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Berklee College of Music launches first accredited bachelor's degree programs in music

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The Berklee College of Music will next year launch its first two bachelor's degrees online, where 120 credits cost less than one year on campus.

NCAA should address cultural problem and lack of research in concussions, report says

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National Academy of Sciences report urges NCAA to help take the lead in conducting research and addressing the "cultural problem" that makes concussions prevalent.

Health care dominates discussion at HR meeting

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At CUPA-HR meeting, one topic dominates discussions -- in sessions and the hallways.

A campus official assesses how zombie students are faring (essay)

TO: Senior Administrative Staff

FROM: Institutional Research

RE: Student Engagement among Zombie Students

In an effort to better-understand differences among student subgroups, the institutional leadership requested an analysis of engagement levels among Zombie students.

Analysis of institutional data indicates that students who self-report as Zombies also report statistically significant lower levels of engagement across a wide range of important student experiences. Many of these lower levels of engagement on specific student experience items are also negative predictors of Zombie student satisfaction.

Zombie students report lower levels of participation in class discussion despite higher satisfaction with faculty feedback. Further investigation found that these students often find it difficult to raise their hand above their heads in response to the instructor’s questions.

Zombie students also report that their co-curricular experiences had less impact on their understanding of how they relate to others. Additional analysis of focus group transcripts suggests a broad lack of self-awareness.

Zombie students indicate that they have fewer serious conversations with students who differ by race, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, or social values. Instead, Zombie students seem to congregate and rarely extend themselves out of their comfort zone.

Interestingly, our first- to second-year retention rate of Zombie students is 100 percent, despite high reports of tardiness and absences. Yet our six year graduation rate is 0 percent. While some have expressed concern over these conflicting data points, the Commencement Committee has suggested that the graduation ceremony is long enough already without having Zombie students shuffling aimlessly across the stage.

Finally, Zombie students report an increased level of one-on-one student/faculty interaction outside of class. However, we found no correlation between the substantial drop in the number of evening faculty from last year (108) to this year (52) and the number of Zombie students enrolled in night courses. Strangely, the Zombie students in these courses did indicate an unusually high level of satisfaction with the institution’s meal plan.

Mark Salisbury is director of institutional research and assessment at Augustana College, in Illinois. He blogs at Delicious Ambiguity, where a version of this essay first appeared.

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Economists, faculty warn of risk in Colorado State's stadium plan

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As Colorado State continues to explore plans to finance a football stadium it hopes would make up for declining state funding, faculty and economists warn it's a risky proposition.

The dangers of shooting off your mouth on controversial topics (essay)

The renowned columnist P.J. O’Rourke wrote, “There is only one basic human right, the right to do as you damn well please. And with it comes the only basic human duty, the duty to take the consequences.”

David Guth should suffer some.

To date his suffering has included six weeks with pay and being allowed to keep a previously approved semesterlong sabbatical, which will begin in January. 

Guth is the University of Kansas associate professor of journalism who tweeted on Sept. 16, “Blood is on the hands of the #NRA. Next time, let it be YOUR sons and daughters. Shame on you. May God damn you,” in response to the Navy Yard shooting in Washington, D.C.

The journalism ethics educator later compounded his sin by defending the remark -- rather than claiming an off-the-cuff moment of anger, which might have been quickly forgiven and forgotten by most outside of NRA leadership. 

By early October more than 100 Kansas faculty and staff members had come out in support of Guth’s First Amendment right to call for the murder of innocent children. Guth was on paid leave from the university while the administration evaluated the situation. While he collected on his $83,000 salary, someone else had to come in and carry his workload.

It took Guth a month and eight days to issue any kind of apology.  I suspect the university panel that voted for his return to work may have forced his hand.  Regardless, the cruel irony is that Guth’s public regrets were delivered as the families of the latest victims of a school shooting — this time at a Sparks, Nev., middle school — were still making funeral arrangements and praying at their children’s hospital bedsides.

I’ve read all the commentary on how the university should not be involved, that his place of employment is irrelevant, that this is a First Amendment issue.

I disagree on both counts.

Professor Guth’s professional position is of paramount importance here. Words matter, and he knows that well. He's built a career on it.   

As a teacher entrusted to educating and training the next generation of journalists, he exercised the poorest of judgment at an already emotionally charged time.  

