Giving Talk at Mrs. Vermeul's Class

Today at 9:00am I'm visiting Mrs. Vermeul's fifth grade class at Jefferson Elementary to talk about writing.  Somehow this class found out that I wrote a book!  Perhaps it had something to do with one of the students in Mrs. Vermeul's class, Grace Olivia Arnold, a budding author herself.

I'm not used to "teaching" fifth graders.  My students are a bit older.  So what do I tell them about writing?  I don't really even consider myself a "writer," even though I've written a book, some scholarly articles, and a few editorials.  I consider myself a historian, or more accurately a history teacher, who writes things.  But I don't even write much anymore--I just blog, apparently.  I'm reminded of Truman Capote's famous line, "That's not writing, that's typing...."  It could equally be applied to today's blogosphere: "That's not writing, that's blogging!"

So here's what I think I'll say:

1) Start small: Books don't begin as books.  They begin as sentences that turn into paragraphs that turn into sections that turn into chapters that eventually turn into books.  One idea at a time.  One sentence at a time.

2) Scribble notes: Scribble down whatever comes into your mind.  Don't worry about organizing things until later.  Gradually your scribbled notes will be able to be organized into some kind of coherence.  Then you can begin to gather your notes (be they note cards or clumps of digital data) into categories, and then you can begin to write.

3) Write and rewrite:  Everything can be revised later.

4) Write what you know: This is horrible advice for advanced writing students working on their MFAs--it makes American novels insular and navel-gazing (got that critique from an NPR story a few weeks back and I think it's dead on).   But this is great advice for junior writers, like Mrs. Vermeul's class and myself.  We need to start with something we know and move on from there.

5) Find your voice: I guess this is similar to above, but with an emphasis on not being self-conscious about what you write.  Take people's advice and suggestions if it is helpful, but don't worry about how others judge you or your writing.  Writing (and a lot of other things in life) is really about finding your voice.  This takes a lifetime, so you never have to worry about being bored!

But I'm a little worried about Mrs. Vermeul's class being bored.  We'll see what happens.

Untitled Rant #194; or Caring About Things; or Why I threw my Pen Against the Wall on Monday

I was a little bit edgy (angry?) this week.  Was it because of the lunar cycle?  Because of this sore throat? Bad digestion?

Why did I throw my pen against the wall in class on Monday? And other things that I found in my pocket? Was it just to underscore the point that concepts like "democracy" are not ho-hum abstractions but rather real things that people fight and die for? Was it just because students did not know what had happened in Tahrir Square or what is happening today in Syria, where a "grassroots" (another word no one knew) popular movement is struggling for democracy against a ruthless, tyrannical regime?

It's not just frustration with my students.  I don't expect that they know anything when they enter class.  I just get frustrated with how somnolent we are as a society.  I get frustrated with just how much we take for granted.  How much we forget.  While others risk their lives for "democracy," we--Americans--seem to have forgotten that those values we hold so dear are achieved and maintained only through hard work--and I don't just mean "action" and armed struggle.  Those values--democracy, equality, freedom--are maintained by a vigilant, well-informed, rationale, critical-minded citizenry. (Enter history teachers with superhero capes! Or not.) 

We are lethargic and sleepy as a society.  We have other things to do.  We are distracted by the bright lights of the mall and the magnetic images on our smart screens, but we forget that we have to work for things, to figure things out, to apply our minds, to make sense of the world we inhabit.

Democracy, Capitalism, Popular Sovereignty, Republicanism, Classical Liberalism, Socialism.

What do these things mean?  Most of my students do not know.  Most Americans don't even know.  And that bothers me.  Our smart phones can tell us the definitions of these words, but we can only understand them by thinking and paying attention.

Speaking of the perils of the "military-industrial complex," Eisenhower warned that "Only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry" can ensure that  we do not become a society controlled by "the huge industrial and military machinery of defense."  According to Ike, only an informed citizenry can ensure that "security and liberty may prosper together."

I know it's hokey, but I actually take seriously Ike's admonition that we citizens must be "alert and knowledgeable."  That's why I love my job--I get to become an apostle for alertness and knowledge.  I get to wake students up to the fact that the ideas of the American Revolution or the lessons of the Vietnam War are still valid and relevant today.

