When Kevin Roose’s New York Magazine article on the Kappa Beta Phi induction ceremony was published, I naively dismissed its significance. TL;DR, as they say (too long, didn’t read). As articles about the event, a celebration of a secret society of very wealthy and powerful people, multiplied, I decided I should probably pay attention. Paul Queally, a University of Richmond alum and member of the Board of Trustees, made a few comments at the event that many have appropriately deemed offensive to women and lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) people. The event also featured jokes about working-class and poor people, liberals, and a little bit of nostalgia for the Confederacy, as well as forcing KBP inductees to wear drag, supposedly as good-fun humiliation.
When news broke about Queally’s comments, he remarked that his “jokes” were in the spirit of the event – but that those zingers about the politicians Hillary Rodham Clinton and Barney Frank were not reflections of his own values. Unfortunately for him, he found himself in the hot seat again upon news about a picture on Facebook featuring his use of the term “fag.”
Queally’s comments were offensive, and his participation in the ceremony is questionable. But he has donated generously to the University of Richmond, enough that the business school bears his name, as does the new Center for Admissions and Career Services. Thus, it does not surprise me that the university has not jumped to dismiss Queally from the Board of Trustees. It does surprise me, however, that the only statementreleased from the board reaffirms a commitment to “inclusivity, civility, and respect,” yet says nothing about Queally’s comments.
President Edward Ayers further emphasized that the board shares the values of the university, which have been laid out in the Richmond Promise -- an initiative he created and successfully advanced. This response has left many students, staff, faculty, administrators, and alumni underwhelmed. Yes, the university, including the Board of Trustees, is committed to diversity and inclusivity; but what is it going to do about this controversy, which has received national attention?
The personal significance of Queally’s comments and the limited response from the university finally sank in by the week’s end. As a trustee, Paul Queally will be one of the last individuals to decide my professional fate: tenure. I am a queer man, and some of my research is on the lives and well-being of LGBT people. And I just began my first year as a tenure-track professor at the University of Richmond. Life on the tenure track is already stressful and scary enough. Now, add to that the possibility that at least one person has indicated, at least to me, a level of hostility toward me, my community, and my research. After a tight knot formed in my stomach, I felt I needed to lie down right on my office floor. What is the point of working toward tenure over the next six years if the odds are already against me?
Sure, that may sound paranoid or overly dramatic. But I encourage the heterosexual majority to understand that LGBT people, as a means of survival in a hostile society, must look for signals regarding the social and political climate. Are we safe from prejudice, discrimination, and violence? The absence of anti-LGBT prejudice and discrimination does not necessarily indicate the presence of LGBT-friendliness and inclusion. This is why many colleges and universities have Safe Zone programs, which indicate places on campus that are making intentional efforts to be safe and inclusive for LGBT students. So, the slightest hint of hostility – say a joke about Barney Frank, or the use of the term “fag” on Facebook – sends a message to LGBT people to be on alert for the possibility of more, and more extreme, hostility.
I decided to seek out motivation of the caffeine variety to keep working. I am still doing my best to adjust to life as a professor, which really means I am simply too overwhelmed to stop work to have a mini meltdown over this controversy. At our campus coffee shop, I ran into my dean and a director of one of the social justice offices on campus. They both hugged me and expressed sympathy for my precarious position. There is news of homophobia at the highest rung of the university ladder; they were right to assume how troubling this is for a new, queer professor who studies sexual orientation and gender identity and expression. And, to my surprise, my dean noted that the college would support me, including any efforts to right this wrong that has occurred at the university. I did my best to hold back the tears that threatened to come forward as I returned to my office; I felt such a deep sense of relief after bumping into them.
Why was I surprised? This is not the first time I have heard from colleagues – including people who will decide my professional fate in a few years – that I am supported as a scholar, teacher, and advocate for social justice. I have been reminded on a couple of occasions that one of the very reasons for which I was hired as a professor was to contribute to the university’s mission toward inclusivity and diversity. This even includes my work as a blogger, making my and colleagues’ research publicly accessible, and, at times, criticizing norms and practices within academia that constrain the well-being and scholarship of marginalized academics (like myself). In the midst of other universities cracking down on professors’ social media use, advocacy, and teaching on difficult subjects, I have found a job at an institution that supports my own efforts.
