On Smartphones and Journalism

For the past two semesters, I’ve worked with students as they reported all over the five boroughs and Long Island for the Multimedia Journalism class. They’ve produced photo slideshows, videos, and podcasts for the class, and my role has been to coach them through the reporting and editing process.

Here at Baruch, we have audio recorders, video cameras and basic still cameras that the students can borrow from the school if they don’t have their own equipment. At this point, we don’t have high-quality DSLR cameras to offer them (and in any case it’s not an advanced-level class). So most of the time, for the photojournalism assignments, we had them use their smartphone cameras.

I noticed fairly early on that some of the students seemed a little bummed that they had to rely on their smartphones rather than professional-grade equipment when it came time to shoot their photo essays. I’ve been a student journalist myself and know what it is like to feel as though my student status and tight budget is holding me back from telling stories as well as I’d like—so I sought to reassure them that there was no need to feel limited.

The first thing I did was tell them about photojournalist Michael Christopher Brown, who has been featured on TIME’s LightBox photo blog for his iPhone photo essays made in Libya and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. He told LightBox that he began shooting on his iPhone after dropping his SLR shortly after arriving in Libya, and then found that in many ways he actually preferred it.

Our multimedia class discussed the pros and cons of using a smartphone as a camera. True, the quality of the image isn’t as great with a smartphone, and the camera is much more limited in terms of the light conditions where it can shoot. But something strange happens when you pick up something the size of your palm to take a picture of someone instead of several pounds worth of glass, metal and plastic: You become invisible.

You could be checking your email, posting on Facebook, or playing Angry Birds. But even if the person knows you’re taking their picture, a phone is simply less intimidating. Subjects have blinked and even physically recoiled when I’ve pointed my DSLR quite close to their face to take a portrait. Using a camera phone often conveys a certain intimacy, and it makes you seem less of a threat. I know journalists who have been allowed access to places—field hospitals, for instance—with their iPhones while their colleagues with heavy cameras have been forced to wait outside.

Halfway through the fall semester, Hurricane Sandy shut down Baruch for a week. Many of our students were directly affected, and getting back on track as a class wasn’t easy. But one wonderful thing to come out of Sandy was the fact that it afforded the students an opportunity to report on a major story unfolding in their own backyards, and they did some truly beautiful work.

Sandy also led to an historic moment in photojournalism. For the first time ever, a photograph taken with a smartphone made the cover of TIME magazine.

Screen shot 2013-06-14 at 7.29.42 PM

Photo by Ben Lowy

The photographer, Ben Lowy, along with Brown and three other photojournalists, was commissioned by TIME to document Sandy and its aftermath on Instagram.

Earlier this spring, Baruch invited Australian photographer Andrew Quilty, one of TIME’s five Instagrammers, to speak at a panel called “Your Smartphone: A Window On The World.” Sitting on the panel alongside Quilty were Genevieve Belmaker and Kirsti Itämeri, who have both used smartphones extensively in their work. The presentations and discussion delved into the practical aspects of using smartphones, the ethical ramifications, and the future implications for journalism as they become increasingly ubiquitous and cost-effective tools.

Just two weeks ago, for instance, the photojournalism world was stunned by the news that The Chicago Sun-Times had laid off its entire photo department in favor of putting iPhones into the hands of its reporters. From reading my musings up until now, you might think I applauded this decision, but let me point out one key distinction: Quilty, Lowy, and Brown are all experienced photographers who have spent many years developing an eye for style, composition, and content. When they take pictures with an iPhone, it isn’t as an afterthought, so they have something to run along with the story. As far as I’m concerned, there will always be a need for photojournalists who devote their lives to the craft.

One of the Sun-Times photographers started a Tumblr shortly after being laid off. In the description, he writes, “Rob Hart was replaced with a reporter with an iPhone, so he is documenting his new life with an iPhone, but with the eye of a photojournalist trained in storytelling.” And he delivers.

Ultimately, that’s what I want my students to see. That it’s not about the type of camera, it’s about the journalist holding it.

Reflections on a Yearlong Collaboration

These are some final reflections based on my notes from my last meeting with Prof. Gruber.  To read my earlier posts about integrating communication and technology into university science teaching, click here, here, and here.

This second semester of collaboration went really well. Prof. Gruber incorporated the Digital Lab Reports into the syllabus and they were worth 10% of the grade.  We also tried a new lab – Photosynthesis – and jettisoned one from last semester that felt like too much work for the “payoff” (the level of science learning and critical thinking fostered).  It made a big and positive difference to have students know that the Digital Lab Reports were part of their core curriculum.

