Peer Leadership as an Emerging High-Impact Practice

Like many, my college years (interrupted by two years of missionary service) were transformative for me. Mars Hill University, the University of Utah, and Brigham Young University (yes, I transferred twice) were all tremendously impactful.
 By the time I had graduated I had new intellectual skills, had learned what it meant to be part of a diverse community, and had a much clearer idea of who I was and who I wanted to become (both vocationally and otherwise).  As with any kind of learning, there were a number of factors that contributed to my growth during this period, but my undergraduate experiences at

To be more specific, there were particular aspects of my experiences at these schools that were impactful.  At +Mars Hill, intercollegiate athletics helped me feel a sense of belonging and identity on campus, the common "Liberal Arts in Action" curriculum gave me a chance to reflect on and have conversations about big questions, and an internship in the Athletic Training department was my first taste of authentic experiential learning in the college setting.  I was only at "the U" for a semester, but it was impactful in that I figured out (a) that I really didn't want to be a doctor (thanks to 1,000 seat "weeder" classes in biology and chemistry) and (b) that I was really going to hate my college experience unless I found a way to really immerse myself in the experience, which was hard to do living at home with my parents.

Eventually I ended up at +BYU.  While I enjoyed many aspects of my BYU experience, it wasn't the classes I took (although I took some great ones) or my major (which I enjoyed immensely) that most influenced me during my three years on campus.  Instead, it was the two years I spent as a peer mentor in what was then known as "Freshman Academy."

More than any other experience I had as an undergraduate student, being a peer mentor met the criteria for high-impact practices put forth by the Association of American Colleges and Universities (AAC&U).  It provided me with meaningful interaction with faculty members, engaged me in critical thinking about important issues, provided me with undergraduate research opportunities, and taught me to work collaboratively with others on sustained projects.  In fact, in the recent alumni survey I completed, I cited it as the single most impactful aspect of my experience at BYU.  I say this because it made a more meaningful contribution to my realization of essential learning outcomes than any other part of my experience, and, more importantly, launched me on a career trajectory in higher education that I would never have imagined.

AAC&U has defined 10 discreet high-impact practices (HIPs) that are widely-tested and linked with substantial educational benefits:

• First-year seminars/experiences
• Common intellectual experiences
• Learning communities
• Writing-intensive courses
• Undergraduate research
• Collaborative assignments and projects
• Diversity and global learning
• Service and community-based learning
• Internships
• Capstone courses/projects

I'll argue, both here and hopefully at AAC&U's Centennial Annual Meeting next year, that peer leadership should be included on this list because of it's potential to contribute to 21st Century Learning outcomes and provide for a transformative undergraduate experience.  National studies of peer leadership point to this practice as an emerging HIP with potential to fulfill the promise of a liberal education (e.g. Keup, 2012).  Indeed, peer leadership promotes the hallmark outcomes that characterize liberal learning by integrating many of the characteristics of the more established HIPs llisted above.  

Yet, the quality of the PL experience varies across campuses.  But, when institutions merely cobble together sexy “best practices” rather than intentionally inter-weaving established HIPs to form a focused and intentional educational environment, the potential for the PL experience to yield substantial educational benefits is lost.  In contrast, when stakeholders thoughtfully integrate established HIPs into the PL experience, students are positioned for tremendous growth.

What are the characteristics of a high-impact peer leadership experience?

Close ties to the academic curriculum.  Peer leadership comes in a number of flavors, with peer leaders being used to support student athletes, first-generation students, and women in STEM.  And, at some level, any type of peer leader experience can be impactful.  But, peer leaders are likely to experience greater gains when their work is aligned with a credit-bearing course that is part of the required curriculum.  Required first-year seminars are a great setting for this type of peer leadership, but it could also take place in another substantial academic course that is a required part of the curriculum.  This alignment brings validity to their work, while also providing opportunities for peer leaders to engage with course content and pedagogies in ways that promote critical thinking.  Even better -- embed peer leaders as part of a learning community where peer leaders and students engage "big questions" and work to integrate their learning across courses.

Meaningful engagement with faculty members.  A big part of the reason I was changed by being a peer mentor was that it brought me into a situation where I was being mentored by full-time faculty members who were interested in my development and new how to challenge and support me.  Too often, peer leaders are hired or selected, provided with minimal sub-par "training," and then set loose to somehow figure out how to "lead" their peers.  In these cases, being a peer leader isn't likely to lead to much growth.  Worse--there's a decent chance it will do more harm than good.  Peer leaders should be provided with opportunities for regular and meaningful interactions with the faculty members who supervise them.  Even better -- engage peer leaders in research and assessment examining the impact of the peer leadership initiative of which they're a part.