The university has made great strides in the past few years toward inclusion of and support for LGBT students, staff, and faculty: hiring an associate director of LGBTQ campus life; creation of a living-learning floor in LGBTQ studies; creation of an office for LGBT students; recently hosting the first-ever conference for LGBT athletes; solidified a major and minor in women’s, gender, and sexuality studies; revamping and subsequent campuswide adoption of the Safe Zone program – just to name a few recent advancements! This year’s book selection for the One Book, One Richmond program is The Laramie Project – a play depicting the brutal murder of gay college student Matthew Shepard and its aftermath.There are several on-campus events associated with the book, which included a talk by Matt’s mother, Judy Shepherd, in October.
When I interviewed for this job, I did my homework about the institution. I saw these initiatives, and scoured the archival project of graduating senior Dana McLachlin (a phenomenal student!) on the history of LGBT life and activism at the University of Richmond. I found, given the tremendous progress in just the past decade, I had little reservation about joining the Richmond community.
The comments by Paul Queally are troubling. And the response thus far from the university about this controversy is underwhelming. But I do feel the commitment to diversity and inclusion is genuine. I see that in hiring staff and faculty who not only are LGBT or allies themselves, but clearly bring energy and visions that will propel the university even further toward LGBT inclusion and support. However, this controversy leaves me a little worried that some of the top leaders may not be nearly as inclusive as the students, staff, and faculty – a fear I am certain is shared by colleagues at other institutions. The University of Richmond (like many colleges and universities) is a work in progress that I, as a queer professor, stand by.
Postscript: After I wrote this piece, but just before it was published, Queally issued more of a full apology and the president of my university sent a campuswide statement that went well beyond what the university had said earlier. While I'm pleased with those statements, I still ask: Should it have taken a week to figure out that this was much more than bad humor?
Eric Anthony Grollman is assistant professor of sociology at the University of Richmond. He also maintains a blog for marginalized scholars, ConditionallyAccepted.com.
Last week, Nicholas Kristof revived the old canard that academics have removed themselves from the public sphere through obscure prose and interests. Among the problems we might identify in Kristof’s essay -- thereare, obviously, many -- is the irony of a writer with the resources of The New York Times supporting him chiding the rest of us for not writing in outlets such as The New York Times.
But who gets to write in The New York Times -- and to whom is The New York Times accessible? If we’re talking about accessibility and insularity, it’s worth looking at The New York Times’s own content generation cycle and the relationship between press junkets and patronage.
So, instead of confusing intellectual meritocracy with access to outlets, let’s look at how The New York Times itself generates content about something that matters greatly to professors: higher education.
What I learned there -- besides how weird corporate-sponsored conferences are, right down to commercials they looped on screens between talks -- is that there is a system of content generation that feeds thinkpieces and thinkfluencers with greater speed and sound bite concision than most professors can offer.
It’s important to note that the only professors on stage at this conference on the future of higher education had left teaching and research as faculty for academic upper administration or to launch their own MOOC companies. While Kristof might see this lack of platform as more evidence of academic self-cloistering, I see it for the closed system that it is: “influence” comes mainly from those who might be in the position to take out full-page ads in the Times.
I saw the Schools for Tomorrow conference advertised in the Times’ Sunday Magazine, and looked into registration online. It cost $795 for a one-day event. For reference, I just registered for a four-day conference in my humanities field for $150.
I wrote to the Schools for Tomorrow registration office and asked if they could lower the cost for actual professors, bringing it in line with typical registration fees between $75 and $200. They said they could bring it down to $495. I found some institutional money for online teaching development and paid the “reduced” fee.
The $495 did not, however, guarantee me a seat when I got to the conference. The mid-three figures is a lot for humanities faculty and their limited (if existent) travel support, but in this world it just got me through the first door. It turned out that the plenary talk by Sal Khan (of Khan Academy) on globalizing access to education was overbooked, so while corporate sponsors like Bank of America and Blackberry enjoyed reserved seats in the auditorium, a lot of self- or university-sponsored folks like myself ended up watching on screens in the basement.