The second time around Prof. Gruber also included both a “draft” and a “final” presentation day into the course schedule.  This was important for two reasons: 1) it incorporated revisions (of Digital Lab Reports and oral presentations) into the schedule as a course expectation, and 2) as Prof. Gruber pointed out, it gave students a hard deadline two weeks before the final submission – you can’t really turn in a group presentation late!  As with last semester, the draft presentations were highly productive.  Students gave each other feedback (I asked for at least 3 comments or questions from the class for each DLR).  Then I gave feedback on the communication, presentation, technology, creativity, etc. aspects of the DLR and presentation and Prof. Gruber gave feedback on the accuracy and depth of the science content (as well as the other components).  As I’ve written about earlier, this provided a unique opportunity to see how students were processing and understanding the information he was teaching them and to “re-align” their thinking.

As it feels like we have the basics of a working model here, I’ve been thinking about how we might address some existing challenges, including:

  • Modifying DLRs so that instructors who are not technology-savvy feel comfortable collaborating on such projects
  • Teaching skills and framing the DLRs so that the group work is more collaborative and students who do not have experience with audio and video programs have more opportunity to experiment and take leadership roles
  • Thinking of ways to make the final presentations more “eventful,” as they do not require the same level of feedback as the draft day and are no longer “new” to the class
  • Raising the quality of the final DLRs (which were already very good)
  • Better training students to give and receive constructive critiques

Some things to try next year

  • Make a rubric for students to grade/assess the Final DLRs.  This will get them actively involved the final day.  Also, it would require the class to reflect on Prof. Gruber’s feedback and think about whether the group presenting “got the science right.”  This would provide an additional means to assess the class’ understanding of scientific concepts.
  • Find a way (in a constrained schedule) to incorporate 2 DLR revisions into the syllabus (so there would be 2 drafts and 1 final).  Prof. Gruber and I agreed that 3 appears to be the magic number.  Students’ first revisions might still have mistakes/misconceptions.  Furthermore, a second chance to revise would give students additional practice with giving and receiving feedback.
  • Videotape the DLR draft presentations so students can see themselves presenting and get more feedback.
  • Prof. Gruber suggested that Fellows at the Institute could create a video lesson teaching some of the most important technical DLR skills.  A link to this video can be given to students, or instructors can show the video in class if there is a short lab one day.
  • Throughout the semester, there could be weekly “mini-lessons.” These might be free-writing exercises, videos or in person lessons on technical skills (like uploading a video onto YouTube), or time for groups to touch base and plan their DLRs.  This is a way to integrate the DLRs throughout the semester and get the class invested.   Also, this is a way that skills can be scaffolded.  For example, near the beginning of the semester there could be a mini-lesson on how to frame a video (thinking about what you want to capture) and upload it onto YouTube.  Then all students might be asked to take a one-minute video during that lab, upload their videos onto YouTube, and post the link on the class blog.  This way, by the second half of the semester when groups are creating DLRs, all students would have practiced basic skills.  It probably would not be possible for one Fellow to come to class this often, but video lessons or handouts for the instructor would help make this sustainable/reproducible.
  • On or before the first draft day, the Writing/Communication Fellow can speak a bit about giving and receiving feedback (with tips like taking notes and actively listening) and lay out specific expectations for the class (such as at least 3 comments per DLR or every student should contribute 1 comment).  At the end of the draft day(s), groups can have 10 minutes to meet and discuss where to go from there.  A brief handout can structure this discussion.  At the end of the final presentation day groups can have 10-15 minutes to meet and reflect on their experience (and perhaps give feedback to the Institute).  Again, a handout can structure this discussion.

These were the main things we spoke about in our last meeting.  I think that some of these scaffolding activities could be THE primary communication and technology intensive assignments in courses where instructors just want to get their feet wet or incorporate just a few things.  In other words, there could be various levels of collaboration between science instructors and the Institute depending on needs, time, experience, comfort, etc.

I look forward to seeing how this venture expands and evolves over the coming years.

Have a beautiful, safe, and inspiring summer!

“Here, YOU write this down”

Photo by City Year

During the first several years of my teaching career, like many other teachers, I became very accustomed to using the white (or, in the case of some CUNY classrooms, the black) board to underline key points of lectures and discussions.  A typical class period might have seen me leading a discussion about a particular piece of reading material, periodically turning my back on the students to write out pieces of what they are saying. Although I always liked the idea of visually underlining the knowledge we collectively created using the board, I’ve also always felt a bit disconnected from students when spending so much class time busily taking dictation. Plus, all that writing is tiring!

