menu is very simple and easy to navigate--an idea I have blogged about before.  

2.  Cheap prices.  College students, particularly those in Provo, don't like to spend much money on their food (I know this from suffering through six months as a server at a local restaurant where a "good" tip was around 7%).  They gather to places where they can hang out, get full, and do it without taking too much of a dent.  

3.  Unique environment.  As far as cafeterias go, Cafe West isn't really all that unique at all (aside from the onion rings & milkshakes).  But, as a college hang-out, it's as different and unique as you can find.  College students like to feel different and to feel like they have insider knowledge.  When you eat at Cafe West for the first time, you feel like you have discovered a hidden gem amidst the relatively boring Provo landscape.  I think this adds to the allure and appeal for students.

4.  Small and intimate setting.  Cafe West couldn't have chairs & tables for more than 60 people and it is tucked away in a back corner of the hospital (just as you come in the "Labor and Delivery" entrance, which is how I found it).  What's more, the staff that run the cafe have a knack for making you feel like your welcome there and they're happy to see you (I have a hunch that this is a very intentional effort on the part of hospital administration--Utah Valley Regional Medical Center is part of Intermountain Health Care (IHC), who are well known for their patient-friendly culture and their efforts to embed that culture throughout all parts of the organization, from the housekeeping staff to, apparently, the 20 year old kid who makes shakes in the cafeteria).  When I went back on my 2nd night at the hospital, it was the same staff working behind the counter and I got the distinct feeling that they remembered me from the night before.  It was also obvious that they were familiar with the "regulars" and called them by name.  That's the kind of place people want to go back to and feel comfortable gathering to.

5.  Openness and accessibility.  Cafe West is open 23 hours a day, which makes it an ideal gathering place for college students who rarely sleep.  And, architecturally, it is wide open which facilitates larger groups and makes it easy to see late arrivals, acquaintances, etc. as they walk in (the large group I saw on my first night started with about 10 people and grew and grew as others came).  The lightweight, easy-to-move tables and chairs also provide flexibility in accomodating whatever size of group is there to gather.

The thing that I couldn't get over as I watched students and enjoyed onion rings was that Cafe West was never intended to be a gathering place for this demographic, but it happened rather serendipitously because the right conditions were in place.  What makes me laugh is that most of the gathering places we try to create inentionally aren't even close to this successful.   

Joe Castillo & Sand Art: Stories in unexpected places

I've posted, several times, about the power of story in learning and communication.  This is not, by any means, a new idea--we have come to expect story in certain aspects of our experience.  For example, we recognize that the best speakers are those who can tell the right story in the right way (think of the best TED talks you've listened to--chances are they include some elements of story and feature a great story teller).  We, obviously, look for good stories in the film and literature we consume.  And, to some extent, story is even starting to make headway in the classroom (e.g. problem-based learning, the case-study method, etc.) and we expect good teachers to incorporate narrative into their classrooms.  

More and more, however,  I am starting to see story in places I wouldn't expect.  My most recent experience with an unexpected use of story was the website of a very skilled artist.  Joe Castillo is a sand artist who makes a living creating art (very powerful stories in some cases) using a pretty non-traditional medium.  Although I didn't think I would ever have much interest in watching someone play in the sand, Castillo turns it into a very powerful art form.  What, for me, makes his art so powerful is that he tells stories--some of which are incredibly moving (watch the 9/11 memorial performance posted on his homepage for an example).  Part of what is inspiring about great artists like Castillo is their skill and precision in their craft.  However, there is plenty of art work out there that is highly skillful, technically sound, and precise, but which doesn't inspire and move us.  The power comes in the story.  

This all makes me wonder whether we could use story in non-traditional ways in other settings and achieve a power and impact that is generally missing.  What if administrators and team leaders pitched ideas and managed projects in ways that capitalized on story?  What if the painfully monotonous and largely unproductive meetings we all attend were recrafted to tell stories or so that those in attendance felt like they were part of some kind of meaningful story?  Could we rethink the way we plan and organize events--weddings, new student orientation, training seminars--and use story to drive learning and increase engagement and meaning?  Or, what if the four year university experience were viewed by higher education leaders as a narrative with all of the elements of a good story, including beginnings & endings, intrigue, authenticity, and risk?  

Where else could we start using story to make an impact or frame our work in terms of narrative?  Story seems to be engaging, motivating, and captivating in almost any setting.