Is Guth's reaction typical?  Absolutely.  And it's clear how effective that's been on the gun debate.  We must demand more of those nurturing members of the Fourth Estate. 

If a master of strategic communication can elevate the conversation no further than an I-told-you-so tweet, what exactly are KU communication students learning in their classrooms?  I'd question the band for the $125,000 they're paying for four years' tuition.

It sounds great to defend the First Amendment.  It isn’t hard to do when you truly agree — at least in theory — with the vitriol.  After all, you can remain unsoiled, protecting constitutional virtue while defending these reprehensible murderous visions.

Sure.  

And how many of you jumped to the defense of the Chick-fil-A founder Truett Cathy when his free speech trampled on the gay rights agenda? Or did you side with Roseanne wishing cancer on all Chick-fil-A customers? I don’t remember a single commentator defending the virtue of both parties speaking their piece.

Those who preach tolerance the loudest really only practice tolerance when it fits their own agendas.  

As a Connecticut resident, the shooting at Sandy Hook opened my eyes to both sides of the gun control debate in a way nothing had ever done.  Writing this, I still think about the uncertainty of those first few hours. My own children were in an elementary school just 20 miles away ... were they safe?  I felt paralyzed with fear.

It doesn’t surprise me that Connecticut officials quickly moved to pass some of the most restrictive gun legislation in history.  It also doesn’t surprise me that gun sales in Newtown and the rest of Connecticut rose astronomically immediately after the shooting.  Similar spikes were seen after high-profile shootings in Aurora, Colorado and Tucson, Arizona.

Wishing for peace while at the same time arming yourself for possible danger seems a natural human reaction.

What Guth fails to acknowledge is that it’s easy to be a zealot when dealing with ideas in the abstract.  But Americans no longer have that luxury.  Innocents are dying by gunfire every minute — across this country, among every age group and demographic. 

If anything, Sandy Hook made me, a strict gun control advocate, question my anti-gun stance for the first time in a serious way. 

Two days after the Sandy Hook shooting, an off-duty deputy sheriff took down a gunman at a San Antonio, Texas movie theater.  The shooter wounded two before being shot. The national news media, still offering wall-to-wall coverage of Sandy Hook, largely ignored the story.  Would San Antonio — or the country — be better off, had the off-duty officer not had the gun? 

I don’t know the answer, but I do know we need to have a serious, rational conversation about the matter rather than listening to hateful sound bites in the national news or posting angry retorts on social media every time we read or hear something with which we disagree.

Guth knows that shooting down any opposition with hate speech isn’t the role of a journalist. And it's definitely not the role of a journalism educator.

Elizabeth Barfoot Christian is an assistant professor of communication at the University of New Haven and editor of Rock Brands: Selling Sound in a Media Saturated Culture (Lexington, 2011).

Using the World Series to teach students to "show, don't tell" (essay)

Fenway Park, Boston, 7:35 p.m. last Thursday, at the Gate B press credentials window, a full 30 minutes before the scheduled first pitch of Game Two of the 2013 World Series, the Boston Red Sox vs. the St. Louis Cardinals.  I presented my Inside Higher Ed business card and my (valid, by the way) Commonwealth of Massachusetts driver’s license. “I've been assigned to cover the game tonight. May I get a press pass?” I told the man behind the bullet-proof-looking window.  

Heck, the Boston Globe had reported that morning that the Red Sox had credentialed 1,800 journalists for Wednesday’s game, the night before (8-1 Red Sox).  In this newspaper-closing, hard-news starved world, 1,800 journalists in total, on the whole planet?  Then I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn I’ll sell you.

Anyway, I was on a professional development mission. Not for me, for my students, all 13,000 (my last count) of them at Bunker Hill Community College. “Show, don’t tell.”  “Details.  Details.”  “Show, don’t tell.”  “Details.  Details.” 

That’s my daily plea to them these days, as we work through the first drafts of essays to transfer to four-year colleges. I’d read in articles and heard wise educators say that teachers should try their assigned assignments for themselves. So last Thursday, after my early evening transfer-essay session last night, I headed to Fenway, to see what I could show not tell, what details I could find, to write about a some old news everyone already knows -- Cardinals won, 4-2.