So, in the past few semesters I’ve started handing off the task of writing on the board to the students themselves. I bring about a dozen dry-erase markers to every class, leave them on the front table, and invite the students to get up out of their seats, grab a marker, and put something up on the board for all to see.  Since I started incorporating this technique into more formalized exercises, I’ve noticed a few immediate, and unexpected, benefits:

1.  First, it loosens things up. With the class divided into small groups, with each group responsible for writing a few notes or arguments or quotes drawn from readings, students become more physically active, moving about the room, and talking to each other. The atmosphere of the room feels more exciting, like a learning laboratory. Rather than acting as a disseminator of knowledge, my role is transformed to that of a guide, helping students along their own path of critical inquiry.

2.  Because of the prevalence of social media, students are increasingly comfortable with the idea of “public postings.”  By duplicating the framework of a Facebook status or a tweet, but layering in a more rigorous and critical element to the production of such writing, I’ve found students to be generally very receptive to the idea of complicated knowledge condensed through careful composition. During a recent exercise in my U.S. History survey, for example, I asked students to imagine that they were administrating the Twitter account of different figures from the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s. After reading pieces from Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, Ella Baker, Stokely Carmichael, and others, I found many students eager to approach the board to attempt to fashion a tweet that accurately reflected the complex arguments made in these readings. As I surveyed a board full of these tweets, I realized that the exercise was really just asking them to draw out the main points of the work; there is nothing groundbreaking about that. But the marker in their hands, along with the form of social media, unquestionably helped many students to make connections that they hadn’t noticed before.

3. While students are writing on the board, I often take the opportunity to ask them about what they are writing and why they chose to put it up on the board. This is perhaps the most unexpected and rewarding element of the exercise.  Since the other students are working on their own readings, I have the time to have a one-on-one discussion with the student at the board, and since so many students are uncomfortable speaking in front of the whole class, I’m able to make contact (and actually get to know) a wider section of my class than ever before.

4. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, putting the marker in students’ hands transfers power from the instructor to the students themselves. They are the creators of knowledge, and the recorders of that knowledge, and because they are sharing their thoughts in writing with the rest of the class on the board, aiming for those thoughts to be useful for everyone else, they are forced to become very critical and selective about their writing, and that’s exactly the point.

As I continue to experiment with these kinds of exercises, I’m realizing that I find the idea of students writing on the board appealing mainly because it transforms the classroom into a different kind of space, a more active space, in which the process of knowledge creation becomes the subject of the class itself.

Widening not Narrowing the Path: More Promises of Blogging for Urban Education Policy

In my previous blog post, I noted that in the past few years, prominent K-12 education reform experts are increasingly using blogs to communicate their ideas. That is in addition to other avenues more typically utilized in academia (journals and books). I briefly profiled Bridging Differences, an education blog initiated by Deborah Meier and Diane Ravitch which has evolved into a series of exchanged letters. I also visited Diane Ravitch’s new solo blog. I concluded by reflecting on the promises of blogs in bridging differences (especially in our very polarized education reform world) and in “writing to learn.”

For this post, I thought it would be interesting to peruse a few of the blogs representing much less global and “voiced” stakeholders in education policy debates: teachers and parents. As the blogosphere in urban education expands, an additional question I have is if and how local actors are taking advantage of the blog format. Excitingly, groundbreaking work on this question is taking place at the CUNY Graduate Center.

A colleague of mine in the Urban Education Ph.d program argues that online spaces, and blogs in particular, provide a new and critical venue by which to hear teachers’ voices, traditionally silenced by the policymaking process. She investigated daily classroom and school experiences via recent blogs written by NYC public school teachers. She thematically analyzed 14 public-facing anonymous blogs in years 2008-2012 to chronicle how teachers are living education policy. What’s even more fascinating was that she architected her own blog to do that thematic analysis; in other words, blogging served as both the content and as a methodological tool in her study. Dr. Kiersten Greene’s dissertation “Notes from the Blogging Field: Teacher Voice and the Policy-Practice Gap in Education” will be available online soon. For more information and to learn more about her blog about her own real experiences as a (now former) graduate student, teacher, and New Yorker, find her at opencuny.org/mediated.

Inspired by Greene’s work and given my own research interests in parents’ roles in decisions about schools, I briefly surveyed blogs focused on parents here in NYC and found the following six: http://nycpublicschoolparents.blogspot.com/; http://www.parentvoicesny.org/; http://parentsacrossamerica.org/; http://www.nycparentsunion.org/; http://www.parentadvocates.org/; and http://edvoxny.wordpress.com/.

Each of these blogs features parents prominently or is written by parents themselves. They offer testimony and research on pressing policy issues such as school closings, standardized testing, and college readiness. They also provide information on how to get involved and be part of the conversation including signing petitions, joining rallies, and of course, attending events such as the upcoming mayoral candidate forums on public education. One observation I had in reading all six blogs is that the author’s identity is not immediately clear. With the tendency for more and more parties to speak on behalf of parents in the public school system, sites should make the answer to that question clear. I am also not sure how many parents are accessing these blogs. That’s research we need.

