I’m going to be mucking about with my website/blog in the coming weeks. To the three people who read this, my apologies.
I’m going to be mucking about with my website/blog in the coming weeks. To the three people who read this, my apologies.
I got an email from Top Hat, an ed tech company that has packaged a content management stystem with slick graphics. I looked at it a year ago and thought, “why would I have my student pay for another LMS?.” Top Hat uses a bunch of fancy buzzwords like “interactive content” and “active learning,” but I haven’t seen anything that one can’t do in a standard LMS or with existing software for which my college already pays.
It costs nothing for instructors to use, but students pay for four months or $38 for a year. That’s on top of the technology fees students already pay to access a college’s LMS.
Today I received an email inviting me to Top Hat seminar on “Strategies for Succeeding as Adjunct Faculty,” hosted by three adjunct faculty. This might appear a noble gesture on the part of Top Hat. In reality, the push by ed tech companies with duplicative technologies into higher ed contributes to the problems of colleges exploiting adjuncts.
By my analysis, there are two issues at play. One, instructors adopt texts and technology and students pay for those adopted resources. Based on different measures (2012 and 2015) textbook prices have gone up over 1000% in the last 40 years. Housing, pharmaceuticals, medical care, even the general consumer price index comes even close to that rise. [As a side note, the costs may be stabilizing given the adoption of Open Education Resources, some of which are free. See the Bureau of Labor Statistics [tracking](https://data.bls.gov/timeseries/CUUR0000SSEA011?output_view=pct_3mths) Now, Top Hat claims that they want to help hold down the cost of text resources, which is admirable. But duplicating existing resources doesn’t hold down costs, it explodes them. If three different instructors chose three different add-on CMS’s for their courses, plus a text book, a student could easily be out another $100 every semester. To pay for this extra $100 the student either takes on more debt or works more, and both correlate to lower student success in college.
So, duplicative ed tech that costs students additional money balloons the cost of higher education, which makes fewer students capable of taking as many courses. Downward pressure on enrollment stresses college finances which are increasingly reliant on tuition as state legislatures of all political persuasions have dis-invested in higher education over the last 30 years. As colleges are squeezed in their finances, they attempt to higher cheaper labor, like adjuncts. So, ed tech is contributing to an existing financial problem.
That is just the money. The second issue at play is the idea that technology can solve the problems of money, graduation rates, “student engagement” or the adjunctification of the professoriat. The idea that tech is the answer is being driven by venture capitalists who see the same windfalls they accrued with pharmaceuticals before the FDA cracked down. Pharma as un-scrutinized panacea gave us the opioid crises. What will tech as panacea give us? Certainly not a more just system for adjuncts or better prepared students.
For the record, the arguments against duplicative ed tech are both right (it costs too much) and left (it doesn’t reflect progressive values that empower students).
I saw a fat, middle-age man running yesterday, gut bouncing up and down as he strode past me. He was wearing a button-up-the-front dress shirt that looked like a cheap blouse and some type of khaki pants. I had on the usual panoply of high-tech plastic and wool that is the rich runner’s sartorial norm today. As the fat man ran past, going the other direction, I thought “damn, that guy is awesome.”
No, he wasn’t running fast. No, he wasn’t noble or stoic or anything hidden (that I know of). He was just fat, and dressed for casual Friday, and running. That is, he was doing the exact same activity I was doing.
There are some who might read this story as a “see, triumph of the will” paeon to grit in the face of resource scarcity. I find arguments that anyone can accomplish great things if they put their mind to it to be ahistorical, and blind to issues of structural access and empowerment.
Individuals do succeed in the face of scarcity, but as a teacher, I do not want to design to my courses around superlative dedication in the face of lack of resources. Poor kids with average motivation to access resources should be able to succeed at the same rates as rich kids with average motivation to access resources.
That said, I saw this guy, twice, on each side of the lake and it got me thinking about what is necessary and what is sufficient when teaching with digital history. There’s a conference going on right now called HASTAC (Humanities, Arts, Science and Technology Alliance and Collaboratory) and I’m following it on Twitter. A number of the presenters attend to issues of poverty, a number of them don’t. But this guy got me thinking, what do my students need to learn history and what is nice, both in terms of historical thinking and in terms of technology. You need athletic shoes to run on asphalt. The tights, jacket, special gloves, hat, undershirt, those are great and help me feel better. But I need my shoes.
