(Mis)Education and Experience: Two examples grounded in the work of John Dewey

Recently, I've been re-reading John Dewey's seminal work Experience and Education.  It's not an easy read (though it's short), but it's a must-read for anyone who believes that education is about more than transmitting information.  The core of Dewey's argument is that all genuine learning comes about through experience; however, not all experience is equally educative.  He differentiates between educative experience, which expands a learners opportunities for learning and growth in the future; and miseducative experience, which stops or distorts future growth and learning.

I came across two cases this week that are great examples of each of these categories of experience.

First, the miseducative experience from the German school system.  There are 4 million muslims living in Germany, which has led German government and school officials to look for ways to integrate German-Muslims into communities, while still respecting their religious beliefs.  The most recent case has centered on required swimming lessons in German schools and has received a fair amount of international media attention.  At the heart of the buzz is a German court's ruling that Muslim girls must take part in co-educational swimming lessons as part of their educational experience, but will be allowed to wear burqinis.  There are two issues associated with the case--modesty and male-female interactions.  The modesty issue has largely been addressed through allowing Muslim girls to wear burqinis.  However, the plaintiff in the case, a Muslim teenage girl and her parents, claim that requiring her to participate in swim classes with other young men runs counter to their religious beliefs and practices.

German schools clearly believe that swimming is a fundamental skill that all German students should master.  This seems sound and, at some level, the court's ruling makes sense.  If they were to grant exemptions to this requirement for particular students, they would be neglecting their obligation to educate all students.  However, this is faulty logic, and here's why.

The ultimate goal of educational experience is to facilitate and encourage future experience (see Dewey's definition of educative experience).  It's probably safe to assume that the basic swimming instruction German student's receive isn't enough to make them master swimmers.  Instead, it's purpose is to equip students with basic levels of competence and also encourage them to participate in recreational swimming outside of school.  It's a sound approach (and one educators apply in all sorts of other disciplines).  But, the German court's decision is likely to have the opposite effect.  By forcing Muslim girls to swim, they will ensure that these girls will swim for the few hours a week they are required (during the few months when they are in the class).  But, this forced participation is also likely to turn Muslim girls off to swimming in the future.  And, in that way, this will become a miseducative experience  because it is likely to inhibit these students' learning and growth as future swimmers.  In this case, the court has forgotten that the swimming lessons offered in schools are the means to an end.

Now, the educative experience from a pretty unlikely source--a grassroots movement to end street harassment toward women.  Essentially, +Emily May and the Hollaback movement she started invites women to use their smartphones to document, map, and share incidents of street harassment with a worldwide internet community.  It's a really clever idea that uses technology, social networks, and social pressure to fight back agains a pretty ugly trend.  And, it invites and empowers women to participate in an experience that meets both Dewey's requirements for educative experience.  First, it attends to the criterion of continuity because it positively impacts the future experience of both the women who participate as well as the men they are "hollabacking" at.  Women who share or read stories of fighting back against street harassment are likely to be more empowered and skilled in doing so in the future (which would then provide additional experiences and learning opportunities)
.  And, the men who they are responding to are likely to think twice before making similar comments in the future.  Second, Hollaback has provided meaningful opportunities for interaction through its platform because it allows women to share and hear one another's stories in ways that lead to learning.  So, in addition to Hollaback being termed a "movement," it might also be characterized as an educative experience.  From this standpoint, Hollaback is fulfilling the role of an educator to provide, design, order, or facilitate an experience that leads to long-term and meaningful growth.

My point here is that, when it comes to issues of learning and the types of experiences educators should provide, it's important to consider long-term outcomes and how educational experiences and environments can be designed to not only ensure that learners "do what they're supposed to" in the short term (the German example), but that the experience we've provided has the potential to lead to additional learning and growth in the future.

Community basketball courts as a model for schools

About two months ago, Provo City opened it's new Community Recreation Center.  It is a fantastic facility.  It's well designed, has state of the art equipment, is located in the heart of the city, and is a great value (a 12 month pass for my family was just under $400).  On average, I visit the rec center about once a week, mostly to use the fitness center.  To get to the fitness center, I have to walk by the four basketball courts located on the main level of the facility.