 

Situations & systems matter: Lessons for higher ed from the Stanford Prison Experiment

After looking at it on my bookshelf for the better part of three years, I finally resolved to tackle Philip Zimbardo's book, The Lucifer Effect.  I'm only about half-way through, but it has been a fascinating read and helped me see both my work and personal life through a new lens.  The underlying argument of the book is that individual behavior can be heavily influenced through what Zimbardo terms "situational forces" and that the systems we create, be it in prisons, businesses, homes, or schools, are critical in determining actions of the individuals within those systems.  Zimbardo also points out the common tendency we have to attribute negative (or even evil or destructive) behaviors to individual dispositional factors (e.g. genes, personality traits, personal pathologies, etc.), while completely disregarding situational or systemic factors.  

Those of us working in higher ed (particularly those of us who work with first-year students) frequently yield to the same cycle of analysis in that we attribut student failures, less-than-desirable learning outcomes, etc. to the personal or dispositional attributes of the students on our campuses.  As I read Zimbardo's book, I had to ask myself, what situational factors on my campus might be to blame?  And, what could we do on campuses to create systems that are more likely to facilitate the behaviors we want from students?

This post, is not in any way meant to compare college campuses to prisons or to suggest that the negative things that happen on campuses are comparable to the horrific things that happened in Zimbardo's Stanford Prison Experiment (SPE).  However, there are lessons and findings that emerged from the SPE that could be instructive for any organizational leaders, including higher ed administrators:

1.  Rules, policies, and requirements matter.  Students come to understand expectations and behavioral norms, in part, from the rules and policies enacted on a campus.  What they read in the student catalog and see on the campus website communicates a set of values about the institution and what is viewed as most important.  Even more importantly, if we want students to have particular types of experiences (e.g. service-learning, engagement with peer mentors, etc.), then it is imperative that we embed these practices and experiences within the required curricula and co-curricula.  George Kuh has repeatedly made the case for making high impact practices more visible and institutionalized on campuses.

2.  Inviting individuals to take on new roles changes thinking and behavior.  When individuals integrate or socialize into new organizations (e.g. a college campus), their subsequent behavior is shaped, in large part, by the role they see themselves playing.  Consequently, careful attention should be given to the way in which new students are "inducted" into the campus community and what kinds of messages are conveyed about their role as students.  Even using the term student has potential for being problematic because students see this as a role they have played (and played well) across their K-12 school experience.  Subsequently, they see themselves in a similar role as before and bring with them the same set of behaviors, attitudes, and dispositions that, frequently, are not a good fit for their new college environment (e.g. study skills that worked in high school but which are ineffective in facilitating the kind of deep learning necessary for success in college courses).   Something to chew on--what if we frequently referred to students as "scholars" or "learners" in our conversations, literature, etc.?  Maybe it's a bit cheesy or over-the-top, but if that is the role we hope for students to play, our language needs to reflect that and reflect that we expect them to play a different role than the one they likely played before they arrived on our campus.  Interestingly, clinical psychology and its practice of role induction, may have something to contribute to our thinking in this area.  In short, therapists and clinical psychologists have found that patients persist in treatment at higher rates and demonstrate desirable patient behaviors more frequently when they clearly understand their role as patients.

3.  Leaders can shape behavior by playing reciprocal roles.  In the SPE, subjects selected to play the role of "prisoners" would have had a difficult time playing that role without others playing the reciprocal "guard" role.  Consequently, the role faculty members, advisors, peer mentors, and administrators play will influence student behaviors.  When we play the role of parent, disciplinarian, grader, or punisher, we invite students to play the reciprocal role (e.g. child, rebel, surface learner, victim, etc.).  Constrastingly, if we see ourselves (and our behaviors align with this view) as mentors, guides, co-learners, etc., we're more likely to call forth the behaviors and attitudes we most want in students and which we know will lead to transformative learning.

4.  Anonymity = Trouble.  One of the most powerful lessons I have taken from reading about the SPE thus far is how much conditions of anonymity influence individual behavior.  What's more, many of the current practices on college campuses (particularly large research institutions) have the potential to increase students' feelings of anonymity.  Think for a moment about the experiences a new student on a college campus might have--the classes they take, the communication they receive from the institution, the way they conduct business or transactions with the institution, etc.--and then ask yourself whether these experiences leave a student feeling "known" or anonymous (there seem to be some strong connections here to Schlossberg's work on marginality and mattering here as well).  I doubt that students who feel anonymous or marginalized will begin to behave like prisoners on our campuses; however, when our campus practices and policies make students feel as though they don't matter or limit their access to meaningful personal relationships with faculty members, advisors, and administrators, their learning will suffer.  

So, the next time you hear yourself or a colleague complaining about students, take a moment to think about the system and situuational forces your institution has created and how they might be contributing to the problems.