So, tonight I’m thinking about (again) about minimal computing, and wondering if I need to beta test all my digital lesson plans with an underpowered, 11″ Chromebook. Because that guy is awesome.
I hereby claim:
* I am an admin of http://jacknorton.org
* I am djacknorton (https://keybase.io/djacknorton) on keybase.
* I have a public key ASBEU-3BLYscio2OYHimAy5GMOd_Jmn4qCzST4jfsRgXLQo
To do so, I am signing this object:
“name”: “keybase.io go client”,
which yields the signature:
And finally, I am proving ownership of this host by posting or
appending to this document.
View my publicly-auditable identity here: https://keybase.io/djacknorton
Like you, I have strong opinions about a variety of subjects. Most of these subjects are not my expertise, but I still have strong opinions. I just read a tweet about men asking their wives to change their names when the couple marries. I thought, I should comment/like/reflect or problematize that idea. Then I thought, nope. (Full disclosure, neither I nor my wife changed our names when we married. )
Social media amplifies peoples voices, but as a rich, white, heterosexual male, my voice is pretty amplified already. Too often, I find that my contribution to a discussion on social media wouldn’t lend new insight, only reinforce an existing argument thread. So, 95% of the time, I say nothing.
The other 5% of the time I think about saying something, but often still don’t. Say with the naming question, I am familiar with four different naming practices around the world (U.S., Spain, Northern Ireland, and Cultural Revolution China). Though not expert, I could offer a minor exposition on what last names mean(t) to families in the world. Still, my comments might focus on a tiny part of a larger sentiment. Say I criticize 5% of a thesis, and I agree with 95% of the rest of the thesis. What part of my words will be amplified?, the 5% criticism. This way lies perdition. Or at the least a circular firing squad.
Again and again I see nominal allies pick each other apart publicly for small disagreements. Those disagreements may contain great meaning (what order do you use: LGBTQIA, GLBTIAQ) but to those who disagree with the premise of the argument, it’s an opportunity for attack.
So, I don’t comment on 95% of the material for which I hold an opinion. On the 5% I do think about commenting on, I make sure that my comments focus on the 95% of the argument I agree with, not the 5% I don’t. That 5% of the 5%, (.25%) I feel compelled to weigh in on, I try to write long form, here, or to the originator directly. Social media for me is for sharing resources or quick networking, not nuanced discussion or prolonged arguments. Just in case you wondered why my retweet to tweet ratio is more than 50:1.
Except for the Nazis. We should always say no to Nazis. It’s not hard to say no to evil, right @jack?
As faculty at a college, I use a great bit of technology. And I get pitched in emails by ed tech companies regularly. Others, such as Audrey Watters , have ably documented the fraud and corruption involved in the ed tech higher education world. Between working with tech (including some programming) and reading widely about evidence-based scholarship of teaching and learning, I don’t pay much attention to ed tech pitches by email: two seconds and it’s in my junk email.
I now have school-age kids, and am seeing the push by ed tech companies in the K-12 sector. For example, I recently saw the new company Class Tag pop up as sponsored posts at a couple teacher blogs. Here are a couple of concerns from a cursory, 5-minute review of their materiel.
2. Parent shaming seems to be built into a scoreboard. If a parent doesn’t click through emails, they must not be engaged in the kids schooling, yes (NO).(this image comes from a teacher blog , not the company web page.)
3. Translation is tough right? We pay people money to accurately translate others’ words, in medicine, in law, in literature. How is this startup going to accurately translate complicated messages about deeply personal learning issues? It’s not. And the translations will confuse everyone.
This is not a substantial review of this product or of those endorsing it. That said, knowing what I do of how higher ed tech operates, I’m gradually learning that K-12 ed tech works the same way.
As a final though, consider that this product is free to the teacher and parents. As so many have noted, you either pay for the product, or you are the product. There is no free.
During various times in my career, I’ve stepped back from public-facing work. I attend but do not present at conferences. I organize fewer meetings. I avoid stirring up trouble.
This is one such time. On sabbatical, I work reasonably hard, taking coursework, reading widely on history and pedagogy, and doing my best to self-teach myself new tech. Currently I’m in a statistics 101 course and trying to decide if I want to host static pages on github using jekyll. I’m also reading about capabilities approach to development, feminism, and pedagogy and thinking about how it relates to signal theory, which is the purview of biologists and business folk. I came across both capabilities theory and signal theory in Zeynep Tuecki’s Twitter and Teargas: The Power and Fragility of Networked Protest.