In addition to parents, community leaders, advocates, retired teachers, and students are also using blogs. Studies similar to Greene’s should help answer if and how diverse stakeholders are able to participate more fully in urban education reform conversations via blogs. This is all very new, and at the start of this communication path, we should also be asking how we can be sure to widen the conversation not narrow it.

Do Communication-Intensive Methods Improve Science Learning?

In January, I blogged about the collaboration between the Bernard L. Schwartz Communication Institute and Professor David Gruber, who is teaching Environmental Science 1020.  Both last semester and this semester, students in Professor Gruber’s class were assigned to lab groups and each group produced a Digital Lab Report for one lab.  The assignments we created were specific to the different learning goals of the labs; however, all required students to use at least one (often more) form of media and incorporate writing and critical reflection into the process.  Each group goes through a series of collaborative and creative steps.  These include: free-writing soon after the lab is complete; brainstorming; research to pull in other relevant material; posting raw footage, audio, and pictures on the class blog; and creating a rough draft of a Digital Lab Report (which might be a video, a podcast of a radio show, a timeline, or a Prezi depending on the assignment).  Then, groups present their rough drafts to the class and receive feedback on the communication, critical thinking, and content components of their DLRs.  Students have the opportunity to revise their Digital Lab Reports over the next couple of weeks before presenting their final versions.  For a timeline of this process for last semester’s Mutualism lab, click here.

There are many obvious benefits to having students create Digital Lab Reports.   They compel students to collaborate and converse more about their lab work.  They encourage critical thinking, as students are expected to articulate reflections on their work through the various stages.  They are fun – students often use humor.  They improve students’ media and communication skills because students get feedback on these aspects of their creations as well.  But the one main question at the back of my mind when we embarked on this project was whether communication intensive pedagogy actually helps students to learn science.

After almost a year of observation, I feel confident answering yes. In class last Wednesday students presented their drafts.  Their introductions to their Digital Lab Reports and the DLRs themselves gave us a great deal of insight into how they were understanding (or not understanding) scientific concepts in ways traditional lab reports might never reveal.  This is partially because the DLRs require students to consider their audience and speak to their audience.  This means re-phrasing scientific language to make it accessible.  To do this, students must take in information, analyze it, and reformulate it in their own way.  Furthermore, the accuracy or inaccuracy of the external information and images they brought in as examples gave Professor Gruber insight into how they had remembered and interpreted the concepts he had explicated, as well as what they were considering “real world” connections.  The collaborative aspects of the DLRs means that students have to hash out these ideas and arrive at a shared understanding.  After each draft presentation, groups were asked questions and received feedback from their peers, Professor Gruber, and me.   Through the process of revising their labs, they will have to address the inaccuracies or gaps in their understanding of scientific concepts.  Their next round of presentation drafts will let us know if and how their scientific thinking has changed.

For me, this reveals that communication and technology-intensive methods are particularly beneficial for science courses and have great potential to enhance student learning.

Teaching in the “Post-Plagiarism” Era

“How do we instill the ethics of citation and attribution, when the real world doesn’t seem to care about such paltry details?”

Christopher’s excellent post on “post-plagiarism” articulated the anxiety produced by the the mixed signals we all receive about originality and appropriation. I recall a class discussion regarding Shakespeare’s frequent borrowing from previously existing sources. This class happened to come shortly after a thorough review of the college’s academic integrity policies. “So, Shakespeare was a plagiarizer?” a student asked. Translation: “Shakespeare has been regarded as a genius of the English language for doing something you just told us was unethical and a punishable offense. What gives?”

Christopher’s increasing disinclination to report student plagiarism reminded me of Rebecca Moore Howard’s November 26, 2001 article from the Chronicle of Higher Education, ”Forget About Policing Plagiarism. Just Teach.”  Howard, a professor of Writing and Rhetoric at Syracuse University, warns that by obsessing about students who plagiarize “we are replacing the student-teacher relationship with the criminal-police relationship.” This increases anxiety for both professor and students alike and hinders learning.

Howard points out the various types and levels of severity of plagiarism, including whole cloth plagiarism, patchwriting, failure to attribute, and omitting quotation marks. But she emphasizes pedagogical reform including scaffolding assignments, not backloading the course with a single looming paper due at the end of the semester, the problem of grades without comments, and/or comments that focus on the mechanics of grammar rather than student learning goals. Howard ends noting that educational institutions need to be structured to support this level of pedagogical engagement.

