Because the first thing that students have to get is not the Ten Greatest Artists of all time on some canonical list. No one is going to be harmed for life if she doesn’t cover Rubens. But if that kid walks out of the class thinking “people like me aren’t artists”, they cannot and will not succeed. You’ve done real harm.
A few weeks ago, I delivered a webinar with colleagues on the design of MOOCs as part of a series, MOOCs by Design. The basic premise of our presentation is that the sheer diversity of the audience in MOOCs creates a number of design challenges.
When designing a “traditional” online credit course, certain assumptions can be made about the learners, no matter how diverse the student body, given the homogenizing effect of the application process, the incentives and costs associated with credit, and the standards of rigor and credentialing established by the disciplines. In contrast, learners in MOOCs undergo no such homogenizing process, and enter the experience with incredibly diverse educational backgrounds, English language proficiencies, access to technologies, and motivations. The diversity of MOOC learners create, then, a number of design challenges.
We suggest several ways to navigate those challenges in the presentation, with the overall guidance that it is best to design a MOOC oriented around the institutional priorities, but that affords as many options and pathways for students as possible.
I recently attended a talk, “The Promise and Perils of the Flipped Classroom” by Jennifer Ebbeler, associate professor of classics at UT Austin . She discussed the challenges and successes of flipping her large enrollment (400+ students) course. She raised familiar discussion points about the flipped classroom model, but the point that stood out the most to me was the student reaction. Ebbeler experienced resistance among students, so much so that she re-designed her experiment to better scaffold the students to the flipped model.
It made me realize that those of us (instructional designers, education technologists) who advocate trying more active learning pedagogical approaches and experimental methods tend to assume that the biggest roadblock is often the faculty. It is a lot more work with little institutional incentive to experiment with one’s teaching. But the students can be equally resistant to more constructivist models of instruction. And with good reason. It is a lot more work for them, too.
I’ve had similar experiences while teaching. In an online capstone course I taught most recently, I designed a final project option with a high degree of flexibility that I thought would be appropriate for the mostly adult learners in the course, but not a single student selected to design their own project. They all opted for the traditional research paper, despite the required number of sources and pages. It was easier for them to comply with stated paper requirements than to construct a project idea on their own.
The student’s readiness to use technology effectively, to produce knowledge, and to be held more accountable for their own learning is an oft-overlooked constraint. But I took away a few key points from Ebbeler’s that were good reminders of best practices:
It is a journey for students to transition from passive to active learner, and it’s important for education technologists and instructional designers to be cognizant of how difficult that journey can be. But for those of us who put in the extra work to create meaningful learning opportunities for students, it is worth it to increase student agency and ownership.
At Learning Design Summer Camp, a panel presenter made a rather provocative statement to the audience that, paraphrased, amounted to: anyone who teaches is an instructional designer. I think many in the audience (of mostly instructional designers) were put off by this comment, but for me it raised some interesting questions: What is the difference between what one does and what one is? What is the difference between the practice of a field or discipline, and the sum of its parts as understood by the practitioner?
As an analogy, I take photos. We all do, with greater ease and better equipment than was available to consumers in the past. And sometimes I even take photos with intention, with some focus on composition or lighting. But I would not call myself a photographer. Not ever. Not even when I think I’ve taken a great photo. That’s because the field of photography encompasses much more than just the resulting product. The photographer has the knowledge of art history and theory, the practice of considering all the elements important in a shoot, the experience of taking lots of photos and making mistakes, and the benefit of being part of a community of practice.
Similarly, the instructional designer is fluent in cognitive psychology and learning theory, practiced in the systematic approach to design, experienced in designing for different learning environments across disciplines and topics, and part of a rich community of practice. The teacher indeed designs instruction, with varying degrees of intent and levels of success, but I would characterize the act of designing instruction as being distinct from being an instructional designer.
But as the tools of a field become easier to use, and the practices easier to mimic, what is the role of the trained practitioner? Technology increasingly makes it easier to use previously difficult tools, and makes available information on basic practices of any field. The lines between the amateur and the professional become increasingly blurred. But it also creates an opportunity for practitioners to identify and communicate their value proposition. So, as LMSs improve and educational technologies become more user-friendly, what is the value of the instructional designer? I’ll suggest three strengths:
The best teachers perform their craft with intention, passion, and excellence. It’s just not instructional design. Instructional design is the confluence of theory, process, and practice, and its strength is in its relevance to different contexts. So the teacher that moved desks in the classroom? Not an instructional designer. And that’s okay. She’s working to engage her students, asking them to do something a little different. And we’re here as backup, if needed.
…an important element to consider here is that transforming one’s pedagogical approach to what some people are calling flipped requires an increased attention to how time is used inside and outside the classroom, how activities should be paced, how activities and learning should support one another, how support structures can be used inside and outside the class, and if or how various elements of work should be assessed. In other words, the transition to something new requires an attention to detail. Is anyone examining the possibility that some of the benefits currently attributed to what people call flipping are really attributable to more intentional pedagogy, and an increased focus on the craft of teaching?
I remember when Nicholas Carr’s book The Shallows came out in June. My blogroll teemed with posts from those in higher ed debating the book’s premise that the internet is changing the way we think. More specifically, Carr suggests that the internet is compromising our ability to think deeply and focus extensively.
