How do we get young men to want to go to college and want to work hard once they get there?

Earlier this week I read an article about the challenge of engaging male students in a meaningful college experience.  I  saw the anti-intellectual attitude alluded to in this article displayed at the high school level when I was a teacher and coach, and I see it now in my work in higher education.  It's not that male students aren't intelligent, don't work hard, or aren't prepared for college-level work.  It's just that, in far too many cases, being a good learner and being a "man" are mistakenly viewed as being mutually exclusive.  This false dichotomy leaves young men feeling like they have to choose one role or the other.  And, at 18 years old being "cool" or "chill" generally wins out.  This means that participating in class, being seen in the library, or having any sort of academic conversation outside of class is strictly taboo (Note:  many will do "academic" things when no one is looking, but my experience has been that the best kind of learning is, at least part of the time, public and social).

Really, there are two related problems here:  (1) Getting males to want to go to college, trade school, technical training, etc. and (2) Helping those that do go to take full advantage of the opportunity rather than doing enough to not kicked out, but without looking like they really care all that much.  I realize that my mentioning these problems is not earth-shattering and that there are a lot of people thinking about the same thing.  The shortcoming I see is in the way we go about trying to remedy these problems.

This made me wonder how we could package some of our basic messages about the value of education and deliver them in ways that would resonate with the students we are trying to reach, particularly male students.  The Inside Higher Ed article I linked to above mentions a strategy employed by Morehouse College in Atlanta, Georgia wherein students are introduced to the concept of a "Morehouse Man" that embodies a set of core values that the institution believes are characteristic of the type of men they hope to graduate (Morehouse is an all-male institution).  The intent is to help students see and believe that being a man includes being well-dressed, well-spoken, well-educated, etc. and that to become that sort of man a student needs to do certain things while they are in college.  The question I would have is whether the audience they are intending to reach (those students that for whatever reason aren't living up to the ideals held out by the institution) really want to become a "Morehouse Man" or at least the image of  a "Morehouse Man" that has been created by this messaging.  

An example of this same sort of challenge is outlined in Made to Stick, by Chip and Dan Heath.  In a nutshell, the state of Texas wanted to decrease the amount of litter on their highways.  And, they knew which Texans were most likely to litter, so they targeted their campaign at "Bubba."  Bubba represented the 18 - 35 year old male, pickup truck driving, country music listening demographic that seemed to be at the heart of the litter problem.  The idea was to give the standard "don't litter" message using both language and messengers that "Bubba" would relate to.  So, they brought in members of the Dallas Cowboys, Mike Scott of the Houston Astros, and Willie Nelson and the now well-known phrase "Don't mess with Texas" was born.  These weren't just famous people, they were people that Bubba saw as real Texans, men that Bubba wanted to be like.  The strategy worked and visible litter along Texas roadways had decreased 72% within five years.  

So, the question am left with in all of this is who our Bubbas are and how we can package two old messages (education is valuable and education means doing things that lead to good learning) in new ways.  Who would male students respond to and what could that person or group of people say that would make an 18 year-old male student want to be a scholar?   

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?

Managing Transitions: What FYE can learn from the corporate world

Recently I have been reading a book from business literature called Managing Transitions.  In it the author (William Bridges) describes a philosophy and accompanying set of strategies that organizations can employ to successfully navigate difficult transitions (e.g. a merger, downsizing, closing, etc.).  The premise of the book is that transitions, while filled with anxiety and the sometimes debilitating potential for failure, present tremendous opportunities for growth and innovation.

This has been interesting reading for me because my area on campus is in the midst of a fairly dramatic transition.  But, as I read another chapter this afternoon it occurred to me that some of Bridges ideas could be applied to my work in first-year experience.  New freshmen on college campuses look, in some ways, a lot like a mid-level manager trying to grapple with changes in her organization.  Both are anxious and somewhat frightened of the uncertainty that lies ahead, both are probably questioning their ability to succeed in their new environment, and both are likely to brush up against experiences that expose weaknesses and deficiencies.

So, what can those of us in FYE learn from corporate America about managing transitions? 