Make it academic.  Peer leadership is often critiqued by those who view it as nothing more than taking students on campus tours during new student orientation or organizing weekend social events.  There isn't anything wrong with peer leadership experience that is firmly grounded in the social aspect of college; However, peer leadership that takes on a more "academic" tone, will both be viewed more favorably by the academic officials on campus, and contribute to the academic outcomes of the institution.  Whether it's substantial writing assignments or tasks completed by peer leaders, undergraduate research, capstone projects that invite peer leaders to integrate and articulate the learning they've experienced in their role, or an academic course that they register for as part of the experience, the peer leader experience needs to have some kind of connection to the academic life of the university.

Clear learning outcomes and focused assessment.  It isn't enough to just claim to be providing a great learning experience for peer leaders.  It needs to be directed by well-articulated learning outcomes and documented by high-quality assessment.  

High-impact peer leadership experiences are already happening on a number of campuses, but for peer leadership to really emerge as a truly high-impact practice, institutions need to approach it as such.  Considering the above issues will be a great start.

The best kind of colleague

One of my favorite collegial pairs, partly because I'm a descendant
 of the actual Butch Cassidy (aka Robert Leroy Parker).

“A good definition is almost impossible, but you know one when you see one. The connection is almost immediate.You know it's going to be a good day because you will be seeing that colleague.”                                                                         

-Anonymous



This morning, in her "A Kinder Campus" column that regularly runs in Inside Higher Ed, +Maria Shine Stewart posed the question "What makes a good colleague?" The column is thoughtful, well-written, and inspiring--well worth the five minutes or so it took me to read it.  And, it invited me to reflect on what kind of colleague I am.  This assertion, from one of the colleagues Stewart interviewed for the piece, was particularly thought-provoking for me: a colleague is someone who listens and helps a peer when it would be easier just to focus on his or her own responsibilities." Far too often, I'm guilty of becoming wrapped up in my own to-do list or project and forgetting about or even consciously avoiding interactions with others so that I can be more "productive." My department (and my own soul) will be kinder when I finally kick that habit that has crept into my work over the last few years (I rationalize by blaming it on becoming absorbed in my doctoral study, which is probably a factor, but clearly not the only culprit).

In reflecting on Stewart's column and her description of collegial relationships, I recalled a Christmas gift I received over the break that initially only struck me as incredibly thoughtful, but which upon further thought seems to represent the best kind of colleague I could ask for.

My friend +Drake Allsop ordered me a copy of Dan Pink's newly released book (To Sell is Human) and had it delivered four days before it was even available in bookstores.  For someone like me who loves to read, loves social science-esque books, and is a fan of Dan Pink, it was a pretty cool gift to receive.  In that respect, it was the type of gift I might have received from any of a number of friends and family who know those things about me.  But, because of my relationship with Drake, the experiences we had when we worked together at BYU, and some subtle things he did in the giving of the gift, it was a uniquely collegial.  Let me explain.

To begin with, Drake was a student who worked for me in BYU's +BYU Office of First-Year Experience.  Consequently, our relationship should have been dictated by the traditional employer-employee norms, with me as the authoritative supervisor and him as the student who followed directions and did his work (a far cry from collegiality).  However, Drake very quickly became much more of a colleague because he engaged with me in ways that few other students have.  He read what I read, initiated enlightening conversations with me about academic ideas, challenged me when my thinking was off or he saw that I could make some kind of improvement (I'll never forget the day he told me my presentation slides for an upcoming conference were pretty boring--it's true they were and the revised slides were much better), and became a partner with me in my learning.  We also laughed raucously and irreverently almost every day we worked together, which I've found goes a long way towards building a relationship.  

I see a lot of the best parts of my relationships with good colleagues represented in Drake's gift.



1.  It recognized, acknowledged, and validated my intellectual interests.  Drake knows I like Pink and knows what kinds of ideas I enjoy being exposed to.

2.  It invited me to grow and expand my mind.  Drake knows I'm busy and that I'm probably not reading as much as I should now that the new semester has started.  Sending me the book was a subtle reminder to me that I need to continue to expose myself to new ideas, even when I don't think I have time or energy.

3. It challenged me.  A little context is helpful here.  Drake graduated from BYUs Marriott School of Management, and while he is definitely not your typical business student (case in point, he is now an elementary school teacher), we had and probably continue to have some philosophical differences about various issues.  He probably also knows that I shun commercialism, sales, and most profit-motivated ventures.  So, receiving a book that, on its cover (literally), is all about selling myself is a bit of a challenge to my way of thinking.  I appreciate that and it is something that the best colleagues do for their friends.