I’ve heard versions of this argument (or warning, as some may interpret it) since grad school, and have experienced first-hand the compulsive Facebooking, headline-skimming, and multi-tasking it portends. Sometimes reading an article leads down a rabbit hole of endless links; other times it takes as long as hitting “Ctrl + T” to forget what to do next.
But I have not lost all hope. There are plenty of activities that I engage in that I can’t be distracted from. I don’t tweet while running; I don’t email while cooking; I don’t text while sharing a meal with friends; I don’t skip around chapters while reading a good book. These activities, meaningful and engaging to me, still encourage presence, focus, and creativity, and I gladly put down my smart phone long enough to participate.
My anec-data (sample size: me) suggests the internet hasn’t changed how we think, but how we think while we do certain tasks. My level of engagement with an activity determines how distractable I am, not my internet-addled brain. If a task is appropriately interesting and challenging, I tend to not check my phone or email or Facebook. But if a task isn’t the right mix of that cocktail, then my mind does indeed wander. Further, I would bet that my mind wanders no more than it did before the prevalence of the internet (otherwise known as my college internship years); my wanderlust simply has an easy outlet now.
I propose that most activities can be mapped on axes of easy to challenging and boring to interesting, and that those in the sweet spot of challenging and interesting are immune to “the shallows.” Here’s how I’d map a few personal tasks on a graph:
Students in the Shallows?
For those in higher ed who are frustrated with students “in the shallows”, perhaps it’s worth evaluating what you are asking students to do, and if it really is worth their attention away from Facebook. If I were a student today, these common instructional activities would map out like this for me:
If we are indeed living in the shallows of information more and more, there are still ways to get to the deep end through meaningful engagement. Educators have the chance (and the responsibility) to be the safe vessels that carry students into deeper waters, but the old way of doing things is not going to get them there. Perhaps educators, too, need a life vest before jumping off the safe ledge of lectures and exams into the murkier depths of collaborative and project-based learning, but dive we must. Otherwise, this kiddie pool will get overcrowded, and we won’t remember how to swim.
One of the highlights of the Sloan-C Emerging Technologies Conference was the keynote by Ellen Wagner. She pointed out the gaps we need to mind – the space between innovation and implementation, research and practice, traditional e-learning and emerging e-learning – if we are to meet the challenge of educating the next generation. With a breadth of experience and a little humor as well, she walked the audience through the history of e-learning, and showed us how far we still have to travel.
Her talk resonated with me because while she touched on the big picture issues, they parallel the day-to-day tensions instructional designers often struggle with. When developing courses, I feel like my job is to triangulate where faculty and students are to find that comfortable sweet spot where meaningful learning can happen. That spot is both the goal and the gap I need to mind.
There’s more to unpack here, but I’m still on west coast time so it’s too early in the morning for me:) I’ll leave you with Ellen’s Big Questions for Learning Professionals:
“They don’t even know when Christopher Columbus sailed,” I exclaimed.
“Why do they need to?” asked Sister June, the administrative force of the school.
I still don’t have an answer. I sometimes wrestle with the lingering sense that “educated people” should know certain things. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve not gotten word from St. Vincent Academy in the last eight years that any of those students failed to become employable, contributing adults because they didn’t know about Christopher Columbus. And in an age when anyone can find out about Christopher Columbus from a mobile device, that sort of knowledge isn’t a good barometer of the “educated” anymore.
“Why” is the single most valuable question in teaching and learning because it tests for relevance.
Now in my role as an instructional designer, I get to ask why a lot, albeit without the gravitas that Sister June possesses. But it is nevertheless an important question, an attempt to get subject matter experts to differentiate “why I love this discipline and dedicate my life to its study” from “why does my discipline matters in the world.” I ask why to shift the emphasis from knowing to doing, to distinguish core learning objectives from nice-to-knows, to ensure assessments align with the objectives. I ask why because I want to collaborate on courses that are highly relevant and that develop skills that apply outside of the classroom.
It is in pursuit of relevance that I “hack” the syllabus, in response to Hacking Pedagogy.
Course Description: The course isn’t about the content, it’s about the learning process. Sure, you may be passionate about your content, but just because you love 18th century poetry doesn’t mean that every student that comes through the door is going to. But every student can learn to read a passage more closely, analyze meaning, make connections to historical and cultural contexts, and differentiate and use primary and secondary sources effectively. So describe your course as an opportunity to nurture the required skills of the discipline, the skills necessary for the 21st century, in order gain some insight into the field and into oneself.
Course Goal: To develop the relevant, applicable skills that your discipline requires through project-based learning.
What do you want students to be able to do after your course? What impact do you want to have on students 5 years down the road? Better yet, what do students come back and tell you they remember 5 years later? This is the potential impact of the course, everything else is superfluous.
Objectives:
By the end of this hack, you will be inspired to:
Required Readings: None.
What?!?! Yes, none. Instead, students will have access to an extensive annotated bibliography of texts, films, websites, and other resources from which they determine what is required reading to meet their project goals. Imagine if students elect to read and research to meet the course objectives instead of being forced to read to pass a multiple choice quiz. How would their engagement with the material be different?
Assessments: Make something BIG! Use project-based and collaborative learning strategies to develop a course project. No, it will not be as easy as a multiple choice test to assess, but there are defined steps to making something BIG. Your assessments will include:
Students can be assessed on the following criteria:
So the question now is … why not try something different?
Kate Miffitt 