What started with a “hey, I should read more” has turned into a fuller literature review. Right now, as I’m learning about both ideas, my ideas are inchoate. That said, I started my project with the idea that I could make my courses just a bit better for students in poverty. It turns out that the capabilties approach deploys a parallel idea of justice, encouraging us to make things more just regardless of where we are rather than try to set up a perfectly just system and work to that. What’s more, I’ve the beginning of a pedagogic framework that blends Freire’s notions of empowerment with the capabilties approach to justice.
So, while I’m not teaching this year, I find myself working as much as during “regular” work time. . . working quietly.
Several things struck me as I viewed the video responses. First, most of the projects were imagined to be bigger than they turned out to be. In short, the originating scholars eyes were bigger than their stomachs. That’s common amongst graduate students and newer faculty, but not always. The project on historical writing seemed realistic in its scope, especially with two creators.
I appreciated the attention to aesthetics and user interfaces most folks created for their projects. I struggle with how much attention to put into web design and how much to focus on other items. It’s less a question of UX versus pedagogy and more a question of how much time is available.
Finally, I engaged much more with the short videos than I did with the finished projects in module 8, even the well refined ones. There is an inherently safisfying element to a human explaining why they did what they did that isn’t reflected, for me, in texts or links.
For my final project, I will help the students find an article on the Lexis-Nexus database about Normandale Community College, compare that source with a book source from our college library, and blog about the two sources on a common course blog, paying attention to specific tags.
The assignment will run over 4 classes, with the first class session devoted defining a historical question to research and learning the database. The second session will focus on finding an article, reading the article, and finding a book related to the article in our library. The third class session will attend to how to write a blog post and the fourth session will involve editing the posts and ensuring proper tagging.
### • How has the malleability of the past in the digital world complicated our work as history educators?
• How has that malleability made it easier to teach about and help our audience(s) engage with the past? ###
To respond to these questions, let me tell a short story. From the 1970s forward, some scholars on the left politically have argued that knowledge is contextual, not objective. Truth could only be discerned relative to other knowledge that produced that truth. I’m doing a great injustice to the theories of relativism, but there you are. In the 2000s, those on the political right warmed to the idea that if all truth was relative, then any argument could be held up as legitimate. Very quickly, many on the left realized the danger of this argument and retreated to a sort of quasi-empiricism, staking out more intellectual ground for evidence-based decision making.
Historians participated in this larger intellectual tussle, throwing in with the relativists before retreating a bit to land on the side of evidence-based stories. Alas, the horse has escaped the barn, and as a discipline, we have failed to convince our publics that not all stories about the past bear up to the evidence.
Compounding this problem of “my historical truth is as good as yours” is the nature of the digital world. To find truly unsupported information in the pre-digital era, you needed social connections that could facilitate the sharing of balderdash. In the digital era, spinning up a website is literally child’s play. Middle school students create hordes of websites for National History Day (and many are great!). History Day websites aside, we now have explanations about the past with little basis in evidence circulating like collateralized mortgage-backed securities in 2007.
So, historians helped deconstruct the notion that history is based on evidence, and the digital era lets many create their own malleable history. The cruel pièce de résistance of our malleable past is that both debates over truth and the velocity of non-evidence based thinking on the web fit within the frame of historical “facts” not historical thinking. So much ink and pixels are spent arguing over who is right about the past, that the idea of how we create a past has slunk to the back of our public historical conversations.
Despite the above issues, the digital era also offers possibilities to help us teach history in new ways. For example, we can help students dig into digital objects to find embedded metadata that helps frame the objects in different ways. As teachers, we can connect the motivations of migrants in the 19th century to the debates about immigration today. I can pull up my great grandmother’s entry log to Ellis Island and compare those documents with modern entry documents. Many of my students have entrance documents, yet I don’t need to go to Ellis Island to connect 1909 and 2017, I only need the web.
Perhaps most usefully, we can model good historical thinking and bad historical thinking, easily and with high impact. I’ve shown my students the picture of John McCain standing in front of Walter Reed Middle School during his 2008 Republic National Convention acceptance speech every semester and it wows every time. We can show how the inability to think critically can result in lost jobs and lost opportunities while we show the career expanding options in even basic digital history tools.
So, though our field of history suffers from significant structural problems, we also have the tools to combat some of the worse effects of these problems.