But do you see that the reason why I love my job, and take it so seriously, is also the reason why I become frustrated sometimes?  I can hector and cajole my students; I can test their socks off; I can flunk people till the cows come home, I can lecture until hell freezes over, but I can't instill in them the desire to be alert citizens and critical thinkers.  They have to want it. 

And why should they want it? Society does not reward or value informed citizenship.  There is no pay off for learning history.  In fact, learning history seemingly leads to low pay, depression, and constant anxiety.  There is something to that old adage "Ignorance is bliss."

Of course I don't really believe that (although sometimes I do yearn to be peacefully and innocently ignorant like a child--but don't we all on occasion?).  My entire life is dedicated to the proposition that there are rewards to learning history (beyond the celebrity and the smart chicks--that's a joke, to be clear).  The rewards involve trying to understand the world for yourself.   It's about independence of mind.  It's about freedom.  It's about empathy and compassion.  It's about caring.  Do you care what is happening in the world and why?  Do you care why we "lost" Vietnam and why we are "losing" Afghanistan? Do you care about the blood and treasure spent on military adventures around the world, then and today?  Or do you just want to go shopping?

Shopping is fun and caring is wearisome.

And maybe it's not just the structure of society that I'm bucking against.  Perhaps our brains are not geared for abstract, critical reasoning (especially the brains of 18-year-olds at 8:00am!).  Scientists tells us that the emotional, fear-mongering parts of our brains easily overpower the cool, rational parts of our brains.  And this goes way back: our brains developed for hundreds of thousands of years before there were books and universities and policy think tanks.  It was a lot of "fight or flight" and not a lot of "to be or not to be."  I mean,  books have existed for only a short percentage of human history.  But now we expect our students to overcome their biological heritage and buck against popular culture and become passionate little scholars. 

Maybe I should just give up on this pie in the sky stuff about helping to foster an "alert and knowledgeable" citizenry. 

Maybe I should just throw up my hands and say, as one of my friends says, "Teaching is dead; let's go have hot chocolate!"

Maybe I should just have fun and concede that I am part of the "edutainment" industry.

Maybe I should heed the words sent to me by another friend, who reminded me of the advice given by Dr. Detroit (played by Dan Akroyd) to a grad student: "Just give 'em all Bs. The good students will think you are tough and the bad students will think you are generous."

So these are my two choices (because in my bi-polar world there are always only two choices, and, of course, no middle ground): Relax or continue the existential struggle.  Enjoy life or lose sleep.  Take a chill pill or rage against the machine.

 

You already know which side I'll choose.

Midterm Existential Crisis

Midterm season always sends me into an existential crisis: What is the goal of college teaching? What are we doing here?

Are we providing students with knowledge that enlightens and empowers them? Are we giving them skills to help them make their way in a global capitalist economy?  Or are we simply sorting out the smarter students from the less intelligent ones so that universities and employers know who to admit and hire?

I'd like to believe that college teaching is about opening student's minds, getting them to think and make sense of the world, introducing them to ideas and concepts that might change their lives--that will make them better citizens, that will allow them to live more inquiring and independent lives.  On a more practical level, I'd like to believe that we are giving them skills that will help them along the way: in the case of history, this means reading, writing, listening, thinking, sifting, and sorting--necessary skills in our information economy.

And yet, I must ask, are midterm examinations the best mechanism to promote these noble aims?  Some argue that testing has nothing to do with learning: a test simply offers a snapshot of performance on a given day but does not truly capture the ability of a student to learn and succeed.  Competency-based programs, like Western Governors' University (which I discussed in my very first blog), do not have tests, or at least conventional tests where a student's grade is determined by a series of in-class examinations.  For one, WGU is an online university.  Secondly, students take and re-take "tests" until they show competency--it's about learning the material and mastering the skills, not performing on a given day.

Roger Schank, an education radical who is a critic of traditional teaching methods, argues that  "Learning is doing, not listening or taking tests."  I couldn't agree more with him.  Real learning in history takes place when students DO things--when they read, when they write, when they discuss, when they bend their minds, grab their pencils and produce something.

