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.