Let’s see what I can do for details. Only Bruins fans on the Orange Line, my first train from Community College to North Station. Red Sox hats and red jackets and red sweat shirts and red parkas when I switched over to the Green Line, to Kenmore, Fenway Park. Not a mob. Odd. On regular baseball-season nights, riders just going home must often let a Green Line or two go by before the cars have room for new passengers. 

"Professor Sloane,” a young woman said at the Haymarket stop. A Bunker Hill Community College student from Senegal. “I missed you last week, when I brought my essay back,” she said.  “Well, can I help you now?” I asked.  She pulled the essay out of her bag. “Africa is suffering and crying for a cure,” the draft began. She needs little help from me. (She gave me permission to quote the essay here.)  “What did you learn revising?”  Big, big smile. “This is about me. Only I could have written this.” 

The smile is the test.  When the students smile, we’re on our way to turn the lead (“I want to go to a four-year college to….") into the thick-envelope-with-financial-aid gold for these Pell Grant students (“Africa is suffering and crying for a cure”). 

This woman wants a Ph.D. in microbiology.  She will build medical labs at home in Senegal.  A ten-year-old cousin had died because Senegal has too few labs for simple blood tests. We talked until I switched trains at Copley for a Kenmore train. 

Still no mob on the next train. (Research questions with credible sources.) “Where is everyone?” I asked a Boston Transit Police officer at Kenmore/Fenway Park stop, when I arrived at 7:05 p.m., an hour before the first pitch.  For regular games I’ve been to, the mob just carries you out of Kenmore. “I’ve been here since about 5:00.  It’s been about like this,” the officer told me. “Steady but not the usual mob. I think more people are taking their cars, not the T, to the game.  Remember, at $1,000 a ticket for the World Series, these are not the regular fans here tonight.” (Detail: What did tickets cost?  Find multiple sources.)

“How much?” I asked the first scalper I met on Commonwealth Avenue, at the top of the station stairs. “I’ve got box seats in right field for $500 each,” he said. “What’s the least I could get in for?” I asked the man down the street holding the poster directing us to ticket-broker Ace tickets. “I’d say probably $400,” he said. Where? “The bleachers.” 

Detail for comparison: That’s vs. $47 for a box seat, a dozen rows in from the field between first base and the foul pole, the Pesky Pole at Fenway. (Detail: Named for the late Red Sox shortstop Johnny Pesky. He hesitated on a throw to home. Enos Slaughter scored, and the Red Sox lost the seventh game of the 1946 World Series against … the St. Louis Cardinals.) That same seat was $100 for the American League Division Series against Tampa Bay. 

Other Validation of Transit Police Officer hypothesis: Later, at Gate B, I saw an elderly couple, Brahmin (takes one to know one), come forth from a shiny black chauffered Town Car. The woman had a cane, and the man had over his arm a plaid lap blanket that I’d expect to see instead across the Charles River at a Harvard/Yale football game.

Turning to “Show, don’t tell.” Tell could be: Red Sox fans like to eat. 

Show: Kettle Korn. BBQ sandwich. Reliable Souvenir Soda. Cheeseburger with fries. Pretzel rods. Peanuts. Italian sausage. Cotton candy. Pizza slice. Gluten-free pizza. Chicken tenders with fries. Cracker Jack. Double cheeseburger. Fenway franks. Monster dogs. Deli sandwich. Soft serve. Fried dough. Lemonade. Bottled water. Gluten-free beer.

Tell: Many different programs were for sale. Show:  “Get your official Red Sox here, with a free Red Sox pennant.” “Official World Series Program here, with Topps World Series Baseball Cards.” “American League Playoff program right here.” 

Show, use time. I’d gone to walk around, outside the park, Wednesday night, too, before I hit on the press pass idea.  Wandering the scene may be as close as I get to a World Series game. My closest call before had been another Thursday --  Thursday, October 12, 1967, the seventh game of the 1967 World Series, the Red Sox against … the Cardinals.  Bob Gibson pitching for the Cardinals against Jim Lonborg for the Red Sox.  (Details? Students, click here.)  My father had ended up with two tickets; he took my brother.  I still think my father should have torn the ticket and given us each half.

Show: Wednesday night, in Santander Bank, corner of Comm Ave. and the bridge across the Mass Pike to Fenway.  Revise, details: corner of Comm Ave and Brookline Avenue, which crosses over the Mass Pike to Fenway Park. Trio out of tune, no tempo. Thursday night in the Santander alcove, a solo trombonist, playing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” I put a dollar into his hat. 