Bridges' identifies three fluid stages--(1)Letting Go, (2) the Neutral Zone, and (3) The New Beginning (see image below).

 It's important to note that these are not three static phases that are moved through in sequential order (like walking through three separate doors).  Rather, we find ourselves in all three phases at any given point within a transition.  The concept of a new beginning was not new to me--it is where we focus most of our efforts as we design orientations, first-year programs, etc.  However, my sense in talking with colleagues on other campuses is that most of us haven't spent much time thinking about the letting go and neutral zone elements of students' transitions onto our campuses.  That's where I'll focus the rest of this post.

Letting Go.  Among other things, Bridges recommends that those assisting individuals in transition pay attention to what is being lost by those experiencing the change.  What are they giving up?  What are they likely to long for in the new situation?  etc.  The first implication here is that we both expect and accept the fact that most if not all new students will experience some sort of "grieving" during their first year on campus.  For some it will come in the first few weeks and in other cases it could come much later (e.g. after Thanksgiving or Christmas vacations).  But, we shouldn't be surprised or discouraged when we see students struggling with the "I wish I was at home" sorts of feelings.  In fact, recognizing and addressing those feelings is necessary for students to eventually become integrated into our campuses.  At times, those of us who interact with new students (faculty, advisors, residence hall staff, etc.) might be guilty of trying to skip to the "new beginning" without ever allowing students to let go.  One way that this might happen would be to mark the ending in a very public or visible way.  Could something happen during new student Convocation or another part of orientation that ritualizes the ending (this could also more effectively signal the new beginning we hope students engage in)?  Also, could students be invited to discuss with one another or with a peer mentor/advisor the sorts of things they are giving up as they transition into college (e.g. old study habits, friendships, their own room, etc.)?  This could help lead to a conversation about the many things that we provide on our campuses to compensate for these losses--student organizations, academic help centers, residence hall advisors, and more.

The Neutral Zone.  The neutral zone is that place between the ending and the beginning where we are trying to find our place, reframe our identity, and figure out how to make it in our new situation.  It's in the neutral zone where we see students anxious, stressed, ambiguous, and questioning their ability to make it.  And, in some ways, our programs are intended to move students through this uncomfortable place as quickly as possible.  The interesting idea presented in Managing Transitions is that the neutral zone isn't necessarily something that we should try to rush people through because of the opportunities for growth and innovation that it presents.   A quote from the book (p. 52) captures this idea very well:

"The key to succeeding in these efforts [the efforts to help individuals navigate the neutral zone] is to look at the neutral zone as a chance to do something new and interesting--and to pursue that goal with energy and courage."

I like that thought because it shifts the responsibility for success on to the individual and essentially asks "what can you do during this time of transition to grow, change, be creative, etc"  That seems like a liberating thought and one that should be shared with students.  In addition, Bridges recommends that the neutral zone be "normalized" such that it becomes clearly understood by students and others on campus that the transition to college won't happen overnight and won't happen without some growing pains.  Carol Dweck's ideas in Mindset seem like they would have particular application here; in a nutshell she discusses the idea of a "growth mindset" wherein individuals view intelligence and success as malleable and responsive to hard work and practice.  This sort of attitude can help students reframe the way they view failures and help them use the neutral zone and its "failures" as learning experiences that lead to eventual growth and success.  

So, the take home for me was that for FYE professionals to really help students "begin" their college experience, we need to pay a bit more attention to the other two elements involved in the transition to college.  Thoughts?  How are you helping students let go or navigate the neutral zone?

 

The Power of Ten

This week I discovered the Project for Public Spaces (PPS), a group focused on improving communities through creating a certain kind of public space.  In a 2004 article that appeared in the PPS newsletter, the author lays out the idea of "power of ten" as it applies to public spaces.  In a nutshell he argues that a public space will not become a thriving center of activity and discourse until it offers a variety of different types of things to do (hence the title "Power of Ten").  The author, Fred Kent--who is now the president of PPS, uses a park as an example.  A great park has a playground, a walking trail, a popcorn vendor, an art display, and is located across the street from a bookstore.  Because it offers a variety of activities, it caters to a variety of people and becomes a lively, active place.  The sort of place a community hopes it will have.