Thinking this way, a midterm exam appears to be a relic of a traditional educational system (the Academic Industrial Complex!!!) that is largely geared towards sorting students into the proper categories for the gatekeepers in business and academia.

So many questions: Do tests really motivate learning? And what justifies the concept of grading itself, where the totality of a student's intelligence is conveyed by a singular numeric value?  Alternatively, can you get students to DO things without testing and grading them? 

These are important philosophical--and practical--questions.  And yet, my daily reality is that I am required to give grades in a decimal form.  At a school like Columbia Basin College, where we have 45 students in every section of history, examinations are still an important vehicle for assessing and evaluating student learning.  When you read an essay exam, it's pretty easy to see who can master a body of material; who can understand concepts; who can make causal connections; who can choose relevant specifics to support general points; who can think critically.  And maybe I'm old school, but a good old-fashioned test is also a way of measuring a student's determination, desire, and time-management skills.  But isn't that sorting rather than enlightening?

The world is imperfect and complex.  Institutional realities confine us and restrict our freedom and creativity.  And yet, in our society (not an anarchist's utopia), we have to exist within these complex institutions and figure out ways to make our work and our lives meaningful and useful.  We can't just go through the motions; we have to question and challenge and change.  But we can't just throw Molotov cocktails either.

The key is balance.  As I discussed in an earlier blog with regard to lesson plans, the best system of evaluation is diverse.  In my classes, we have essay tests, online quizzes, writing assignments, class participation, extra credit.  There are a lot of ways to succeed or fail.  There are lot of things to learn…or not.  Depends on what grade you're looking for….  :)

Teaching (and Learning) History with Video?

For me, movies used to provide a much needed break from the lecture routine.   It wasn't really about teaching (or learning) history--it was about survival.   After weeks of pounding away, you grabbed a movie (preferably one that  corresponded roughly to  the subject matter you were covering in class), plunked it into the VCR,  turned off the lights, and gave yourself and your students an hour-long rest from the drudgery.  In my first years of teaching, I showed movies when I was at the end of my rope, when I really needed a break--a day without any preparation for class.  Knowing that movies were a superfluous luxury, they were to be used sparingly.  They were a necessary (and fun and interesting) add-on, but an add-on nonetheless, not integral to the real grist of the course.

My ideas about and use of movies in the classroom have changed.  For one, I no longer need movies to save me.  Teaching is no longer about survival; about making it through the quarter.  I enjoy walking into my classrooms and, as my students know, I have plenty of material to fill every minute without movies.  At the same time, however, modern technologies such as DVDs, computers, the internet, and "smart classrooms" allow for a more integrated use of  videos in the classroom.  Nowadays, without too much time spent messing with equipment, I can easily show a short clip that underscores and illuminates a particular point.  Two minutes; five minutes; twenty minutes.  This is a far cry from my first class taught as a "professor."  I was an adjunct instructor at UCLA in 1997 teaching the History of California, a huge survey class filled with over 350 students.  In order to show a movie, I had to schedule it at least a week beforehand with the university's AV department who brought a projector  to the classroom and showed the film.  No YouTube clips back then.  Films don't have to take up the entire class anymore.  But they certainly add to the texture of the subject matter in a way that I cannot duplicate.   

This week in History 148 I showed part of the PBS documentary called "Rock and Roll" and part of the "Eyes on the Prize" series that documents the Civil Rights Movement.  I no longer see these films as superfluous.  How else can I give students the best sense of the  revolutionary impact of Rock and Roll or the courageous conflicts of the early Civil Rights movement?  Would they get the feel for the integration of Little Rock High School in 1957 without seeing some of that controversy through video?  Could I just stand up and talk about the revolutionary pulse of Rock and Roll without showing them some footage of Little Richard or Elvis?

Of course, the use of video begs the question of what you are trying to achieve in the classroom.  Certainly, videos are a more "passive" form of learning than discussion or even the lecture/note-taking mode.  The lights are dimmed.  The students lock on to the images and do not take as many notes.  The images wash over them and overpower the text and narrative of the film.  The details of a film that is viewed only once are easily forgotten.  I remember a film class that I took in college where we had to watch each film a minimum of three times.  So what is the benefit of a movie if the students simply relax, enjoy, and forget most of what they see?  This is college, not Friday night at the movies.  I understand that critique--and I think that too much video sans rigorous discussion could easily dumb things down: History Class as History Channel (although as far as I can tell there is NO history on the History Channel anymore).