Over ten years later, with even larger classrooms, more contingent faculty, and more digitally accessible information, the dilemmas Howard articulates have proliferated.

I have chosen a number of strategies to curb plagiarism, some more effective than others. When I first began teaching dramatic literature, I became a structural zealot and eschewed discussion of broad themes because I was convinced students were just parroting what they had read on Wikipedia or SparkNotes. I gave a lot of quizzes with questions designed to be unanswerable by a cursory review of a plot summary. Those were the most reactionary approaches, coming from what Mark Mullen calls a “pedagogy of suspicion.” 

The perfect desks for pedagogy of suspicion.

The perfect desks for pedagogy of suspicion.

Now that I have been a writing fellow and am teaching speech communication, my (hopefully) more fruitful approaches are to:

1. Scaffold assignments so that the chosen topic for the assignment, article research, outline draft, and final assignment are each due on a different day.

2.Facilitate problem solving workshops in which each student shares a roadblock s/he has encountered in the topic research or design and classmates offer suggestions.

3. Organize peer critique sessions in which students, aided with a template, read, evaluate, and discuss each others’ outlines before they are turned in.

4. Require revision.

5. Use plagiarism detection software as a teaching tool that shows students when they are over-relying on others’ words or when they have forgotten to add quotation marks or to attribute. (More on the ethics and effectiveness of that later.)

It is all a lot of work. Tonight I arrived home from an hour-long subway commute beleaguered by an eleven-pound backpack full of research methods worksheets, uncorrected final outlines stapled to their drafts, and speech rubrics held together in a rainbow of binder clips. Still, I prefer this situation to the anger and desperation of discovering a swath of cut-and-pasted copy.

Grad School Year’s End Blues

Like everyone, I am looking forward to the end of the semester. After the last two weeks packed with teaching, oral presentation rehearsals, meetings–let alone my own writing deadlines and classwork–I’m right there with everyone else hailing the approaching summer. As much as I love the work I do, I know that in a mere month I’ll get the rare privilege to sleep in on a Saturday without anxiety. For those of us who are lucky enough to get to slack a bit in the summer, it’s sometimes all we can use to keep us going. Administrators right on down to students–we’re all singing the same poppy song. It’s about sunshine and sleep and freedom.

Photo ©Bahman Farzad / lotusflowerimages.com

Photo ©Bahman Farzad / lotusflowerimages.com

However, I’ve also been feeling something unique this year as the last weeks of the term arrive: I’m calling it the Grad School Year’s End Blues. You may be familiar with it. The Grad School Year’s End Blues comes sliding in with the deadlines pulsing just in the distance. It floats around as that residual senior-itis brushes off the folks who are actually leaving. It comes (to me at least) along with the swelling acknowledgement that “my summer off” will be a write-a-thon punctuated by expensive conferences and exams.

But it’s not all about disappointment or anxiety, these blues. That’s the chorus, to be sure–the hook. I want to sing one particular verse, one that I’m just learning for the first time this year: the verse about the end of a one-of-a-kind teaching experience.

I tend to surround myself with teachers who love to teach, and I’ve heard them each hum a line of this one in their time: about the honors capstone course they got to teach that once, or the totally blog-based integrated learning environment they’d finally perfected after years of tweaking. The last lyrics always end, “but who knows when I’ll ever get to do that again!”

That’s my situation this year. I ended up getting a repeat gig as a first-year composition instructor for the honors engineering program at City College. Two falls in a row now, I’ve taught honors engineers with a curriculum I adapted from the department’s template. I’ve experimented wildly, and received decent support and encouragement from my supervisors. I gave it a few injections of comp/rhet methodology (process work, freewriting, revision, collaboration) and technology (wikis, blogs, multimodal assignments). The really special thing is that this year I got to teach only these students: the two sections of the honors English 110 course from the fall followed me almost wholesale to the 210 course I’m teaching this spring. For the first time in my teaching career, I got to see how a writer develops over more than 15 weeks. It’s been tremendously instructive.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say I feel a hokey kind of pride for how far these particular students have developed. They’ve grown tremendously in their understanding of writing, both as a practice and as a discipline of study. But that’s not the feeling in this song. This is Nina Simone, not Sarah Vaughan. There’s a snarl behind those tears.

The reality is, as an adjunct teacher who studies composition pedagogy, I benefit professionally from the chance to experiment on a wide variety of writing curricula, student demographics, and physical spaces (this year in a computer lab for the first and probably last time). I know that this was probably my only chance to study this kind of pedagogical situation, at least until I’m in a full-time job. The truth is, I got lucky just to get this kind of experience the first time: most people get very little freedom in the courses they teach. And I might get lucky enough to get another go at it, to see if the successes I had here are actually repeatable. But I probably won’t.