Walking over the bridge, slowly, a crowd at last, I accepted all free placards. From the Globe: “There can B only one,” flipside: “Let’s Go Red Sox!” From WEEI 93.7 FM:  “K,” flipside “Fear the Beards.”  (Click here for chart of Red Sox beards by player.) From the Seventh Day Adventists, a card to mail in for a FREE Passion story, The Road to Redemption.  Your name and address on one side, with flipside a photo of a baseball on fire, the mailing address for Seventh Day Adventists and a box “Place Your Stamp Here.” 

Sausages?  On Lansdowne Street – the Green Monster backs onto Lansdowne -- I declare a tie between Mike’s, in front of Gate C, and the Sausage Connection, a few yards from Gate E.  Both use perfect 8-inch sub rolls from Piantedosi Bakery in Malden, Mass. I didn’t try, I admit, the Sausage King, the Original Che-Chi’s, the Sausage Guy, or Boston’s Best and Original Sausage.

A tap on my shoulder, on the Green Line Wednesday.  The balding, middle-aged man beside me asked, “You going to the game?”  Just to walk around, I’d said. To buy a Fenway sausage sandwich for my wife to eat watching the game at home.

“You getting sausage? You have to go to our stand. Sausage Connection. We’re the second one on Lansdowne Street. Don’t go to the first one. We’re a dollar cheaper, Best of Boston every year. Peppers and everything. We’ll wrap them up good so you can take it home.  What do you like to drink?  Coke?  No?  We got Sprite then.  I’ll take care of you,” he promised.

The man, I didn’t get his name, had been shouting into his cell phone from the the Green Line seat.  “I killed four guys, but they could only get me on extortion. Yeah, I’m a Made Man, but I stopped all that. They never gave me my money.  My wife is on the other line. I gotta take it. What’s your name again?” The next conversation was about heroin, methadone, and cappuccino. That’s when he tapped me on the shoulder. 

“I got two tickets, but I’m going to sell them,” he told me.  “You never been to the Series?  I missed the series in ’04 and ’07. I was in the federal penitentiary in Illinois,” he said. We were off the T and walking down Comm Ave. “I know the Sox are going to win. I’ve got $1,000 on it.”  His cell phone rang.  He showed me.  “You know who that is, don’t you?”  I couldn’t see the screen.  “It’s A-Rod’s…” A siren screamed. “A-Rod’s agent,” I think he said.  “Yeah, I’ll be there in two minutes,” he said into the phone. He turned to me, “You got it?  Sausage Connection. Second one on Lansdowne, not the first one. I’ll take care of you.” He was gone. 

In front of the Cask ‘n Flagon on the corner of Brookline and Lansdowne, a young couple – Red Sox jackets and hats – were trying to photograph themselves with a cell phone. I volunteered and took a few shots. Effusive (and sober) thanks. “Would you sell me one of your tickets for $20?” I asked.  No. 

I passed the first sausage cart on Lansdowne. At the second, my new friend was waving his arms declaring something I couldn’t hear to his friends at the stand. I was hungry. But my new friend gave me the two sandwiches and the sodas, for free? Did I want to owe a favor to a guy who’d just told me he had killed four guys? The stories were bluster. I think. Why take the risk?

I stuck to my plan to walk around the Park. Around the corner from Lansdowne, on Ipswich Street, the new Carl Yastrzemski statue, the Ted Williams statue, and the Teammates: Ted Williams, again, Bobby Doerr, Johnny Pesky, and Dom DiMaggio all had red beards attached. (Detail: True to life, the sculptor had given Dom (the Little Professor) wire-rimmed eyeglasses. Above my head as I kept walking were the retired numbers, 9, 4, 1, 8, 27, 6, 14, and, in blue, 42. (Students: Leave some mystery for the reader to wonder.)  Fenway has loading docks along Van Ness.  A fence kept us on the far side of the street.  It was dark. The flashes of cell phone cameras were popping at one big door. I looked over. A gray-haired man in a white baseball jersey. He turned.  Number “8.”  “Is that Yaz?” I blurted. “Yes,” everyone said. Carl Yastrzemski. (Detail: You have look up the spelling.)  Yaz had played in the ’67 game my brother went to. (Note: This paragraph has been updated from an earlier version to correct one of the uniform numbers that have been retired.)