But if you're simply trying to highlight a point you've already made in class and in the readings; or if you're trying to give students "a feel" for an era, to make the past more palpable to them, then I don't think there's anything better than a good Ken Burns documentary (yes, even if he plays fast and loose at times) or a video clip about the Tet Offensive.  My Native American Cultures class watches a lot of films, including the recent PBS documentary, "We Shall Remain," which shifts between talking heads and dramatic reenactments.  I've cut out a lot of lecture (some of which I now post online) to make room for those films, which we also discuss online.  I love it, and I think the students do as well.  But are they learning?  Are the films rigorous enough?  Should I be suspicious of the fact that students love films so much?  Am I doing my job when I turn on the projector?

"When the Student is Ready, the Teacher Will Appear."

I love this quote.  It is a Buddhist Koan quoted by naturalist Sy Montgomery in a commencement address he gave in 2010.  I ran across it in a New York Times article.

I love it because it conveys an essential, but often overlooked, truth about teaching: that students will learn only when they are ready to learn.  When they are ready to learn, they can learn anything, anywhere, from anybody.

Teachers might not like to acknowledge the fact that students bear the primary the responsibility for their own learning because it suggests that teachers, in a sense, are expendable.  But that's not the point.  The point is that teachers are responsible for creating an environment in which learning can happen, but  students are fundamentally responsible for their own learning.  It can be no other way: teachers can't get inside a student's brain and begin turning the gears, setting off neuro-synaptic explosions, building dendrite information highways.  Only students themselves can colonize the unmapped territories of their own brains through determined effort and enterprise. 

This is comforting to me when I begin to feel primarily responsible for student learning (or not learning).  This is one of the underlying (and unintended?) messages of our "assessment culture" in higher education:   the success or failure of students hinges upon the professor rather than the determined efforts of the students themselves.  When we analyze and assess our classes, we measure student outcomes to see if we are achieving our goals (I want 100% of my students to be able to do this by the end of the course!) but we do not factor student effort into the equation:  How many hours of homework did they do?  Did they make a determined effort to engage the subject matter?

Even if we set a goal of increasing student effort, the burden falls on our shoulders: how do we design a class that motivates, encourages, and enforces student effort and "active learning"?  How do create an intricate system of rewards and punishments to coerce them into learning?  Once again, it's about us, not the student.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm all for continually evaluating and reevaluating my teaching strategies and methods.  I am constantly doing this--even now, in this blog.  But unless my students are making a similar determined effort, is learning going to happen, no matter what I do?

A little context for this rant against "assessment culture."  It is the end of week 3--the grading is already piling up (thus the lack of blog posts).  The sky is grey.  The students are starting to experience the first signs of fatigue, and so am I.  We can discuss "What is History" until Thanksgiving, but  I need to cover some ground before the midterm.  This calls for lecture mode!  But wait, I shouldn't be just standing up here lecturing!  Bad professor!  The students need to be engaged in "active" learning and lecture is a "passive" mode of learning (I don't agree but that is the current prevailing wisdom among the people who actually majored in education, which I did not).

So throughout the week I tried to spur student participation (active learning?)  in various ways:  I asked students to come to class having read documents which we discussed in class;  I asked them to write things down in class which we then discussed, etc….

I created an environment where students could think, engage, and participate.  But was it any more effective or illuminating than my lectures (which are also participatory, by the way)?  Did the students who actually DID the reading benefit from hearing the comments of the majority of students who DID NOT do the reading?  Was it my fault that most of the students DID NOT do the reading?  Should I have threatened a quiz to increase student participation?

Well, I ended the week with some interesting (to me at least) lectures--the Puritans, the 1950s.  I had fun.  The students seemed to "have fun" (in this case, "having fun" is defined somewhat loosely as "not being totally absolutely bored out of one's freakin' mind").  Some of them were very interested.   Some  asked questions.  It seemed like college.  Is that so bad?

Well, I hope you've enjoyed my self-rationalizing reflection of the week.  The moral of the story: TBD.