This got me thinking, again, about the public spaces on our campuses and whether or not they are effective in building community.  In my last post I talked a bit about student union buildings and the lack of academic happenings there.  As I read Fred Kent's piece and spent some time on the PPS site, I realized that it's not just academics that are often missing from the student union, but a whole host of other things as well.  On my campus the Student center has a variety of things going on, but they are all the same sorts of things--a bowling alley, student clubs, a student-service center, and a food court.  Those are all great things, but they seem to all appeal to the same sort of student, one likely to be involved in social events, formalized student leadership, and campus-sponsored organizations.  If I've read Kent's ideas accurately, the best sort of student center is a little more eclectic and hosts a broad range of things that are likely to attract all sorts of students.

So, if you were going to redesign your student union (or whatever you call it on your campus), what sorts of things would you make sure were there?  Or, if your student center is already this sort of teeming public space, what sorts of things happen there that make it so?  

A "Third Place" on campus: What would an academic town hall for freshmen look like?

I just returned from a meeting with a group of librarians on my campus (as an aside, whatever stereotypical illusions I held about librarians being socially awkward book worms were destoryed in the 90 minutes I spent with them).  Our conversation centered on (1) their desire to create a third place space within the library that students can come to when they aren't at home and aren't in class and (2) my department's desire to create a space where freshman students and their mentors can build relationships, work collaboratively, and engage in meaningful dialogue.  The concept of third place was pioneered by Ray Oldenburg and, in short, describes a public space where members of a community can come together to dialogue and form bonds.  

During the meeting my mind wandered a bit (who hasn't had that happen in an administrative meeting) and I began to think about a recent blog post by Gary Daynes in which he drew connections between universities and cities.  In his post Gary describes a number of ways in which cities and universities are similar including power systems, food distribution, and police forces.  One element of cities or towns that I see missing from my University (and I would imagine a large number of institutions across the country) is the town square or commons area where members of the community congregate to do what I see as the real work of a city (e.g. share opinions about the health or malaise of the community, make suggestions for improvement, and showcase local products and creations).  I've oftened wished I lived in small town USA where this sort of thing happened more regularly.

So, this left me wondering about what an "academic town square," particularly one targeted at first-year students, might look like.  My initial thoughts are that those desigining a space like this would need to keep a few things in mind:

1.  Comfort.  This needs to be a place where students would choose to go when they don't have anything better to do.  Part of this is attending to physical comfort--it needs to include comfortable places to sit and to work and should "homey"--but, social comfort would be critical as well.  Care needs to be taken in encouraging social equality wherein a diversity of people and ideas are welcome.  And, a place to buy inexpensive, high-quality food (think coffe shop/cafe) would help as well.

2.  Invitations to collaborate.  The physical layout and objects placed in the space need to signal to those who enter it that this is a place where dialogue and group work are not only allowed but expected.    That means no desks, very little fixed furniture, and lots of studio-like space where people and congregate and engage in "messy" learning.  

3.  Opportunities for students to make the space their own.  The initial design needs to leave room for students to "move-in" and make it their own.  I'm not exactly sure what this would look like, but the space should be living and dynamic such that students can make their mark and create a sense of identity or sense of place there (for an example of what I mean, see this blog post from last summer).  This might include showcasing of student work (e.g. art, film, music, writing) and not just course projects or assignments.  

4.  Central and visible.  By definition the town square is the hub of the community, both physically and conceptually.  An academic town square needs to be accessible to students and should be highly visible so that students know where it is and can see the work that goes on there even if they don't actively participate.  A "lab" tucked away in the basement of a building or the corner of the library will fall flat on its face. 

5.  Commonly accepted "house rules."  Some sort of expectations as to what constitutes appropriate use of the space would need to be developed.  I'm not suggesting a placard of rules at the entry to the space like what you find at the neighborhood pool.  To be effective the code would need to be developed by those that use the space, not a university committee (or even a committee of students for that matter).  I'm not sure what the process would be here, but it seems important (anyone with ideas or suggestions for how this could be organized in an organic, grassroots way?).

