A clever solution for disengaged communities

‘The idea for Play Me, I’m Yours came from visiting my local launderette. I saw the same people there each weekend and yet no one talked to one another. I suddenly realised that within a city, there must be hundreds of these invisible communities, regularly spending time with one another in silence. Placing a piano into the space was my solution to this problem, acting as a catalyst for conversation and changing the dynamics of a space.’


This is a statement from Luke Jerram, an international artist and the brainchild of an art installation called "Play Me, I'm Yours."  Quite simply, Jerram's idea was to place pianos all over a city and then provide the public with free and open access to them (see the picture on the right).  The project has been well received and has already made an appearance in 25 cities across the globe, with Paris, Geneva, London, and Toronto slated for this summer.  And, as this Salt Lake Tribune article reports (there is currently an installation in downtown Salt Lake City), there are some amazing stories that have come out of the project.


When I read about what inspired Jerram with this idea (i.e. the laundromat story above) I immediately thought of college campuses (at least the one where I work) and the "invisible communities" that seem to exist there.  On large campuses especially there often seems to be a sense of loneliness and isolation. Students attend classes with one another, without ever speaking; or sit next to the same students in the library day after day, never reaching out.  There seem to be lessons in Jerram's artwork  for those of us interested in building community on college campuses and engaging students with one another in meaningful ways.  While most campuses have clubs, intramurals, and Greek Life, and these initiatives play some role in campus life, I'm not sure that they do much at all (if anything) to address the "invisible communities" of students who study, attend class, and eat together, but who never connect.


Maybe I'm particularly sensitive to this because of an experience I had this week that helped me clearly see that I am a part of one of these invisible communities.  I typically arrive at my office around 7:00 a.m., long before most others get to campus (this is intentional, I can get more done between 7:00 & 9:00 than I do the rest of the day).  And, almost daily I pass one or more student custodians as I walk into my building.  They are usually just finishing their shift that begins at 4:00 a.m.  Occasionally I will smile or nod at them as I walk by, but rarely do I make any real effort to acknowledge or converse with them.  Last Friday morning, one of these surely sleep-deprived students, who I'm sure I have seen and walked by countless times without ever saying hello, knocked on my door and asked "Are you related to any of the Buntings in Kanab, Utah?"  Well, I am, and it turns out that we are second cousins.  We talked for about 10 minutes about her family, my family, and the little town where our parents grew up.  I've seen her just about every day since then and we've smiled, said hello, and chatted briefly a few more times.


I've thought about this experience a lot over the last week and (a) been embarrassed that I don't reach out more often to those around me and (b) what a difference it made for this student to reach out to connect with me.  And, I now wonder how much more often these kinds of interactions might occur if our campuses were designed to in ways that might catalyze conversations between strangers.  In the case of my experience, it was my nameplate that started the conversation (the student saw my name, realized it was also her mother's maiden name, and then started a conversation).  What other kinds of things (like Jerram's randomly placed pianos) could an institution strategically place in the physical spaces of its campus--especially those places where people anonymously congregate--to bring people together?  


Here's one example from a blog post I wrote a few years ago.  I think we would be surprised how little effort it might take and how positively students might respond.

Pathways to graduation: The need for both control and coherence

In a column in this morning's Inside Higher Ed, professor Vincent Tinto makes an argument for attending to student "momentum" when it comes to issues of college completion.  The take-home message is that gaining and maintaining momentum is a key factor in determining whether or not students complete college.  The logic is that the faster students move through their experience, the more likely they are to persist and finish.  Tinto also points to the work of The Washington State Board for Community and Technical Colleges as an example of how institutions and policy makers can use student completion data to identify "momentum points" or milestones that, when reached by students, significantly increase the likelihood of completion.  In many states (Florida, North Carolina, and Texas, to name a few), this work has led to an increased focus on increasing curricular structure and developing "pathways" that are associated with successful college completion.

While completion isn't a tremendous problem on my campus, time-to-degree is and we see increasing numbers of students taking 12 or more semesters to graduate.  Additionally, because of my work with new students, I see the problems that come in the absence of well organized curricula and clear pathways that can guide student decision-making as it relates to course selection (I recently commented on this issue here).  So, I have always been a proponent for increased curricular structure, constraint, and coherence, particularly with regard to the general education aspect of the student experience.