Mike’s Sausage?  Well, my new friend wasn’t at the Sausage Connection Thursday night. I bought a sandwich, and saw the Piantedosi bag. Excellent sausage; perfect roll. Wednesday, avoiding owing a favor my new friend, I’d fallen into step alongside a Boston police officer. (Detail: Never stop looking for primary sources.)  “Where would you buy a sausage sandwich?” I asked.  He stopped, turned to me.  He had a circle of four of five stars on the collar of his white shirt. “I don’t eat sausage,” he said.  I guess I looked disappointed. “But you could try Mike’s, in front of Gate C.”  I thanked him.  A tall man by the stand in front of Gate C -- Mike, I learned -- locked me into his gaze. “What can I get you?” No escape; I’m glad I already wanted a sausage. Two sausage sandwiches, wrapped so I could take them home. I paid and put a tip into the jar.

“I think it might have been the Boston chief of police who just told me I had to buy my sandwich here at Mike’s,” I said. “That’s superintendent chief. He was just here. Danny Linsky, Irish by the way. We’re friends. He sent you? Oh, now he’s going to want a piece of the action,” Mike said. “Never mind. Next time we have lunch, I’ll be sure he pays.” 

Oh, at the Gate B press window. The man through the bulletproof window said to me through the microphone, “No, we can’t give you a press pass tonight.”  “Isn’t there someone you could talk to?”  “The deadline for press passes was October 2,” the man said.

As I tell the students applying for transfer: Don’t wait until the last minute.

Wick Sloane writes the Devil's Workshop column for Inside Higher Ed. Follow him on Twitter at @WickSloane.

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Tensions over gay rights at two religious colleges

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At Baylor, student government wants to ban "deviate" sex instead of "homosexual acts," and says this would make gay students more welcome. At Creighton, Catholic student group wants to end ticket give-aways for concert by singers who created "Same Love."

Essay on the need for a new, innovation-focused accreditor

In many respects, higher education in the United States – with credits awarded on time a student sits in a chair – remains trapped in the 19th century and has been slow to embrace technology.

Online education from traditionally accredited colleges has been available since at least 1999, but almost always at the same high tuition cost as the traditional “physical” courses. New ideas, such as tuition-free massive open online courses (MOOCs), are now emerging, but are generally not accredited.

For a true revolution to occur, regulation will need to change along with the technology. The key advance would be to establish a new private sector accrediting body, the “Modern States Accrediting Agency,” that would ensure the quality and reputation of the innovative courses, make the credits transferable into the traditional system and which would be recognized by the U.S. Department of Education as an approved accreditor in order to qualify students for federal student aid.

The Department of Education began its first online education pilot program in 1999. In 2006, it allowed institutions to offer all of their courses online. However, these courses were offered by institutions accredited in the traditional way, with student enrollment in the courses kept limited, and with tuition set as high (or even higher) than tuition for the physical alternative.

The paradigm began to shift in 2011 when Stanford University offered three of its courses online, free of charge, to any person anywhere who chose to take them. 

Since then other innovators have continued to introduce MOOCs, notably led by the nation’s most respected traditional universities, such as MIT and Harvard. MIT, for example, is creating MITx, which is intended to offer a great number of MIT’s courses free of charge or nearly so; taught by MIT’s renowned faculty; and with graded assignments, tests, online discussion groups, online professor “office hours” and other quality advances.

The problem with MOOCs, though, is that there is usually no mechanism for obtaining accreditation and, in U.S. higher education, accreditation is the “coin of the realm,” which gives a degree its value. As a result, most MOOCs can offer students only a letter of completion, a pat on the head and no degree. Few other institutions or graduate schools will recognize completion of a MOOC course for credit, and employers do not know how to judge the student’s level of accomplishment.

Schools like MIT should not be forced to dilute the power of their brand by being forced to give their regular degree to students who simply take some of their tuition-free online courses. However, it is equally inappropriate to give no value to the online learning that occurs in a MOOC, particularly if a student can complete a high-quality, rigorous course and then prove mastery of the material on a separate, proctored, certifying exam.