Experience working in diverse teaching spaces matters.
Photo by Mike1024 via Wikimedia Commons.

For me, and a lot of pedagogy folks out there I know, access to a free range of courses to teach is like access to lab space. The reality for most of us who adjunct at CUNY is that it’s usually the luck of the draw whether we land in departments that give us access to a variety of teaching opportunities, or those that reserve the more challenging courses for full-time faculty. If we want to push our scholarship as compositionists, to produce innovative work that will lead to publication, or to ensure a wide and impressive teaching portfolio for when we enter the job market, we need access to new and challenging teaching experiences. From my experience in English departments, at least, the keys to that lab space are guarded pretty tightly (tell me in the comments if it’s different elsewhere).

So, I’m sure I’ll enjoy my summer when it gets here. I bet I’ll have a great time at that conference, and I’ll learn Spanish, and I’ll write a ton and still somehow have fun in the sun. But for now, I’m still here reading student papers, trying to enjoy the last good bits of the term, and singing these Grad School Year’s End Blues.

Be Interested?

A few weeks ago, at the SUNY Council on Writing Conference, I heard Richard E. Miller give a fascinating keynote called “Who’s this for?: Audience in the Classroom without Walls.” What I found most exciting about his remarks was his description of an assignment he gave a creative nonfiction class: Be Interested. My understanding of what this means is that Miller  asked his students to “produce a research project that others would read willingly.” My first reaction was of the “I want to steal that assignment” variety.  But as I thought more about the prompt, I began to wonder if a student would be as excited as I was. Miller mentioned that he had students who grappled with questions like “How do you become interested in anything?” and struggled with finding a way to experience curiosity in a moment when information is “superabundant.”

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The more I toyed with this kind of assignment, the more I found myself wondering more about what I’d actually be asking students to do, what it actually means to genuinely be interested in something, and what that might look like in writing. A cursory glance at the OED shows that the word “interest” is defined using terms like “concern,” “curiosity,” and “sympathy.” But, interestingly, one definition also lists “to share in something.”

The idea of “sharing” seems central to composing, at least to me. But, often, I think it is this component–that of engaging and collaborating with an audience outside of the “teacher”–that I think might be lacking for many students (and here I’m thinking specifically of the freshmen I work with). To return to Miller’s prompt–I suppose the “assignment” is really to be interested and to be interesting. And, I also suppose that in an environment where students are perpetually in some kind of rubric quest, this probably feels very very scary.

But, on the flip side, this kind of opportunity is one that we should hope students encounter more and more. As Gardner Campbell points out:

We might begin with a curriculum that brings students into creative, challenging contact with the history and dreams of the digital age, perhaps in a first-year experience that asks them to reflect critically on their own digital lives as well as begin to shape and share their own digital creations, both intramurally and publicly. Research into the neurobiology of learning, building on decades of educational research, has shown that students learn deeply when they are asked to narrate their learning, curate their creations within the learning environment, and share what they have curated with a wide and, when appropriate, a public audience. As students understand that they are not simply completing an assignment at a professor’s behest, but in fact beginning their life’s work, they will necessarily become more engaged and produce more authentic work reflective of their own growing interests.

This excerpt is from part 4 of Gardner Campbell’s excellent series of posts on “The Road to Digital Citizenship,” this one subtitled, “Fluency, Curriculum, Development.” Campbell connects student investment in their own work with developing a pedagogy that allows for rigorous reflection on what it means to live a digital life. Campbell also makes the important connection between “sharing” and “publicness,” an important link where the truly interesting might occur through the kinds of conversation digital compositions enable.

Asking students to approach this kind of inquiry marks an important shift in the definition of what it means to write an “academic essay.” I wonder if what is actually happening is a return to Montaigne’s sense of the essay as a “series of attempts,” or Francis Bacon’s “dispersed meditations.” By encouraging students to “be interested” and “curate their creations,” the usual chore of the “paper” becomes more of an experiment in invention or “making.”

images

It is no coincidence that “Composition as Explanation,” Gertrude Stein’s sonic exploration of what it means to “create a composition,” employs the verb “to make” as one of its central repeated words. For example: “This makes the thing we are looking at very different and this makes what those who describe it make of it, it makes a composition, it confuses, it shows, it is, it looks, it likes it as it is, and this makes what is seen as it is seen.” This work is also the first time that Stein refers to her sense of a “continuous present” which was crucial to how she thought of her own process.

steintokEducation writer Audrey Watters lists “The Maker Movement” as one of the “Top Ed-Tech Trends of 2012″ and describes the importance of this kind of pedagogical approach as, “we need more learning by making, through projects and inquiry and hands-on experimentation.” When we actually ask students to physically invent something, to take objects and turn them into something that did not exist ten minutes earlier, this is a very different kind of learning from writing a 3-5 page paper. It marks a return to the kind of “learning by doing” that John Dewey advocated for–“Give the pupils something to do, not something to learn; and the doing is of such a nature as to demand thinking; learning naturally results.” In other words, when we are engaged in the act of “making” or “doing,” that is when real learning occurs, and that is also when I think the sensation of “being interested” is rediscovered.