For me, they are one of the most interesting features of center, because in some sense, they have given rise to their own mini-community.  I realized this last week when it occurred to me that nearly every time I walk by the basketball courts, I see a young man from my neighborhood there playing basketball.  Sometimes he is there alone, other times he is playing one-on-one with a friend, and on other days he is in the middle of a pick-up game with a little larger group.

But, the biggest thing I've noticed about him is how much his game has improved in the last six months.  I know this because last winter, I saw him playing basketball in our church one night and, to put it bluntly, he was awful.  He couldn't make anything further than four feet from the basket, he missed half the lay-ups he took, and it was painful to watch his jumpshot.

When I saw him last week, he was by no means ready for the Timpview HS basketball team, but he was holding his own against a group of average guys his same age.  He even "looked" like a basketball player--he wore the basketball shoes you'd expect from a relatively serious player, had on the long basketball shorts that you see when you watch an NBA game, and even had the same type of socks I know HS basketball players wear.  It was like he had been enrolled in some kind of basketball school where they taught him how to shoot a jumpshot, how to play defense in the low post (he's a pretty tall kid for his age), and even how to dress.  In fact, he has been in "school," just a different type of school than what we typically think of.

While, I highly doubt that Provo City designed the basketball complex to facilitate learning, it has a number of features that make it a great place where learning (basketball-specific learning) can take place.  It's a lot like the neighborhood boxing gym or skateboard park in that it brings together a mini-community of people who are all interested in and engaged in the same activity, but who all possess varying degrees of skill and experience.  And, any organization who cares about how its members learn could take a few cues:

1.  A focus on authentic learning.  The kids and adults who play basketball at the rec center aren't participating in artificial drills, practice sessions, or contrived activities.  For the most part, they are engaged in real basketball games that allow them to participate in all of the aspects of the game of basketball from conditioning, to shooting, to defense, to rebounding.  So, each time they play, they're developing the full range of their game.  In addition, real games are much more motivating than artificial activities, which impacts learning and development more than nearly any other factor in the learning environment.

2.  Openness and opportunities to watch other learners in practice.  The three full-size courts in the complex are located next to one another in a large open space, without any dividing walls.  Additionally, there is an elevated track above the courts, and glass windows looking into the three-court complex.  Although the fourth court (a smaller one) is separated from the other three by a thin wall, it is next door, and also surrounded by glass windows.  This all means, that regardless of what court I'm playing on, I can see what's going on in the games next to me.  This is particularly critical for novice players because it means they have the potential to watch more advanced players in the game next to them.  So, a young player can see what good defense looks like, watch a reverse lay-up, or stand in awe at a smooth jumper.  In essence, it provides a novice with access to a wide range of practices within the community.  That access and the observational opportunities that come with it are invaluable for novice learners.

3.  Learners of various skill level together in the same space.  Because of the open design of the basketball complex and that fact that anyone can use it, there is a wide range of basketball ability represented on the courts at any one time.  Just last week when I was there, I saw one game being played by middle-aged men, another game made up of kids from the age of 10 - 15, and a Dad and his three kids playing on another court.  Again, this mix of ability levels means that new basketball players are likely to be playing right next to advanced players, which provides great opportunities for learning.  And, in addition to providing benefit to novices, it may even provide mentoring opportunities for veterans or "experts" looking to give back.

The take home message here is that learning is inherently a social enterprise that occurs most effectively when it becomes a community activity.  However, much of the formal learning that takes place in schools looks very different than the kind of learning I've described above.  Instead of being based in community, where learners from varying skill levels come together and watch, learn, and participate together, it is terribly fragmented.  It happens in isolated classrooms, where everyone has the same relative degree of knowledge or skill, and is rarely authentic in the ways we hope it would.

So, what would a school look like if it were patterned after a boxing gym, a basketball complex, or a skate park?  Could it work?  And, how would it be administered?











 

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.

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?