A mild rant today.
Yesterday I participated in a training on Drupal, which is a content management system you can use to create web pages. I’ve used different content management systems (Omeka, wordpress) to teach my students some digital history skills. Still, Drupal offers serious, build from the ground up, learn it and you can be a web-creator, options. The White House uses Drupal, as does the University of Minnesota. (If you ever want to know how a webpage is built, use builtwith.com.)
Lots of interesting participants, including a retired artillery officer interested in G.K. Chesterton, several folks from a local web development firm, and a couple small business folks.
One small business owner described herself as an “essential oils educator.” I’m going to skip the ignorance of her medicine (“when you apply oils to the head, the oil has greater access to the brain” – no it doesn’t), and the appearance of a scheme (“I don’t sell retail, I sell wholesale to others looking to start a business”- like Charles Ponzi) and focus on the educator part.
Those of us who are actual educators must protect, advance, and advocate for that term. Salespeople are not educators. Knowledgeable? Of course. Valuable?, absolutely. When I buy a running shoe I ask the salesperson to help me navigate the different models available. But a shoe salesperson isn’t a foot technology educator. And the sales reps from all the ed-tech firms that are on campus from time to time aren’t education technology educators. Educators are those whose primary mission is to educate, not to sell a service or product, nor to tell others how to teach. If we let the term devolve to anyone who wants to explain something, we risk the same problem that news organizations now face with talking heads claiming the mantle of journalists.
Those who can, teach.
This internet thing can be evil, or good, or just a time suck. I do my best to listen to my better angels. And I love the ease of finding useful information.
Case in point: I know that content management systems (CMS) are important. For every college web page, there’s a CMS behind it, and in fact, building digital history exhibits requires a CMS. And I gravitate towards open-source software. A buddy of mine at the University of Minnesota told me about Drupal Camp, which is a meeting of people working on a CMS called Drupal. So I check the Drupal Camp website and see that there’s a free (FREE) training for Drupal this Thursday. I can only go to the morning part as I’ve Normandale meetings in the afternoon. But there is no chance I’m going to find some non-profit running a training session without the beauty of the web.
And then there’s the evil side of the web. I tried to take a MOOC once – just once. It was world history, which I teach. I lasted three weeks. The lectures (by a name in the field) were two hours long and had the content density of a light broth. Even sped up to double time, they were soporific. The discussions veered from mildly on topic to blatant trolling. I fled screaming from the discussion boards.
And now comes an OOPS – an online open participatory survey from the University of Minnesota titled “Mutlicultural/Inclusive Learning and Teaching: when Multicultural Learning and Teaching meet Universal Design for Learning.” It runs about 12 weeks and thus far appears peopled with advanced graduate students and faculty eager to explore the topic, and it’s not huge. And it also is free. It can be taken for credit, by I don’t need more credentials. I’m hoping to learn much, and bring it back to both the classroom and to my faculty colleagues. Already I’m mining the course bibliographies. If it let’s me talk about race to my white students just bit more smartly, I’ll count it a win.
The problem: In the morning when I arrive at work, I boot up my computer and run a routine: read email, check news (academic and general), check twitter. It’s very easy to drop 15-30 minutes on activities that have no direct use to my students. Yes, that article in The Chronicle of Higher Education may be fascinating, yet my students waiting for an email response or grade aren’t helped. I can also convince myself that a half-hour self training session on some sexy new software or website is worth my time. All these things have potential long-term benefits to my students, but aren’t immediate.
A solution: I’ve noted academics on twitter using the hashtag #writingpact as a way to motivate themselves to write. Tagging makes others in their circle makes them aware of the writer’s work (leave me alone), models positive behavior, and solicits support. So my thought is, why not make a teaching pact (#teachingpact) that the first thing I do in the morning directly helps students. The email from my Dean can wait (sorry) as can the local news. I’m responsible for professional development at my school and that can wait too. It’s not that institutional, or self-care, or development needs aren’t important. Only, if I am honest with myself, if I’m an educator first, then the students’ needs should be first.
So, from here out, upon arrival in the morning, I will boot my computer up, and do something for my students. A bit of grading, responding to online discussion questions, responding to student emails. I’ve no formula that requires a certain number of tasks or minutes on task, only to address students first.
Care to join me? #teachingpact
I use a great many websites to teach. I do so as I’m focussed on preparing my students to think critically in a world that finds content everywhere, digital, experiential, even emotional. There is no analog vs. digital, just life, in all its messy glory.
Still, I always imagine my digital tools are going to organize themselves in ways I find useful. Hubris, my friends.
Two quick examples: TurnItIn let’s me set up Peer Reviews, which offers marked improvement over the “everyone bring 3 copies, one for me and two for your review partners” days of yore. In that world, only one copy would show, students would spend 5 days emailing back and forth, and I’d be referring grades for non-compliance. Now, the student finishes the draft, uploads it once, and the exchange part is taken care of. Except, when, say I tell the software to automatically assign two papers to each student to review and it only assigns one. Or I want to modify the peer review and I can’t because the assignment date I set has passed. Some of these issues are technical and some user error, but all of them have yet another learning curve for effective teaching.
Another learning curve is happening right now with my world 2 class. They’re building exhibits using Omeke.net. I’m proud of the work they’re doing. However, a minor technical issue results in students who want to modify the site to make it better, but can’t because I can’t give them permission to do so without letting them also delete other student’s work. TurnItIn and Omeka are teaching me that the only way to actually have a community of learners is to have a community first, built on trust, and not on a benevolent digital dictator. I’m not going to go soft, start passing out gold stars and hugs for rubbish work. But the more structured learning software gets, the more I’m convinced that “open” isn’t just a technical feature, it’s a philosophy that takes time to consider and apply.