In many ways this post feels like its own experiment in what Stein might describe as “beginning again and again is a natural thing…”–I wanted to think about this idea of “being interested,” which consequently was so interesting to me that only now have I realized what the connection is to my own recent experiences in the classroom. Meechal recently wrote about one of my latest forays into technology in the classroom, one that I am still processing. When given the chance to use the MaKey MaKey with my 2 composition 2 sections (thanks to Mikhail & BLSCI), I jumped at the chance, trusting a gut feeling that “making” something physically might teach us something about what happens when we “make” academic essays.

Picture1In small groups, the students were given MaKey MaKeys, a number of different materials that conducted electricity, and access to a laptop and told to “make” and “invent.” As a teacher, what was interesting to me was to watch the groups’ progress–many began by seeming a little confused, admittedly not knowing what to “invent,” and feeling at a loss for ideas (or “interest”). But, I also got to watch each group work collaboratively and experientially and ultimate discover the spectrum of things they  might do.

And, after the class session, students blogged about what they experienced through “making.” A few sample responses:

  • “If we just looked at the surface of today’s session, we would see that we were just playing around with the Makey Makey and doing things that are totally unrelated to our English class. However, if we think more deeply, we will see many similarities, especially with the process of writing. At first, we need some ideas to invent something amazing with Makey Makey; if not, we will just be playing and there will not be any creation. It is like writing our essays; we need a specific thesis to write a good essay based on the thesis.”
  • “Making something with the Makey Makeys very musch resembled the writing process. In class on Monday we were supposed to “outline” our plans and ideas for what we wanted to make today in class. An outline plays an important role in essay writing so that the writer has their thoughts and ideas organized and ready to be written down and explained. Each invention also required several “revisions” and “rewrites” in order for it to reach its “final draft” stage. I know that my group changed plans, inventions, and strategies a few times throughout the class period.”
  • “For a good portion of our time we were bouncing back and forth between these questions and sitting there thinking about what we should do. I felt frustrated at the fact that with all these tools we were just stuck, it was like our creativity was at a standstill. However after revisiting the objectives of using the Makey Makey and playing around with it, things made a turn for the better. With developing a greater understanding and applying that understanding to ideas we had, we were able to center on one idea and go with it…Relating to writing, when have that moment where you know the message you want to communicate and gather all your information; everything comes together and flows. Centralizing your idea and making attempts towards it can assist in your creativity. Whether is be the next groundbreaking IT program or your final paper, the initial beginning may prove to be the most difficult; but after you overcome that, you will have your masterpiece.”

Why Are We Having This Discussion?

As Raymond C. Jones points out in “The ‘Why’ of Class Participation,” when teachers talk about encouraging student participation in class they are usually referring to some kind of discussion.  It seems that classroom discussion is ubiquitously considered important, especially as widely promoted pedagogy moves away from lecture-based teaching.  But I’m not convinced that we always know what we’re trying to achieve through classroom discussion, or that we’re fully aware of the different outcomes afforded by different facilitation strategies.  Or at least I’m not, and I’m willing to bet that I’m not the only one.

I assume every teacher is familiar with that feeling of deflation in the classroom when the big, grappling-with-ambiguous-questions discussion just falls flat.  When it turns out that that grand, stimulating question is not so stimulating after all.

I’d like to ask a question that I rarely hear asked, perhaps because the answer seems too obvious: What do teachers aim to accomplish through class discussion?  I think the answer is, many, many different things.  Sometimes the goal is to give students opportunities to articulate knowledge they’ve acquired in order to reinforce deep ownership of ideas.  Other times it’s to find a solution to a problem, to develop a plan for creating something, or to debate a controversial question.  In some instances instructors are looking for students to reflect publicly on a learning experience.  Sometimes the goal is more generally to engage with a set of ideas, ideally building upon simpler understandings to reach more complex or abstract ones.