However, there is also a need to balance structure and constraint with the equally important need for students to be able to exercise some degree of control over their educational experiences.  I was reminded of this recently as I began reading Daniel Gilbert's book, Stumbling on Happiness.  Although I'm only a few chapters in, I've read enough to know that Gilbert's premise (backed by plenty of research that he cites in the book) is that we are pretty bad at predicting what will make us happy.  Gilbert opens the book with the argument that, while we believe we know what will make us happy and chart courses we believe will lead us there (e.g. I'll be happy when I have lots of money and am a partner in a law firm, so I'll go to law school now so that one day I can be happy), happiness is more dependent upon a much simpler factor--the degree to which we feel we have control over our experiences.  Of course, there are countless aspects of our lives we cannot control; however, if we perceive the inability to exercise control in too many instances, we become depressed, reactive, and unhappy.

So, my question after reading Chapter 1 of Gilbert's book was how institutions can preserve choice and an appropriate degree of control for students (especially with regard to curricular decisions), while still providing enough structure and guidance that students' experiences are both cohesive and efficient in terms of time-to-graduation.  Like Dewey argues in Experience and Education, I'm of the mind that complete freedom for learners is likely to be fragmented and wandering, ultimately resulting in experience which is "miseducative."  Additionally, too much freedom often leads to anxiety, resistance, and extreme frustration for learners wishing for guidance from a more knowledgeable other (I still remember the backlash against the professor who taught my Western Philosophy class when he gave students complete freedom to determine what we would do for our final projects--although they may not admit it, students often want someone to tell them what to do and how to do it, particularly when grades are on the line).  Consequently, there is a need for educators to consider how freedom and constraint can be balanced and integrated in ways that provide an experience that is both personally meaningful and educationally purposeful.

Campuses wishing to preserve control, while attending to completion agendas might consider the following:  :

• Choice architecture:  Campus policies and systems result in choice systems for students.  When these systems are designed in thoughtful ways, they can leave room for students to exercise control while increasing the likelihood that students will make choices that are associated with positive outcomes.  For example, effective general education programs increase the likelihood that students will achieve learning outcomes by limiting the number of courses which fulfill a particular requirement (my institution has yet to learn that lesson), while ensuring that this list is long enough to allow adequate diversity when students make their choice as to which course to take.  
• Decision-making tools:  As much as we complain about the poor choices made by students, we often are to blame because of our failure to provide students with the information they need in order to make informed choices.  And, giving students the information is only half the battle--we also have to be thoughtful about how the information is delivered.  The day of static webpages and poorly written catalogs is over.  Students want and need dynamic tools that can use student-specific data (provided by the student) to suggest customized actions or paths for students, based on their needs and interests--think "Choose your own Adventure" for course registration.
• A Clear institutional mission:  An institution which is clear about its values and goals is well positioned to determine where student choice can be allowed and when institutional imperatives will rule the day.  Once campus leaders have clearly articulated what their uncompromising values are, they have a foundation from which to work and can go about determining how choice can be facilitated around these goals.  Additionally, when campuses work to create a culture on campus that aligns with these values, and then repeatedly and explicitly communicate these values to students, decisions are likely to be better and more in line with the hoped-for outcomes.
• Mandatory and effective advising:  This may be the most important element.  Well-trained and knowledgeable advisors are the human element that can make everything else work.  Advisors can provide students with accurate information regarding campus policies, educate them about learning outcomes and institutional aims, and engage them in dialogue about their own academic goals.  An advisor who both understands (and supports) the institutional mission and values the importance of student self-authorship, can assist students in developing academic plans that allow them to meet both their own as well as institutional goals.  I have yet to see the decision tree, online tutorial, orientation session, or incentive system that can do that as well as a live human being.

Why educators should be experts at apologizing

Earlier this week I finished reading Better by Mistake:  The unexpected benefits of being wrong, by Alina Tugend.  The book explores our fear of making and owning up to mistakes as well as the difference that a bit more honesty and humility can make for individuals and organizations.  It's well-written, engaging, and insightful--probably the best thing I've read on this topic since Carol Dweck's book, Mindset.  In the closing chapter of the book, Tugend discusses the relationship between mistakes and apologies, specifically the role that apology plays in learning from and being changed (in productive ways) by our mistakes. That topic seems very appropriate as a conclusion for Tugend's book, because her overall message seems to be that the very best learners (be it individuals, families, organizations, etc.) recognize they make mistakes, acknowledge them when they occur, and leverage them to facilitate learning.

There is an implication in this line of thinking for those of us who call ourselves "educators," which is that we should be apologizing a lot more than we do.  Apologizing should be a common practice on our campuses, not just because it is the nice or civil thing to do, but also because it is an integral aspect to the learning we experience both individually and collectively.  Like Tugend points out in her book, our problem is that we, typically, perceive apologies as either (a) an admission of weakness or incompetence or (b) a "confession" that will get us in trouble at some point in the future.