In the traditional system, a degree is accredited because the degree-granting institution is itself accredited by an agency recognized by the U.S. Secretary of Education. The accrediting agencies (such as the Middle States Commission on Higher Education or the New England Association of Schools and Colleges) are private sector, self-regulatory groups which, in most cases, were created nearly a century ago by the member institutions themselves. The best of these agencies were later recognized by the Department of Education and included on its list of approved accreditors.

Today students can only qualify for federal financial aid if their institution has been accredited by one of these recognized agencies, and these accreditors’ decisions control access to the more than $150 billion in federal aid paid out to students each year. The traditional accrediting agencies, which were founded long ago to serve the needs of the traditional institutions, are not well-suited to lead technological and social innovations that are alternatives to the traditional system. A few experiments with traditionally accredited MOOCs are under way.

However, for the most rapid and effective progress, America needs a new, innovation-focused accreditor, Modern States, which would also be recognized by the Department of Education and which could accredit providers of emerging technologies and ideas in order to drive down costs, drive up quality and to shape federal aid programs in new and effective ways.

Unlike traditional accreditors, Modern States would be able to accredit specific courses, not just the degree-granting institution as a whole. For example, it could recognize that the freshman physics MOOC from MITx is of high quality, and then develop a widely available, proctored test for students who complete that course, similar to an SAT exam or CPA exam.

Students who complete the preapproved, tuition-free MOOC and also pass the confirmatory Modern States assessment would earn accredited course hours from Modern States itself. Enough such courses in the right scope and sequence (say physics from MITx, poetry from Harvard, theology from Notre Dame and so on) could lead to a fully accredited Modern States degree. Modern States would also approve courses and develop tests in vocational areas, in career training fields and at the two-year and community-college level, in order to serve all types of students.

The creation of Modern States could then enable a whole field of academic innovations to bloom, including blends of “bricks and clicks” and new types of federal financial aid models. For example, students might take their core lectures tuition-free and online from a nationally renowned professor in a MOOC, and then attend supplementary weekly study groups with a live professor and other students in their home towns, all at a lower overall cost than a traditional course today.

Similarly, students might take their first year of introductory courses all online for free, but then transfer to a traditional college for the last three years, lowering their total educational costs by 25 percent. Students who complete their educations at a low cost or no cost to the federal government might even be paid a federal bonus upon completing their degree and successfully entering the work force. In this way, the self-motivated Abe Lincolns of tomorrow could finish their higher educations debt-free and with cash in the bank. Meanwhile, U.S. taxpayers would save money.

Modern States could also lead the way in areas unrelated to MOOCs, such as competency-based exams and on-the-job skills training. For example, if there is a national shortage of skilled welders, and if an employer trains a worker in welding who then passes the Modern States assessment, the worker could earn a course credit in welding while the employer itself might be paid some stipend as an “educational institution of one.”

The traditional accreditors were founded by their member institutions, but – with a few exceptions – traditional institutions are not likely to be the best champions for low-cost alternatives to themselves. Modern States should be chiefly formed by a voluntary association of philanthropies and nongovernmental organizations concerned with increasing access to high-quality education while lowering its cost -- groups such as the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, the Ford Foundation, the World Bank and so on. Employer and labor groups could join as well, as could providers of the innovative courses, student consumer groups and others.

Membership contributions could fund a staff that would develop a starting catalog of approved courses from the already-existing universe of MOOC and related offerings. The staff would then work with testing organizations to develop the independent assessments needed to prove student mastery of the material. The catalog would cover a range of academic and vocational fields, and grow and evolve over time.

The ultimate path to success for Modern States would be to keep its testing standards high and rigorous so that employers, traditional institutions and the world at large will see that the students are truly deserving of the degree credits. In this way, Modern States could function like a universal version of the CPA exam developers, who have become an accepted standard of testing and quality in the accounting field.

Once Modern States is formed, it would write criteria for granting accreditation that would be aligned with the Secretary of Education’s criteria for recognition of accrediting agencies. After applying these criteria, Modern States could petition the Department of Education for recognition. The petition would be reviewed by staff and by a federal advisory committee that advises the Secretary on whether to recognize accreditors. If the Department grants recognition, then students at the institutions and programs accredited by Modern States would be eligible to participate in federal student aid programs.