It seems to me that this last outcome is the hardest to evaluate, and probably to facilitate.  In Jones’ above-mentioned article, the author comments, I think aptly, that these discussions are often the ones that leave teachers feeling the most “energized.”  However, he goes on to suggest that although teachers often consider these to be “whole class discussions,” in truth they are often dominated by a consistent handful of students who would engage similarly with the material independently of the class discussion.  Unstructured whole class discussions may seem student-centered in the sense that students are expected to think deeply and contribute thoughts to open-ended prompts, but Jones in fact characterizes them as teacher-centered.

Jones identifies another mode of conversation that often masquerades as “whole class discussion.”  He calls it the “initiate-response-evaluate” pattern:

The instructor initiates discussion by posing a question or dilemma; a student responds; the instructor evaluates or comments to indicate whether the answer is in the right direction or not (e.g., “Good, Shauna,” or “Can anyone help Jon out?”).  The discussion remains teacher centered and teacher controlled. (60)

I know from experience that discussions I launch with high hopes of achieving participatory, fluid, and provocative discourse can deflate into this “initiate-response-evaluate” pattern if I’m not equipped with better strategies.

Jones ultimately advocates for “structured discussion” techniques that I’m sure many readers of this blog use.  Strategies such as: “think-pair-share,” in which students brainstorm/free-write on a question, share thoughts with a neighbor, and report back to the class their combined ideas; using student-generated questions on index cards to generate discussion, either turned in to guide the instructor, or used by students to move the discussion forward; myriad kinds of writing prompts, completed in and outside of class, designed to launch structured discussion.  Many of these strategies are also productive in addressing the dilemma around introverts in the classroom, considered in Debra’s recent post.

All of these are useful, applicable techniques, but I think that an earlier step is necessary as well.  It seems to me that articulating clearly for myself what I want students to get out of a particular class discussion before choosing strategic facilitation strategies will clarify the process and help me evaluate the effectiveness of the discussion.  Students, too, can gain from being let in on the instructor’s expectations of them in class discussion, not just in regards to frequency of contributions, but in regards to the targeted outcomes of the discussion.

This post references the following article:  Jones, Raymond C.  “The ‘Why’ of Class Participation: A Question Worth Asking.”  College Teaching  56.1 (2008): 59-62.

Fail

Failure is everywhere, we’re always talking about it, but we’re never willing to do it or encourage it.

Last week I ran a faculty development roundtable here at Baruch called “Invention in the Classroom.” Many interesting things came out of it, but one in particular has been sticking with me over the past couple days: the importance of failing, failing publicly and epically, including in the classroom.

After the roundtable, a few of us continued talking about failure, noting especially that our New York City public school students are brought up thinking that if they fail in an assignment or a test, they’re failing themselves, their parents, their teachers (whose careers are now increasingly linked to their students’ test scores), and their schools (which might even get shut down if they fail too epically, or even just a little). If our students are taught to always stick to the rules and never take a risk — to never fail — they are going to fail epically where it counts: in being inventive, inquisitive people.

At the college level, we often ask our students to “be creative” with an assignment. Here’s one example, from my course blog, of me asking that of mine:

Screen Shot 2013-03-22 at 4.03.54 PMAlmost none of them chose to write these extra posts (which I consider my own failure — one which I am attempting to work through and respond to in future assignments). In general, our students prefer clear-cut assignments that tell them exactly what the professor wants. I don’t blame them. I wanted that A, too, and I wasn’t expecting that I would get it through a semester of botched experiments.

There are a lot of ways to bring failure, and with it, creativity into the classroom, and I’d love to invite a discussion about it in the comments or elsewhere. In fact, I’m already thinking about a faculty roundtable for next semester specifically about failure.

But in the meantime, I wanted to end this post with one idea about how to bring failure into the classroom.

Model failure yourself. Or, to put it another way, model risk taking. Erica Kaufman, the faculty member and Schwartz Communication Fellow who helped us lead the roundtable, told us about asking her students to use technologies in assignments that she herself hadn’t mastered. (One such experiment was written about in the Ticker last week.) It takes guts to go to a room full of students and say (and this is an imaginative recreation of what she might have said): “I don’t know everything about how to use the 3-D printer/video editing software/animation software that I’m asking you to use, and I’m not sure exactly what we’re going to get out of this assignment, but I have a gut instinct that creating something physical that relates to your research will be instructive, and will ultimately help you figure out your argument.” It also pays off. By creating assignments that ask her students to fail again and again, hit a wall, and then by helping them to gather strength, look around them, and move beyond their failure, and by modeling a willingness to fail herself, Erica gets her students to consistently produce work that is stunning, mature, risky, and thoughtful.You can see one of her course blogs here. (And search her other course blogs from there.) It’s worth looking at her assignments, and considering how much risk they require of her students. Look at the “Our Blog!” page on the course site and you’ll see some of the things they wrote and made. The payoff seems obvious.