Think of the last big mistake that was made on your campus, particularly one that effected the work of a large number of people and/or left a sizable portion of the campus frustrated.  What was the response?  I'd give you three to one odds in Vegas that it included some kind of vague, impersonal statement (probably sent via email) that included some version of the sentiment "mistakes were made."  No real responsibility for the mistake is taken by the sender of the email (who generally has no name, but is speaking on behalf of a faceless entity like "the university" or "the administration"), no explanation for what led to the mistake is provided, and very little is said about how the mistake is being addressed or what steps will be taken in the future to avoid a similar occurrence, just a "steps are being taken" statement that doesn't leave anyone feeling any better.

This happened on my campus over the last week.  A team of engineers in the Office of Information Technology performed some kind of systems upgrade or maintenance overnight on May 23 and in the midst of those upgrades a number of critical campus servers were impacted in unexpected and disastrous ways.  While I was only impacted in minor ways (I couldn't access a network drive my department uses), our student employees along with more than half of the full-time employees on campus lost all of their saved/sent emails (which I would never have thought would be that big an issue, but is actually tremendously problematic, for all sorts of reasons), our Campus Accommodations department couldn't bill or accept housing payments, and I even heard yesterday that one of our academic colleges lost nearly 150,000 data files associated with ongoing research projects (they were told by OIT representatives that the data is irretrievable--at which point I would have begun throwing shoes at heads).

While I have no doubt that these problems were unforeseen and that OIT is working tremendously hard to fix the problems, the way the mistake has been handled and managed publicly has been poor.  Although updates on "fixes" have been provided on a daily basis since Tuesday morning, no real remorse or regret has been expressed, no explanation for what led to the problems has been provided, and nothing has been said about how OIT will adapt its practices in the future to avoid similar failings.

I'm trying to stay optimistic and hold out hope that this information is coming, after all, it has only been a little over a week; however, my experience has taught me that large organizations (like my university) are unwilling to make mistakes public and open, such that they can be learned from.  Rather, swift decisions are made, people lose their jobs, and we attempt to forget the mistake as quickly as possible so that we can go back to thinking that all is well.  The irony in all of this is that, for a setting where learning, improvement, and growth are so valued among students, we rarely take an approach to institutional or administrative mistakes that yields those outcomes for ourselves and our work.

One more story.  I've seen this same phenomenon at work in a more personal way over the last few months as a close colleague of mine (who has been a tremendous mentor to me, both personally and professionally) has been, from my perspective, treated very poorly by administration and, essentially, forced into retirement.  The situation has been mishandled on a number of levels from her being notified of the decision with the words "the university is not interested in renewing your contract," to miscommunications regarding when the action will be official, to an awkward dance where she is still working in her position while her replacement is invited to committee meetings she attends and included in intra-departmental communications (which she learns of after-the-fact).  Not surprisingly, she feels hurt, betrayed, and unappreciated--she is even considering legal action because she previously signed a contract indicating she would be in her position until Aug. 31, 2012 but her tenure in her current administrative role is set to expire on June 31st, which creates problems in terms of compensation.  I can't help but wonder how different things would be if someone would take the opportunity to talk with her face-to-face, acknowledge mistakes they made (which they were), express regret for the way it has all made her feel, and talk with her about how similar transitions could be handled in the future.  Of course, it wouldn't change the superficial features of the situation--she would still be moving on and still be sad about that; however, my guess is that both my colleague and those administrators involved would feel better about the whole situation and learn something.

Warren Buffet is a good example of how leaders can and should apologize when they make mistakes.  Commenting to his shareholders in February 2009 he said

During 2008 I did some dumb things in investments.  I made at least one major mistake of commission and several lesser ones that also hurt.  Furthermore, I made some errors of omission, sucking my thumb when new facts came in that should have caused me to reexamine my thinking and promptly take action.


Buffet went on to provide detail as to what mistakes he was referring to and taking full responsibility for the errors.  Maybe someone like Buffet can get away with that, while the rest of us don't have the luxury of calling ourselves dumb.  However, there seems to be something endearing about individuals and organizations who can say "I was wrong."  More importantly, that kind of candor and humility can't help but lead to learning for just about everyone involved.

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.

What does it look like when higher education gets it right?

If you are one of six people who occasionally read this blog, you have probably picked up on the fact that many of my posts are critiques of things I have observed.  I've felt guilty about this recently and been wondering why I am so cynical (some might way negative) at times.  I'll never escape my desire to provide commentary on what I see as shortcomings of society, systems, programs, etc.; however, I have made a conscious effort to try and look for the good a little more often (if for no other reason than that it helps me offer more thoughtful critiques of the "less than good" I see).  