Transferability of credits to more traditionally accredited programs would be negotiated by Modern States through reciprocity agreements with other accreditors, as supported by the Department of Education.  Modern States would be a private-sector organization, not a government organization. However, political leaders in both parties could help achieve educational goals by expressing clear support for the Modern States approach as outlined here.

In its best form, traditional higher education is one of America’s great treasures, and no online program is ever likely to equal the experience of four years on campus at a great school. However, the high cost and limited availability of such traditional best-in-class programs have placed them increasingly out of reach to many striving students in America and around the world. By unleashing the power of technology and social innovation, Modern States could be the key regulatory mechanism to make education more accessible and affordable, and to bring higher education more fully into the 21st century. 

Author/s: 
David Bergeron and Steven Klinsky
Author's email: 
info@insidehighered.com

David Bergeron, the former acting assistant secretary for postsecondary education at the U.S. Department of Education, is vice president of postsecondary education policy at the Center for American Progress.

Steven Klinsky, a New York-based businessman and philanthropist, has been active in education reform since 1993.

In the fight against cheating, character counts (essay)

My first political philosophy teacher was the great Joseph Cropsey who, when we came to a difficult problem in Plato, would sometimes exhort us.

“Courage,” he would say, knowing that we were tempted to quit, not only  because Plato was a hard read but also because there was much in us, from vanity to laziness to fear, that resisted education.

Like Cropsey, Mark Edmundson thinks that education makes demands on a student’s character. In his 1997 Harper’s essay, “On The Uses of A Liberal Education: As Lite Entertainment for Bored College Students,” he retells the story of a professor who supposedly issued “a harsh two-part question. One: What book did you most dislike in the course? Two: What intellectual or characterological flaws in you does that dislike point to?” Edmundson admits that the question is heavy-handed but approves of the idea that teachers summon students to an encounter they may want to dodge. Students so challenged may skip the reading, or close themselves to what they read, or engage in other kinds of cheating.

I use “cheating” in the extended sense we use when we say our students are “cheating themselves.” James Lang, for the most part, means it more narrowly in in Cheating Lessons: Learning from Academic Dishonesty. But I thought of Cropsey and Edmundson as I read Cheating Lessons because Lang shies away from the question of character. Instead, his book is about helping “faculty members to respond more effectively to academic dishonesty by modifying the learning environments they [have] constructed.”

Lang, an associate professor of English at Assumption College, advances a “theory about how specific features of a learning environment can play an important role in determining whether or not students cheat.”  Students who think learning is a means to an end take shortcuts. So a learning environment discourages cheating when it fosters “intrinsic motivation in our students,” rather than “relying on extrinsic motivators such as grades.”

Students encouraged to outperform each other on high-stakes assessments feel pressure to cheat. So a learning environment discourages cheating  when it invites students to attain  “learning objectives” and permits them to show that attainment in a variety of ways, with low-stakes assessments preparing the way for high-stakes assessments. Students who think assignments are impossible will find it easy to justify cheating. So a learning environment discourages cheating when it instills a “strong but realistic sense of self-efficacy.”

But Lang does not want teachers to think of themselves as academic honesty cops. The most “exciting discovery [he] made while writing” Cheating Lessons is this: “environments which reduce the incentive and opportunity to cheat are the very ones that, according to the most current information we have about how human beings learn, will lead to greater and deeper learning.” 

Lang made this discovery, he writes, by looking at the “problem of cheating through the lens of cognitive theory.” For example, a teacher may think that giving frequent low-stakes assessments is a distraction from learning. Lang himself thought so until he found out “how little [he] knew about the basic workings of the brain.” The well-documented “testing effect” suggests that such assessments are not merely measures of learning but an effective means of helping students retain what they have learned.

Yet I balk at the very term “learning environment,” with its faint odor of antiseptic. Educators may use the term out of humility, placing themselves in the background and seeking not so much to teach as to place students in a situation in which they can learn. But the idea of a teacher as a constructor and modifier of learning environments merely shifts the teacher’s role from the front of the room to inside the control room, flipping switches and twisting dials, modifying conditions in the same way one might modify “the conditions of a laboratory,” in accordance with the latest learning theory. It is not obvious that this approach is humbler than that of Cropsey, who, while he stood in front of the room, nonetheless was visibly engaged in the same set of difficult and fascinating problems in which he sought to engage us. If we think of our students as subjects in our laboratory, to be manipulated and nudged toward desirable behaviors, how can we develop in them the qualities of character they will need to govern themselves in environments we do not control?