Answering tough (and meaningful) questions: A case for narrative inquiry in educational research

In a recent posting  on his blog, John Gardner raised some intriguing questions about measuring the impact of our work with first-year students (e.g. How do we measure whether or not students love their university experience?  How do we measure transformation?).  These are, no doubt, important questions for First-Year Experience professionals to ask.   And, if we see our work as more than just boosting retention stats, they are questions that we have to grapple with.

The trouble with questions about “love,” “transformation,” or “the impact of a mentor” is that these things are tough to measure.  Granted, researchers can operationalize concepts like love and develop instruments that measure proxy indicators that the more fuzzy concepts are present (e.g. we measure “engagement” by measuring a variety of indicators including time spent working outside of class, interactions with faculty members, study w/ peers, etc.), but this approach has its problems.  Before readers’ red-flags go up, this is not a rant against quantitative research or operationalism—this type of academic work has its place and helps us to answer critical questions about student experience.  However, while p-values, standard error estimates, and confidence intervals, are sometimes seen as the coin of the realm in academia, for some questions (i.e. those mentioned by John), particularly those with deep personal relevance for us, the traditional quantitative approach can leave us feeling unfulfilled, still questioning whether or not our work has really mattered in the lives of individual students. 

 The good news is that there are other research approaches coming to be recognized as just as viable as more traditional quantitative approaches.  One that may hold particular promise for FYE researchers is narrative inquiry.  A blog post is not the place to attempt an exhaustive explanation of this discipline; rather, my intent here is to provide a brief sketch outlining the general landscape of the field.  For those wanting more depth (and much more sophisticated) than is found here, these are some good places to start:

“Stories of Experience and Narrative Inquiry,” Educational Researcher, 19(5), 1990

Narrative methods for the human sciences, Catherine Riessman, 2007

Narrative Inquiry, Jean Clandinin & Michael Connelly, 2004

Touching Eternity:  The enduring outcomes of teaching, Tom Barone, 2001

 

Narrative inquiry is a sub-discipline within the broader field of qualitative research.  Based on the premise that storytelling is an inherent human quality and that we live “storied lives,” narrative researchers use narrative data sources (e.g. story-telling, journals, field notes, interviews) to study how we experience the world and then make meaning of these experiences.  As an example, John’s question about love for an institution could be addressed by interviewing graduating seniors, soliciting stories from sophomore students, or analyzing  journal writing from a freshman seminar course, then identifing meaningful themes that cut across the entire set of “data.”  Ultimately, the researcher would aim to use these narrative sources to construct a “meta-narrative” that tells an overarching story related to the initial research question. 

As with any research methodology, narrative inquiry has its critics.  Common criticisms of narrative inquiry include a lack of generalizability, reliability, and validity (similar to the arguments against most qualitative approaches) and these are all fair claims.  However, as a general rule, narrative inquirers don’t view these criteria as goals of their research.  Rather, their focus is on transferability, apparency, and verisimilitude.  To narrative researchers, the narrative approach is a way of addressing personal and human dimensions of experience in ways that quantitative data cannot—they are working from a completely different set of assumptions about research.  Jean Clandinin and Michael Connelly (arguably the most well-known and well-respected narrative researchers) put it best in their paper “Stories of experience and narrative inquiry” when they said that “stories stand between the general and the particular, mediating the generic demands of science with the personal, practical, concrete demands of living” (1990). 

Lest this post be viewed as a one-sided push for a problem-free research approach, it is important to recognize narrative’s dangers and pitfalls.  Because narrative asks researchers to construct stories from qualitative data, the possibility exists for individuals to fake the data and concoct pure fiction, based on nothing but unfounded assumptions and only anecdotal data.  Additionally, narrative could be used to misrepresent experience and promote deception.  Finally, some narrative researchers (particularly when stakes are high) may present only “Hollywood stories” where, for example, students love everything about their university experience, become deep learners, and are transformed by their college experience for the rest of their lives.  But, it bears mentioning, that similar claims could be made of virtually any approach to research, even quantitative methods.

While narrative inquiry may not have the tables and statistical significance that sways some political and campus leaders, there is rhetorical power in human stories that we can relate to and that elicit similar stories from our own experiences.  What’s more, narrative inquiry is gaining traction among educational researchers, as evidenced by the recently formed Narrative Research SIG within AERA, the convening of the first ever Narrative Inquiry conference this last May, and the well-respected work of Clandinin and Connelly.  Most importantly, narrative offers an approach for answering those questions, like John has posed, that are deeply meaningful to us personally, and whose answers we use to measure the impact of our careers.