This was the first lesson in sponsored access to influence and content creation. Since Khan’s talk led into the panel discussion “Has the University as an Institution Had Its Day?” a lot of professors sat out the Q&A in the cheap seats. Not even, really. We were in a different arena altogether.
These weren’t conversations; these weren’t arguments. Mainly, these were rehearsed pitches for products, policies, and industries in which presenters had considerable financial or political stake. Some featured speakers, like former Senator Bob Kerrey, had a foot in several categories: he was in the Senate, he had been president of the New School, and he is now starting a for-profit university.
At various points it became clear that the speakers were used to talking to one another “on the circuit” as one said to another, suggesting that they’d been on the online education junket a lot together that year. And some cycle back through the Times meetings. Having missed Sal Khan at the education conference, I could have caught him the next month at the DealBook business conference.
The third lesson of the conference, however, came when I picked up my New York Times at home. The November 1 "Education Life" section titled “The Disrupters” is almost entirely drawn from or inspired by the conference. One conference reviewer quipped that “so many Times newsroom staff members are participating in the conference, they might not be able to put out the paper on Wednesday.”
To the contrary, such events seem to be built into their content generation strategy. “The Disrupters’ ” lead article, "Innovation Imperative: Change Everything, Online Education as an Agent of Transformation" was written by Michael Horn and Clayton M. Christensen. Both hail from the non-university-affiliated Clayton Christensen Institute for Disruptive Innovation. The latter is a business professor at Harvard and the former was a panelist at the conference. Here's Horn’s bio from the conference webpage. He did a 25-minute one-on-one with David Leonhardt, the Times'sWashington bureau chief, advocating “The Disruption of Higher Education.”
According to his bio, Horn studied for an M.B.A. at Harvard (presumably with his co-author Christensen), then gained a platform as an educational innovation consultant at Arizona State, the editorship of a “journal of opinion and research about education policy,” and invitations to testify on issues relating to education. He does so not from a university, but from an institute that operates in the world between academia and lobbying. He does not balance his time between teaching, service, and peer-reviewed research and publishing. Yet he is a recognized authority on higher education according to the Times’s invitation. And then his work is immediately funneled into and amplified by featured space in the Sunday Times.
Even if the Times itself might be forgiven for seeking out breathless think tankers over professors who lack their own Center for Thinkfluencer Excellence, we might be more critical of the blurry line between content and advertisement.
Elsewhere in the issue you’ll find Bob Kerrey’s Minerva University, a for-profit liberal arts venture, featured prominently. It is mentioned in the Horn article, and is the focus of this article on “affordable elitism.” And then there’s major conference sponsor, Capella University. Their “credit for competencies, not credit hours” model is the subject of this article. It was also a major topic of conversation at the conference, discussed at length by Capella University's president, Scott Kinney. Days before the conference, every registrant received an email promoting Capella and bearing their logo.
How much money did Capella pay for this multiplatform marketing strategy? And where did their marketing end and the ideas at the conference begin? They were in the email of all registrants. Their logo was all over the conference and in full color on the back page of the Times Sunday Magazine. Policy changes crucial to their success were discussed favorably at a conference with Education Secretary Arne Duncan in attendance, and they got an article focusing on them in the Times just below an editorial praising their sort of educational “disruption.”
When Kristof's article began raising questions about professors’ ideas and public influence, I was reminded of the way influence moved from the $795/$495 per person corporate-sponsored conference to the pages of the newspaper of record.
Professors, we need you! Who, then, is the “we”? As lots of people have pointed out, if the “we” is the American public, then you’ve already got us as teachers, popular and specialist writers, activists and more.
If the “we” is pageview ad-metric revenue-hungry online content providers and writers, then that’s another question. Do you really want us? And if we come to you, how much will it cost to get in?
Jonathan Senchyne is an assistant professor of library and information studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. A version of this essay originally appeared on Avidly.