4. It was an invitation to engage in a conversation with Drake about important ideas.  In the text message Drake sent me a few days after I had received the book he mentioned that he is reading the book too, and that he looks forward to talking with me about it.  While that's the kind of thing acquaintances say to each other (kind of the grown-up or academic version of "hey, we should hang out sometime"), but don't really mean, Drake is sincere.  I fully expect to have that conversation with him when I finish the book.

I'm grateful for both a new book, as well as good colleagues.  They make my work, my learning, and my life (which are all terribly intertwined these days) much more meaningful.

The day I found myself on Google Scholar

I have never considered myself a writer, a researcher, or an academic.  Although I do a lot of writing, have started to develop a research agenda, and am a doctoral candidate, none of the above labels have ever really come to mind when I think about myself and the work I do.  I still struggle to explain to family and friends what, exactly, it is that I do all day.

But, I feel slightly more academic today because I just found myself on Google Scholar.  I'm not the Bryce Bunting with a ball valve patent (he lives in Georgia and owns a manufacturing business--I know that, in part, because he emailed me once and introduced himself as the "other" Bryce Bunting.  Oddly enough, we are both from Utah), I'm the one that comes up a little down the list with an equally uninspiring entry for an academic paper ("Understanding the Dynamics of Peer Mentor Learning") published in the most recent special edition of the Journal of the First-Year Experience & Students in Transition.

The study explores what undergraduate peer mentors learn through their experiences mentoring first-year college students.  It's been a bit of a journey as well.  The data were collected in 2004, led to a conference presentation in 2005, a pretty shoddy draft of the article was written shortly thereafter, and the manuscript was rejected by a journal in 2009.  In 2010 we got serious about getting it published and started the hard work of revising the manuscript.  After about six months of work we submitted the article for publication in May of 2011.  In August we were asked to "revise & resubmit," which we did.  The article was then finally accepted for publication in December of 2011.  Three more revisions later I received my copy of the finished article just yesterday.  I never realized how much work goes into scholarly writing.  It's been an eye opening experience for me, but one (strangely enough) that I hope to have again.  I never thought I would be saying that, particularly when I graduated as a PE major six years ago.  

So, somehow, today I feel like I should be acting a little smarter and more scholarly to justify my existence on a search engine that uses the word scholar.

Why we should all write in library books

I checked a book out from the Harold B. Lee Library on my campus a few weeks ago (John Dewey's Experience and Education) and when I opened it I noticed that at least a quarter of the pages have notes written on them.  To some this would be horrifying or at least annoying--I was excited.  At the risk of bringing down the wrath of my bespectacled elementary school librarian (who, by the way, I am still truly terrified of--it's amazing that I don't have more of a negative relationship with books), I'd like to make an argument for the value of writing in books, particularly those books which are likely to be read by others at some point.

I make the assumption that virtually all learning is and should be approached as a conversation.  It's easy to see the conversational metaphor in traditional learning activities (e.g. conversations among learners and teachers in classroom settings), but reading a book is also a conversation between the reader and the author.  Of course, for some learners, the conversation is largely one-sided because their reading does little to elicit questions, new ideas, or responses.  But, nonetheless, when they read someone else's ideas in a book they are engaging in a conversation.

As an undergraduate I had a tremendous mentor who re-ignited my passion for reading (I loved reading as a child, but about the time I hit junior high school it died out for one reason or another).  One of the first books he lent to me was Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point.   I still remember being intrigued by the fact that he wrote in his books (again, the evilness of this practice had been well ingrained in my mind by Mrs. Robinson at Upland Terrace Elementary).  At first, I didn't pay much attention to his scribbles; however, at some point I realized that reading his notes, not only helped me understand Gladwell's ideas but also helped me see how they applied to my own experiences.  What I loved most were the questions he posed in response to Gladwell's arguments because they invited me into an internal conversation where I could sift through Gladwell's ideas, my mentors responses, and my own wonderings.  I can't say this for sure, but I wonder if I would have been excited about The Tipping Point and reading other things like it, had I not had the "conversational" experience with that copy of the book that particular summer. I spent the rest of that summer borrowing books from the same mentor and I always hoped that when I opened them the first time, they would be filled with his musings and questions.

My reading that summer not only kindled my interest in social science (I read Bob Putnam, Steven Johnson, more Gladwell, James Surowiecki, and Michael Lewis that summer), but taught me about how to have conversations with books.  By the end of August I was buying my own books so that I could write in them, ask questions, draw diagrams, and argue with the author.  I have continued my habit of well-intentioned book desecration and, today, there probably aren't many books on my shelf that haven't been written on. In fact, I lend a fair amount of books out to the students who I work with.  Every once in a while one will make a comment about something I've written, which is gratifying.  It's probably a stretch to assume that any of my scribblings will influence anyone quite like my mentor's ruminations did, but it's a nice thought to entertain.