On that note, a couple of days ago I read about the BYU New Horizons Orchestra and was struck with the thought "this is the sort of thing that should be happening a lot more often."  And, I felt better knowing that I had, at least for a moment, allowed myself to acknowledge something good in the world.

The New Horizons Orchestra is sponsored by the BYU School of Music and provides seniors in the community surrounding BYU with the opportunity to learn to play a stringed instrument (or, in some cases, to relearn to play one of these instruments).  This fact alone (i.e. that BYU is providing a great service to the local community) would be enough for me to trumpet this program as worthwhile and beneficial.  However, the other great thing about the orchestra is that it provides opportunities for music education students to hone their craft as they direct and conduct these orchestras.  Students get real laboratory teaching experiences, but with motivated, mature learners who aren't likely to present the behavioral challenges that might come up in a real classroom of pre-pubescent kids trying to learn to play the cello (although they'll need that experience, it's probably better if it comes a little later on, after they have had success teaching a pleasant 75 year-old woman who smiles a lot).  Finally, the orchestra is also providing research opportunities for both faculty members and students in the School of Music.

So, in the context of this small orchestra, made up of white-haired folks from around the Provo-Orem area, you can see each of the major missions of higher education being fulfilled:

1.  Teaching -- Students in the School of Music get an invaluable field experience that builds their confidence and provides opportunities to connect and apply principles and pedagogical strategies from their coursework.

2.  Research --  Because of the unique make-up of the orchestra (senior members and student conductors), there are multiple unique research questions that can be explored in this context (e.g. how do senior learners progress from novice to capable instrmentalists?  How does this process differ from the way young musicians learn to play?  How does bringing seniors and young adults together in a learning environment impact their perspectives of one another?  etc.).

3.  Service -- The university provides a service to the local community that both improves the lives of orchestra members and improves the public's view of the university and it's place in the local community.

It wasn't until I was sitting at my computer typing out this post that I made the above connection (i.e. that the New Horizons Orchestra was bringing together teaching, research, and service all in one place).  But, it seems like an excellent example of what should be happening in every department on a college campus.

What if course registration was like buying a book on Amazon?

I just finished reading Charles Duhigg's very interesting book, The Power of Habit.  In Chapter 7 ("How Target Knows What You Want Before You Do") he relates the story of Andrew Pole, a data expert who helped Target develop a process for identifying which of its customers were pregnant, sometimes before their families even knew (This NY Times article by Duhigg essentially tells the same story).  Target then could mail customized books of coupons featuring the exact products a pregnant woman would be shopping for at that point in her pregnancy.  It's a story that is both fascinating (what kind of statistical genius comes up with this stuff) and slightly disturbing (what else does Target know about me?).

Although Duhigg's method is very sophisticated and allows Target to market to customers in ways many companies cannot, the practice of collecting and analyzing data which illuminates customers preferences and habits is not all that new.  I have been listening to Pandora since 2004 and, at this point, I rarely hear a song I don't like (even if it is a song I haven't heard before).  Pandora knows what I like because it has analyzed my likes and dislikes for the last 8 years and it can recommend songs to me that I will like, but wouldn't have been aware of otherwise.  Similarly, Amazon tracks my purchases, compares them to their vast database and then suggests other titles I might be interested in.  In some sense (theoretically), everyone wins in these situations--I make better choices and am more satisfied with my purchases, listening choices, etc. and the company makes more money (because I am more satisfied and more likely to make future purchases).  So, what might this mean for institutions of higher education?

I typically hesitate to transfer business practices to educational settings because of what I see as very different value systems at work in the two areas; however, Target and Amazon may have something to teach higher ed, particularly those who are involved in enrollment and registration processes on their campuses.  While higher education isn't "selling" a product to students in the traditional sense, it is true that students "purchase" a particular type of experience which is provided by an academic institution.  This experience is multi-faceted and includes a host of sub-experiences including co-curricular and extra-curricular activities, a residential experience (in some cases), and many others; however, at the core of the educational experience "purchased" by students are courses.  Students pay for the right to enroll in, attend, and complete courses.  And, ultimately, these courses lead to graduation (disclaimer:  what I have just described here, clearly, ignores the learning we hope occurs for students on a campus and is a good example of what John Tagg has termed the instruction paradigm.  I don't espouse this paradigm and do value learning; however, from a purely economic perspective, students at the vast majority of institutions are indeed purchasing courses, rather than paying for learning.  I say this because students can buy a course and eventually graduate, without learning very much at all).