At best, so-called competency- and proficiency-based higher education is a world of good intentions and uncritical enthusiasms. At worst, it seems to be the fulfillment of conservative cost-cutting visions that will put our most enriching higher education experiences still further out of reach for many Americans.
In the U.S. these programs are aimed at sidelining the familiar credit hour in favor of personalized and flexible learning experiences for enrollees. They push the idea that some students will achieve mastery with fewer instructional hours than others and should thus be spared that expenditure of time and money. Online, real-world or self-guided experiences may also stand in for some conventional classroom approaches. Students who demonstrate mastery need not continue instruction in a particular area.
Through the use of all of these innovations, an affordable alternative to the conventional bachelor’s degree is envisioned, meeting the demands of many audiences -- funders, taxpayers and students -- for lowered higher education costs. The promise is that some students will clock fewer hours using the most costly college personnel and resources, and thus face lower debts upon graduation. Students’ “hours in seats,” once the sine qua non of higher education in contrast to vocational instruction, is seen to be an obsolete metric.
The University of Maine Presque Isle is a good example of such priorities, with a new proficiency-based undergraduate program the university rolled out recently with much fanfare. According to Inside Higher Ed, Presque Isle hosts many first-generation, underprepared students, and the campus seeks to help each student to work at his or her own pace along an affordable path of workforce preparation. Let me be clear: I believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that students learn at different rates in different ways; that current student debt levels in the United States are crushing; and that the status quo is deeply disadvantageous to Americans of lower socioeconomic status.
But this plan to save college students and their families money through the use of individualized curriculums; standardized instructional measurements; and reductions in classroom, lab, shop or studio hours will only increase those disadvantages. The university envisions a heightened accountability for its new instructional approach, through a newly careful matching of pedagogical experience and student achievement. But consider the criteria against which such matches will be assessed: success in teaching and learning will be defined by lowered spending. If we focus our attention on that contraction of institutional outlay, the promises of this new educational model start to seem less than solid.
In his recent work on personalized education, Oxford education theorist David Hartley has warned of the ways in which such market focused pedagogy constrains democratic opportunity, and I follow his lead here in considering the university’s new programs. First, if competency-based programs are accepted as cost-saving equivalents to conventional elements of bachelor’s degree curriculums, they render those conventions (because more costly) moot, and even undesirable. The idea that MORE MONEY (as in, public funding) might optimally be spent on higher education for Americans then becomes unreasonable.
And with that move, the notion that every student (not just those of affluence) might learn best by taking more rather than fewer courses, staged as small classes taught by well-compensated, securely employed (tenured!) instructors, in well-resourced facilities, is being taken off the table. The notion that our nation, if it wishes to promote workforce preparation and global economic competitiveness, would do best to EXPAND funding provisions for education is dismissed. Although naturally, crucially, the new cost-saving techniques are never, ever explicitly said to constitute a contraction. That elision makes it seem even more illogical, more irresponsible, to suggest that public monies be raised or reallocated in support of our colleges. To be inclusive is now to be profligate.
Second, we must recognize that despite the consumer-flattering appeal, a personalized curriculum is not automatically an optimized curriculum. For example, the university’s new program emphasizes “Voice and Choice”:
We offer students a freedom of choice that creates ownership of their degree and allows them to discover their unique identity. Students can choose to demonstrate their deep understanding of a subject by writing papers, taking multiple-choice exams, designing a project, completing a research study and more.
I’d ask: what is such choice, clearly part of the school’s new branding, really providing? I’m all for teaching students to question their instructors’ methods and priorities (see below), but if my students tell me they loathe the conceptual challenges involved in writing a paper, I know that’s one thing they’ll need to attempt before the term ends. If they balk at the logic challenges of multiple choice tests, that’s something I’ll be sure to expose them to. In other words, I suspect that “freedom of choice” is provided here not to facilitate “deep understanding,” but rather to provide a satisfactory customer experience.
While I am excited that the university’s instructors want to introduce students to “problem-posing” and emphasize real-world and hands-on experiences, all potentially engaging and genuinely flexible elements of college teaching, the valorization of market freedom and consumer choice here makes me wary. Like all performance standards, these efficiencies and controls are double-edged, providing a floor for student attainment but also a ceiling, as I’ve written before.