How is community really built?

In a number of recent conversations with colleagues on my campus we have been discussing the implications of structural changes to the Freshman Mentoring program at BYU and, specifically, what it means for our work of building academic communities among our incoming students.  For the last six years or so, students participating in the program not only had access to an upperclassmen peer mentor, but were also enrolled in a cluster of linked courses.  This learning community model--shared academic interests, common enrollments, close proximity in housing, and a peer mentor who served as a connector of sorts-- meant that over the course of the semester students were more likely to become part of an academic community.  Essentially, they spent enough time together and had enough common experiences that a community began to emerge quite organically (although the peer mentors and faculty members did plenty of intentional things to try to nudge that development).

For the coming year, the mentoring program looks much different.  For instance, students will enroll in only a two course cluster where at least one of the courses is likely to be quite large (200+ students and in some cases as many as 800).  Additionally, these are general education courses, rather than major specific courses or thematically linked courses.  Finally, there is only a loose housing connection within clusters such that there is only a slight chance that any of a particular student's classmates in one of these linked courses will even live in the same residence hall (although they will be in the same complex of halls).  

This has left me and others wondering what role community building should play in our work.  Is it realistic to expect community to form around these linked courses, and if so, what can program administrators and individual peer mentors do to help it to happen?  

In Better Together, Robert Putnam and Lewis Feldstein lay out a set of principles of community-building gleaned from 11 case studies (one of the best books I've read in the last 10 years).  One of the themes that emerges from the cases is that most successful communities get that way through face-to-face interactions, small groups (although they may be nested within a larger organization), and shared interests.  That worries me a bit because of what I've just described about our new Freshman Mentoring program at BYU.  Peer mentors will have fewer opportunities for the sorts of informal face-time they had in the past, they'll be expected to mentor upwards of 60 students, and the students in their "community" are not likely to share academic interests like they may have in the past.  

So, are we better off treating this as a program based in isolated relationships between mentors and students.  Or, are there ways to build community within these constraints?  

One idea that I need to explore a bit more is the relationship between individual relationships and community.  Is community just a collection of one-on-one relationships or is it more than that?  

Thoughts?

How much should we "require" of students?

Brigham Young University (BYU) recently announced a new and expanded Freshman Mentoring initiative that will provide every incoming freshman with the opportunity to connect with an upperclassmen peer mentor and enroll in two linked university core courses.   While most people associated with BYU are very excited about the change, we have encountered some resistance from incoming students and their parents who don't like the idea of being "required" to participate.

My experiences over the last week or so with these students has left me wondering how two principles of learning can peacefully coexist:

(1)  Students should have opportunities to make meaningful choices about how and what they are learning and

(2)  Universities expect students to engage in selected learning activities because they are believed to lead to desirable outcomes.  

So, the question I've been left pondering when I hang up the phone with a frustrated mother is how much an institution can rightfully require their students to do.  It is almost universally accepted that institutions can require certain things of students in the way of graduation requirements; however, in most cases these requirements are merely a list of courses that a student must take or a number of curricular requirements that must be fulfilled.  There are some institutions who also require students to complete capstone experiences or to create portfolios demonstrating competence in particular learning outcome areas.  My first undergraduate institution (Mars Hill College) even required students to attend "chapel hour" 40 times during the course of their four years in order to graduate.  

For good or for bad, BYU "requires" very little of students.  As long as they fulfill a set of broad general education and religious education requirements, and meet the requirements of their particular program, they can graduate with a degree.  This has always bee interesting to me because I often hear high-level administrators praise the merits of captsone-like internships, study-abroad experiences, and mentored learning.  I've wondered why, if these things seem to make a difference in student learning, we don't ask all students to participate.  

This all begs the question of student volition and how connected it is to how much and how well they learn.  Do things like having a mentor, being part of a learning community, or attending weekly devotionals make a difference for all students or just those that choose to participate?  And, what happens when we compel, somewhat forcefully, students to participate who might not otherwise?  Not surprisingly, mentoring literature from fields outside of higher education suggests that informal mentoring relationships generally lead to positive learning outcomes at a higher rate than assigned relationships.   What's more, formal mentoring relationships are prone to becoming dysfunctional and leading to a host of negative outcomes for both mentors and proteges.  

It's possible that the resistance my colleagues and I have seen will decrease over time as peer mentoring becomes part of the culture of BYU.  But, it's also possible that we've made a terrible mistake by requiring students to participate in the program.  Thoughts?  When should institutions require things of students?  And, how do we make those pills easier to swallow in cases when learners object to the co-curricular things they are asked to do?