To be fair, Lang, who offers several exemplars of great teaching, is well aware that teachers are models, or even coaches, not just environmental technicians. But even when he profiles a teacher, Jim Hoyle, who plainly exemplifies for students both the joys and demands of work in his field, Lang is interested in how “the ways in which we communicate with students can also help them develop an appropriately gauged sense of self-efficacy.”

Hoyle, who has written his own book on teaching, indicates that there is something more going on when he describes his own role model, Vince Lombardi. Lombardi exemplified not only a way of communicating with athletes but a message, about “courage,” “determination,” “dedication,” and “sacrifice,” that Hoyle thinks “excellent ... for both teachers and students.”

Lang’s target readers “might feel uncertain about their ability to cultivate virtues in their students.” Lang himself reminds the reader that “you are not an ethics professor” and warns against haranguing. I assume Hoyle, like most sensible people, takes for granted neither his own virtues nor his capacity to foster them in others, and he does not, on Lang’s account, do much haranguing.

But Hoyle also seems to think that he need not be an American Philosophical Association certified moral expert to try to impart to students, as well as the readers of his book on teaching, the virtues that attend the best learning and teaching. The cultivation of such virtues may be a more effective spur to learning and antidote to cheating in its narrow and broad senses than the strategies, all of them useful, on which Lang focuses. As Peter Lawler has recently argued, teachers may do well to recall the “Aristotelian point” that “intellectual virtue depends on moral virtue.”

Admittedly, I cannot appeal to the social science literature on cheating that Lang has acquainted himself with to support that last set of claims. And I agree with him that teachers and administrators must not ignore what experiments can tell us about learning. It would be foolish to spend a dime on an academic integrity orientation before you have processed Dan Ariely’s finding that Princeton’s academic integrity orientation showed absolutely no effect on the likelihood that Princeton students would cheat on a math test two weeks after it ended. It would be foolish to ignore the results of the MIT experiment with a “studio model” for teaching physics, which dramatically reduced both cheating and the rate of failure in the course.

But Lang oversells what social science can tell us at present. For example, to support his argument that “performance oriented classrooms,” which emphasize “grades and competition among students,” encourage cheating, Lang cites a paper by Eric Anderman and Tamara Murdock. But Anderman and Murdock are more cautious than Lang because while “students report cheating more if they perceive the presence of a performance goal structure,” two studies find that “goal structure appears to be unrelated to cheating when a more objective method of assessing context is utilized.” The “extent to which teachers can reduce cheating by implementing” practices of the sort Lang recommends “is still unclear.”

Consider also Lang’s doubt that “hard punishments deter potential cheaters.” While Lang supports this claim in part by citing the work of Donald McCabe, Kenneth Butterfield, and Linda Trevino, they themselves have concluded, drawing on their own and others’ research, that  “academic dishonesty is negatively associated with  the perceived certainty of being reported and the perceived severity of penalties.” Similarly, Anderman and Murdock, in the same paper we have been considering, assume that “[f]ears of being caught and the perceived severity of the consequences for being caught are two of the most important deterrents to potential cheaters.”

Lang is still right to emphasize that “we have no incontrovertible evidence that harsh penalties deter cheating.” Moreover, I agree with him that an anti-cheating regime that focuses primarily on threats is unlikely to succeed. On the other hand, there is hardly a groundswell of support for harsh punishments. McCabe and his co-authors argue that the opposite is true: many faculty members have concluded that confronting cheating isn’t worth the trouble. How, they ask, “can we expect students to believe that cheating is a serious problem when faculty and others are reluctant to deal with cheaters ... when cheating receives minor consequences and, worst of all, when faculty look the other way?”

However that may be, Lang, as his discussion of the performance classroom shows, does not typically insist that evidence be incontrovertible before one acts on it. It is fine to set a high bar for accepting and acting on the results of social science research. But you can’t set a higher bar for approaches you are already inclined to disagree with than you set for approaches you are otherwise inclined to favor.

That’s cheating.

Jonathan Marks, author of Perfection and Disharmony in the Thought of Jean-Jacques Rousseau (Cambridge University Press, 2005), is associate professor of politics at Ursinus College. He tweets at twitter.com/marksjo1.

 

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