But what is most concerning is that in my experience, it is the errors, dead ends and confusions that launch students into the most profound and transformative moments of learning and self-discovery. These “off rubric” experiences are uncomfortable, and in no obvious way get anyone closer to passing a class or completing a degree. Just the opposite. And yet these are exactly the points at which the learner (not to mention the instructor) is most open to the unfamiliar and unexpected.
I fear that the deployment of “competencies” and “proficiencies” as instruments of economy and brevity is simply antithetical to the open-ended inquiry that is foundational to rigorous critical thinking, for learner and teacher. However concerned and inventive the professors involved in proficiency-based teaching might be, they are now facing clear disincentives to conceptual messiness. Learning, I believe, must be shot through with dissatisfaction, with frustration and moments of utter uncertainty about where one is heading intellectually -- all experiences that are now to be treated as inefficiencies. If these most-perfect conditions for inquiry and invention are the very ones that are now seen to be fiscally unwise, what hope for the creativity and growth of American college-goers?
Amy Slaton is a professor of history in the department of history and politics at Drexel University.
As Inside Higher Ed has observed, few issues have risen to national attention as quickly as “undermatching,” the problem of high-achieving low-income students choosing to attend non-selective colleges.
Now, in the study by Bastedo and Flaster summarized by Inside Higher Ed, we are beginning to see the first critiques of the methodology and assumptions underlying the original undermatching studies. In response, the earlier researchers argue that the quality of this new work is low. Other scholars defend the new critics and suggest that undermatching is indeed “overrated,” because it looks at only a small minority of low-income students -- the smartest and luckiest ones.
Into this mix I’d like to insert another perspective, one that raises additional concerns about the concept of undermatching as currently defined and studied, and at the same time argues that the problem is more, not less, pervasive and important than we have yet understood.
Matching, more broadly and deeply defined, means thinking from the beginning, at school and at home, about finding a good fit between students' ongoing educational opportunities and their emerging abilities and interests. Matching should not be a one-time idea that we introduce at the 11th hour, when it's suddenly time to choose a college. It should be a guiding principle and a fundamental goal of educational theory and practice from preschool forward.
As we consider this kind of matching, which is far more complicated, I'd also like to propose that we avoid the typical either/or approach that has plagued educational theorizing and policy-making. In particular, I submit that helping “a very small number” of top low-income students is not a bad thing, nor does it require us to divert all our attention and resources away from the “vast majority.”
What happens to low-income, high-achieving students who beat the odds, often with the help of highly effective interventions, is important to everyone. And matching, as I understand the concept, improves learning opportunities and outcomes for all students: It expands our capacity and our responsibility as educators not only to “personalize” education -- to know each student very well, as a whole person and as an individual -- but also to help all students know themselves.
On the academic side, matching each student's abilities and interests to the appropriate level and type of challenge is not a new idea. Good teachers have always done it.
When I was in first grade, already reading at an advanced level and bored by addition and subtraction, I missed 40-plus school days because I cried so often, complained of stomach aches, and threw up on the bus. In second grade, my attendance improved dramatically when my teacher, who understood my problem, let me finish my worksheets and read. My mother dropped out of high school and my father started full-time work at 17, but from middle school on, I was “tracked,” matched to curriculum, activities, peers, and expectations all designed to help me choose the most rigorous college that would have me.
My personal experience is supported by a solid body of research, work educators, families, and policy makers may not know today. Decades ago, University of Washington psychologists Halbert and Nancy Robinson developed the notion of “optimal match.” Julian Stanley founded the Johns Hopkins Center for Talented Youth on this idea that capacity and passion for learning flourish when students pursue education at the pace of their intellectual abilities instead of their chronological age. In the 1990’s, the authors of Talented Teenagers: The Roots of Success and Failure collected evidence showing how and why “the close, well-paced match between task complexities and individual skills” helps students identified as talented in ninth grade sustain their abilities in later years.