Part of me thinks I've outlined an expensive plan for replicating the student union building.  But, the other part of me thinks that there is a need for a new space that is different from the student union in critical ways:  academic dialogue and deep learning experiences, but in an environment that feels like a student lounge.  As I walk through the student center on my campus I see lots of activity and energy but it happens in microbursts--a short conversation in the Taco Bell line, a hurried lunch with friends, stopping in to the Career Center to pick up a brochure, etc.    What's missing are sustained dialogues about what students are learning in classes, informal conversations about the recent campus forum, or students arguing about healthcare and pulling up C-SPAN interviews online to illustrate their points.  

Am I crazy?  Could a space like the one I've described work on a college campus?  And, what would it look like if the target population was college freshmen?  

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?

Ritual & Community: Does it really matter whether I stop and salute the flag?

Last Friday when I arrived on campus to start another day of work, I saw something a typical ritual on our campus play out and it left me with some questions.  Each morning at about 7:30 a.m. a group of 3 - 4 ROTC students raise a large American flag outside BYU's central administration building.  I would imagine that this happens on a number of other campuses each morning as well.  What might make BYU's flag-raising unique is that while the flag is raised the outdoor campus sound system (the same system that I'm assuming would be used to alert campus in the event of some wide-spread emergency) plays the U.S. national anthem.  At some point this evolved into a ritual of sorts in which anyone walking on campus at that time stops, pauses, and places their hand over their heart as the anthem is played.  On Friday morning I arrived at the same time this was all happening, so I stepped outside of my car and paused until the anthem had concluded.  

No one really wants to be on campus at 7:30 in the morning on a Friday in January, so there weren't more than a handful of others milling about on campus while this was happening.  Virtually everyone that I could see was doing the same thing I was doing (i.e. standing w/ hand over heart and watching the ritual play out).  However, I noticed that one student for one reason or another continued walking to whatever destination he had that morning.  It was interesting to watch how others reacted to this and, subsequently, how he responded to their glances and (in some cases) frowns.  This left me wondering whether or not it mattered that he didn't adhere to the social norm and participate in this simple ritual.  

Since coming to work in higher education I have come to appreciate the value that a strong community can add to a collection of learners.  So, my initial reaction is that participation in communal processes or events is important.  However, the question that I was left with was whether ritual really builds community and what impact participation in campus rituals has on learning.  As I thought about this concept over the weekend I had a memory of my high school experience and a particular campus ritual that as far as I can tell never positively impacted the sense of community at the school (and that may have even been detrimental to it).  

I attended one of Utah's athletic powerhouse high-schools where football was king.  Other than a stellar year at outside linebacker on my 3rd grade flag football team, I never played much football but I was never bothered by the focus that seemed to be placed on the success of Skyline High School's football program.   One thing that I did, however, find a little odd during my time there was how upset senior football players would become when another student (usually an unsuspecting sophomore) walked on "the seal."  The "seal" was our school seal and had been painted or laid in tile (I can't really remember which) on the floor of one of the hallways in the building that housed the main gym and auditorium.  At some point I would imagine that the seal may have represented a core set of values espoused by the high school and avoiding stepping on the seal was a physical act that communicated respect for those ideals.  But, by the time I entered Skyline any substantive meaning the seal held had been forgotten and the ritual had been reinterpreted to represent respect for football, problematic because the latter is not a value shared by the community at large (particularly given Skyline's poor track record on the football field in recent years).  

So, where does ritual fit in education?  For it to work it seems like a couple of key things need to happen:

1.  Members of the community need to have some understanding of what the ritual represents or what sorts of meaning are attached to it.

2.  The ideals embodied in the ritual should be held by the vast majority of community members.

3.  Campus leaders should make periodic references to the ritual and remind community members of its meaning.

4.  Efforts should be made to help new members of the community learn about the ritual, its meaning, and how to participate.

This is rough thinking on my part and I'm still not sure if I agree with the thoughts I've articulated here.  I'm interested in hearing about what others think.  What role does ritual play in education?  What does an effective ritual look like?  And, what does it mean when a member of the community chooses not to participate (like the student who didn't stop for the flag in my first story above)?