One of my struggles has been helping students learn digital historical tools when I have only recently taught myself those same tools. For example, I’ve designed or modified others’ lesson plans using voyant tools for distant reading or ArcGIS for historical mapping. I had a google maps engine lesson plan that I’d used for a while. . . and then google tweaked its interface and my lesson plan went down the toilet. So I learned ArcGIS instead.
None of these technologies are difficult to learn and all of them have a huge skills/jobs/I can do something amazing! payout. Still, if it takes me an hour to learn a digital tool, that’s an hour I’m not grading, or participating in a discussion, or thinking about how to improve a lesson plan. Teachers, like creative types everywhere, must balance the acquisition and mastery of skills with the practice of those skills (for which we are paid).
In short, any minor, new technical skill I must acquire pulls me away from teaching, and that has meant long nights, and frequent moments of “this lesson plan is good-enough technologically” reflection. This pull between learning the new and relying on the old is a constant for professors, but I feel it more acutely as I’m trying to embrace digital history as a pedagogy.
I’ve been off this blog since late July, which is both total cowardice and the nature of privileging actual teaching over writing about teaching. To the three folks who follow me, sorry.
To begin again, I’m still working on my four-part project, a world history course that:
- uses an anti-poverty course design principles I’m creating (current iteration is here)
- uses digital history so that students might learn both history and job skills at the introductory level
- uses only sources that are already free to students, such as OER or library databases for which they have access.
- bundle the course and give it away under a creative common license.
I’m succeeding in getting students to use digital history tools, but I’m concerned that my formative assessment is so poor or the bar is so low that I’m not optimizing their learning.
I’m only partly successful in my online classes with my anti-poverty course design principles, largely because I haven’t figured out good workflows for closed captioning and I’m making up lessons as I teach. For most teachers that’s fine, including me, but I know that poor students can’t offramp and onramp for lessons as easily, so just-in-time teaching isn’t optimal.
I have stuck with nothing but free resources, but connecting students to those resources has proven a challenge (future post alert).
I’m nowhere close to bundling this course. This summer is realistic.
I’ll be posting more courageously again, sharing what’s working and what’s not.
So I’m working on building my syllabus, lesson plans, handouts, etc., and I want them to be in accordance with the American with Disabilities Act. Fortunately, my college’s Learning Management System supplies ADA compliant html templates. And if you upload them into the LMS, you can edit the templates in the LMS web editor. Only . . Continue reading “Why is it so hard to do the right thing? ADA compliance and web authoring software.”
Some faculty share their syllabi freely, others are niggardly with them. As I’ve noted, this project will share not just the syllabus but the lesson plans and sources for the entire course. I still haven’t figured out how to bundle the materials (or created the materials – gasp). But I have figured out the correct type of Creative Commons license I’ll be using. It’s call an Attribution-NonCommercial copyright and will allow anyone to “remix, tweak, and build upon your work non-commercially, and although their new works must also acknowledge you and be non-commercial, they don’t have to license their derivative works on the same terms.” I’m wondering if there’s a GitHub of pedagogy?
I’m grateful today for two former students who shared by email and in person suggestions for how to improve my course for poor students. Their insight is invaluable: thank you Phil and Grant.
From Mary Hermes writing in the Spring 2005 issue of Critical Inquiry, I note her analysis that “poverty and socioeconomic oppression are larger day-to-day factors in students’ ability to concentrate and succeed in school than are the differences between Native American and white cultures.” Hermes wrote about secondary level Native-American kids and their white instructors. This idea that poverty dominates over other identities reminded me of Studs Terkel quipped that Hyde Park was the one neighborhood in Chicago where Black and White lived united against the poor. I’m also put in mind of Sancho Panza’s pithy counsel to Don Quijote that hunger is the best sauce in the world, making all foods tasty. Trained in the analytical trinity of history (race, class, gender), my response to these insights are less scholarly and more visceral. If a student is hungry, what matters their race or gender? How that student experiences hunger may be situated in identity, but poverty seems the greater uniter than the divider of human cultural constructions. Mulling that one today.
I know I’m behind in my project, especially in talking with folks about suggestions. I got 0 comments on my last post, leading me to think I’ve either a hidden-setting blocking comments, or this blog is read even less than I thought (hard to conceive as I can see the single-digit stats).
Still, as much as this blog records process, I should note that I’ve been reading both poverty and digital history works lately. Bejamin Levin has perhaps the best quote of the week in his article an “Educational Responses to Poverty” from the Spring ’95 Canadian Journal of Education. He wrote “Schools cannot solve problems of poverty, and should say so publicly.” Writing about K-12 education, Levin nonetheless reminds me that any attempt to address poverty in education is a question of percentages, not totalities. For Normandale, I’d like to see our Pell-eligible students succeed at the same rate as our non-Pell-eligible students. That’s not a cure, more of a palliative measure, but way better than a placebo.
Better than a medical reference, I think a better symbolic representation of an anti-poverty pedagogy is what’s called small ball in baseball. Small ball in baseballs trying to get runners on base, and then driving them in with base hits. Small ball is not swinging-for-the-fences heroics. It is knowing that a ball hit between 1st and 2nd has a better chance of scoring a runner on third base. Small ball isn’t sexy and it can make the game slow, but it works for many situations. Community College is one of those situations. We aren’t looking to place as many students as possible at an Ivy League school (while then neglecting everyone else). We aren’t looking for glory, MVP awards, or titles. What we want is for the students to score, to get their degrees, transfer, and get “home.” So, what I’m looking for are little things that advance my students, consistently. The Gates Foundation is the epitome of a home-run education philosophy, one big idea that can reform higher ed. My aims are much smaller, but also with less risk for my students.