Despite the evidence and experience supporting matching as an educational principle, we have recently forgotten what is good about this idea in the name of inclusion. The rise of inclusion was fueled in part by reasonable concerns about the social inequities of tracking and labeling students as “gifted” or not. We should not set these worries aside. Some definitions of gifted and talented children imply a fixed notion of intelligence, and we know that this mindset stifles achievement, just as we know that different children and different abilities may develop at varying rates. And challenge for its own sake is unproductive, as we see in the recent results of pushing underprepared students into Advanced Placement classes and pretending that we are giving them greater opportunities. Instead, we have given some of the poorest kids yet another opportunity to fail and give up on themselves.
Despite the legitimate concerns about tracking and labeling and the rhetorically persuasive benefits of inclusion, the evidence is clear that we've too often defined and pursued inclusion in ways that ignore advanced learners and fail to identify and develop potential talents among rich and poor alike. No evidence can be found to show inclusion has been good for high-potential students, especially the poor ones. The gifted and talented programs that still exist in many states are too often underfunded, controversial, and poorly designed. Academically advanced learners are routinely taught by teachers with no special training in a field that is not even studied in the top schools of education.
Parents who recognize their children have unmet needs for appropriate challenge are among the most desperate people I talk to today. Some find their way to supplemental programs as a lifeline. Those with resources may choose specialized private schools for talented children, and some may choose home schooling. These options are rarely viable for poor families.
There is another dimension to the matching problem, one that goes beyond what schools and educators can address. The more we know about the role non-cognitive abilities (like interest and motivation and self-esteem and resilience) play in realizing potential, the more we must consider what's going on outside the classroom. As a first-generation African-American college student on full scholarship once said to me during a conversation about how we could improve our campus culture to promote inclusion, “The administration and faculty can only do so much. This is home stuff.”
At the recent White House Summit on education -- where undermatching was a major topic of discussion yet appeared in few written plans for increasing opportunity submitted by colleges and other institutions attending -- President Obama indirectly alluded to home stuff by noting that his daughters and their Sidwell Friends classmates received college advice starting in seventh grade. I suspect that few of these students need much advice about college match by middle school. Most have grown up in a world where it’s natural to assume a good education is a birthright, that it’s their responsibility to strive to attend a highly selective college, and that their parents will help them get into the best college they can.
As I have already argued, it's not good enough to wait until the end of high school to tell poor students to start thinking about matching ability and challenge, when many of their more well-resourced peers have been implicitly and explicitly taught, at school and at home, that this is the secret to success. We can't expect that earlier and better matching, in and of itself, will solve all the problems of social and economic inequality. But if we want to improve the likelihood that all students benefit from practices aimed at this goal, what we must do is simple and clear.
At the next White House Summit, and in future studies of college-matching patterns, we should bring college leaders and others focused on improving college access to the table with teachers, parents, administrators, and educators who know and care about pre-K-12 education and talent development.
Our policy and research agenda should include proposing, discussing, carrying out and evaluating plans to ensure school and home recognize as early as possible the need for a close, appropriate, productive match between individual skills and the level of difficulty, challenge, and risk each child is encouraged and enabled to pursue.
These plans must include putting resources into asking and answering many tough questions, like how do we identify potential academic talent in the early years of a student’s life? Where, when, and how do we give all students a chance to aspire beyond their comfort zone, while at the same time assuring them it is safe to take risks and learn from mistakes?
These and other questions are not going to have easy or simple answers. But who knows what would happen if we started treating the space between preK-12 and higher education as a critical intersection rather than a no-man's land? Maybe we would reinvest in a school counseling system that has enough resources to see, nurture, and direct potential in every child, even the bright ones. Perhaps we would improve our capacity to recognize students with advanced talent and interest in specific domains and support them in learning at a pace based not on age but on ability. We might even develop and fund an integrated research and teacher education agenda focused on how exceptional minds develop that would in turn further our understanding of how all students learn.
Forty days of first grade are too many to miss. And 13 years of formal education is too long to wait to match up with appropriate and fulfilling academic challenges that can help set one’s life course.
Elaine Tuttle Hansen is executive director of the Johns Hopkins Center for Talented Youth, and the former president of Bates College.