One of the problems facing many institutions is the lack of a clear path from admission to graduation and the resulting problem of time to graduation measures which are much higher than we would like.  This is particularly true at institutions like mine where students are given nearly complete freedom to "purchase" whatever classes they wish and in whatever sequence they wish.  Of course, that is an over generalization and there are some constraints placed on registration choices (e.g. prerequisite courses, limited enrollment programs); however, in most cases (particularly in a student's first few semesters) they have very limited guidance and even less constraint when it comes to course selection.  Not surprisingly, students often make poor choices when it comes to course registration--choices which (a) they are not satisfied with and (b) delay time to graduation.

Institutions, long ago, developed a human solution to this problem and began hiring academic advisors to provide students with assistance in making these decisions.  And, clearly, these advisors have an important role to play on campuses (and one that extends far beyond the mechanics of course registration).  However, the impractical "loads" of most advisors, coupled with the lack of mandatory advisement on many campuses (yes, these two issues are linked) means that very few students receive the type of advisement we would hope for.  No technical solution could or should ever replace the human and high-touch work that advisors do, but in today's economy the chances of an institution hiring more advisors isn't good.  Consequently, technological interventions are becoming more and more of a necessity.  This is where Amazon and Target might be able to help.

Virtually ever campus has an online registration system and, feasibly, could track student's registration choices.  Additionally, campuses know where students are from, how many AP/IB/Concurrent Enrollment credits they brought with them, what their major is, their age, marital status, and probably many other pieces of demographic data.  Additionally, campuses know how long it takes students to graduate.  What if the Andrew Pole's on our campuses could, first, identify the most efficient pathways to graduation on their campus and, more importantly, identify the unique pathways for particular types of students (e.g. engineering majors, non-traditional students, or History Teaching majors with minors in coaching)?  The wisest campus leaders would also find ways to determine how to balance time and learning outcomes such that these ideal paths take into consideration both time and quality of learning (through analysis of learning outcome data and other evidence which helps determine how much and how well students are learning).

But, identifying these paths alone isn't enough to change student behavior; campuses need to find ways to use this data to inform student decision making at the very time they are making the decisions.  At each step along a student's path to graduation (e.g. first enrollment as a brand new first-year student, 5th semester, etc.) unique and specific suggestions could be made within the registration system so that a student logging in to register for classes sees a "students like you have registered for . . . " message at the very moment and in the very electronic space where they will be making their "purchase."  However, when we say "students like you" we really mean students like you who also have had a good experience on our campus and graduated in a relatively short amount of time (so, maybe we're lying just a bit, but it's for the greater good).

Could it be done?

A new way to exploit college athletes

Image appearing in the 5 April Equity Express Email

Intercollegiate athletics are a controversial topic in higher education on a number of levels.  And, like just about any other part of the academy, athletic departments have their problems.  One common critique of the current big-time college sports system is that student-athletes who are members of prominent teams at high-profile schools are exploited in that their success on the field, in the pool, or at the ballpark brings huge financial gains for others (e.g. their coaches, their institutions, or the governing body that "protects" them).  For a couple of good reads on these issues see Murray Sperber's Beer and Circus and William Rhoden's Forty Million Dollar Slaves.


Yesterday I saw a new way to exploit college athletes and, ironically, it came from an organization who claims to "speak up for students."  The Education Trust sent an email yesterday to what I am assuming is a very long mailing list.  In the body of the email was the image at right, which compares the University of Kentucky's point total from their National Championship win with their six year graduation rate. Clearly, it was a clever and timely move that was effective in communicating a key message for The Education Trust (i.e. There is a problem with the graduation rates in American institutions.  I agree, those of us who make our livings in higher education need to find a way to ensure that more students graduate from our institutions.  What I do object to, however, is The Education Trust's use of an individual institution and further, 15 members of a single athletic team at that institution, to promote their agenda.  By linking the institution's graduation rate with the men's basketball team, Education Trust seems to imply that the basketball team also has a low graduation rate and that the members of the team are poor students.  Of course, not every reader of the email will make those assumptions, but the design and tone of the message seem to imply it.

I don't have any idea what the graduation rate for John Calipari's team is.  And, it's quite possible it is close to the institution's rate (if not lower); however, for The Education Trust to throw the entire team under the bus seems uncalled for.  Additionally, although I have no data to back this up, I wouldn't imagine that UK's graduation rate is all that different from many other teams in the recent NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament, so, to single out one institution seems shady as well.

As much as I agree with the mission of Education Trust, they owe the University of Kentucky as well as the members of the men's basketball team an apology.