Coursera’s recent pivot, following the departure of its founders, from saving the world to providing corporate training might tempt us to indulge in MOOC schadenfreude. That would be unfortunate. After all, MOOCs weren’t invented by Silicon Valley start-ups. They were invented by teaching faculty and co-opted by vendors.
Most of the time, ed-tech tools and services are rooted in innovations in teaching practices that were conceived, tested and refined by educators. But in the process of promoting technology, the pedagogy often gets lost. What we are left with is some product for sale attached to some (usually inflated) claim of benefit without the connective tissue of the teaching idea that makes it all work.
Companies like Coursera and Udacity co-opted MOOCs without crediting the original pedagogical innovations and aspirations behind the concept. Silicon Valley turned the concept it into a buzzword and then, having wrung all the meaning out of it, abandoned the field. You can blame the companies for glorifying products over practice. Or the media for indulging in the fantasy (yet again) that somehow software will fix everything. Or politicians and administrators who wanted to believe in silver bullets.
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter who is to blame. An idea with the potential to improve and transform teaching practice was obscured and devalued through a process that might have explained it, promoted it and made it easier to adopt.
As someone who has spent much of my career in education technology, I’m generally an optimist. Technology, when used well, can empower educators to create effective learning experiences and scale powerful teaching. But faculty must play a role in ed-tech development and implementation if we’re see to those effective innovations come to light.
This is the lesson from Coursera’s story that we should care about. As MOOCs move through the Gartner hype cycle from the “trough of disillusionment” up the “slope of enlightenment,” educators and institutions that do not abandon the form may very well retain, rediscover and recontextualize the original educational ideas that underpinned the potential of the massive open online course. Perhaps this period would be better named the “slope of rediscovery,” which all too often follows a massive waste of time and resources.
Those of us who care about quality education can do better. We can insist that tool makers and promoters maintain their focus on the core teaching insights that enable their offerings to provide value. And in doing so, we might mitigate the loss of purpose that seems to happen with every ed-tech hype cycle. How can we reclaim buzzwords and imbue them with meaning?
Consider the case of the buzz phrase du jour, “personalized learning.” Anyone who has taught knows that some students are easier to reach than others. Anyone who has taught regularly knows that there are structural reasons -- institutional, personal or other -- that can make reaching some students harder than it otherwise would be. Instead of allowing another meaningless buzz phrase to come and go, leaving chaos in its wake, why don’t we insist that conversations about personalized learning be about approaches and tools for reaching those students?
At e-Literate, we are creating a series of short explainer videos that we hope will change the conversation around the term and make it useful to anyone who cares about teaching quality. They are meant to feel like commercials -- in a good way -- and act like public service announcements.
The first video associates the term with a concrete teaching need.
Notice that we focus on goals and techniques, rather than features and products. We describe personalized learning as a collection of technology-supported teaching techniques for reaching hard-to-reach students.
The second video frames three buzz phrases -- flipped classroom, learning analytics and adaptive learning -- as ways to support three possible methods for achieving that goal.
To be clear, our purpose for producing these videos is not to persuade you to adopt any of these approaches. Rather, we want to reframe conversations between you and your vendors to make the outcomes more useful to you and your students. Could you improve your teaching if you had the right learning analytics at your disposal? Maybe. You are the person who is in the best position to answer that question.
When a vendor or provost or department head comes to you with a learning analytics product for your consideration, at least part of the discussion should be about whether and how the product’s capabilities might help you to reach your hard-to-reach students. The best way to ensure these conversations produce value is to come prepared with your own ideas and questions about how such tools could be useful to you in your context. The people presenting these products should come prepared to address your ideas and questions -- and maybe suggest some approaches you hadn’t thought of but that colleagues elsewhere have tried with some success.
Many vendors want to have this conversation and would benefit from it. The best way to sell a product is to convince the buyer that it will satisfy a specific need. The clearer you are in your own mind about your teaching goals and the kinds of tools that would help you reach them, the more specific the vendors can be in designing and promoting products that meet your needs. I believe that many people who work for these vendors genuinely want to help. Both Coursera and Udacity were started by educators who were inspired by their own experiences teaching MOOCs.
But it is easy for even well-intentioned companies to lose their way. They need educators to be clear and insistent regarding the kinds of help that would best serve them and their students. Faculty have an opportunity to influence ed-tech development and implementation. Reclaim the buzzwords and participate in the process. Your students will thank you.
Many people -- including not a few members of his own party -- are dreaming of the day when they can point at the Republican presidential candidate and say, in their best imitation of his voice, “You’re fired!” But be careful: Donald Trump has attempted to trademark his catchphrase and the thumb-and-forefinger movement that accompanied it across 14 seasons of The Apprentice.
The U.S. Patent and Trademark Office rejected his application, but the man is almost compulsively litigious, and you might get a cease-and-desist order anyway. Trump’s claim on the expression and gesture as part of his brand was among the first revelations from my recent immersion in the scholarly literature concerning The Apprentice.
Yes, “the scholarly literature concerning The Apprentice” does sound like the premise for a bit of political satire, no denying it. But this report is nothing of the kind. No parody is intended, or necessary. My inquiry began on the assumption that I would probably find a couple of academic papers on Trump’s reality-television incarnation. Any hope of dashing off a quick-and-easy squib for this column disappeared as my reading queue filled up with a dozen articles from scholarly journals, not counting such tangential but pertinent material as Laurie Ouellette’s “Branding the Right: The Affective Economy of Sarah Palin.”
The literature varies considerably in emphasis and quality, and there is now, arguably, quite enough of it. Here are a few points gleaned from my reading.
The Apprentice debuted on NBC in January 2004; the first academic paper on it, Katherine N. Kinnick and Sabrena R. Parton's “Workplace Communication: What The Apprentice Teaches About Communication Skills,” appeared in the December 2005 issue of Business Communication Quarterly. The show’s basic template seems to have been preserved from season to season, as well as in the franchised productions in other countries:
Sixteen young professionals with impressive credentials and uncommon good looks compete in team challenges for a chance to earn a US $250,000 salary and the title of president of one of business mogul Donald Trump’s enterprises. At the conclusion of each episode, the losing team is called to Trump’s boardroom, where one player is eliminated with Trump’s now trademarked phrase, “You’re fired!”
The program rapidly established itself as the “highest-rated new show among the advertiser-coveted 18- to 49-year-old age group” in the United States, with the season finale drawing more than 40 million viewers. Subsequent papers on the British and Irish versions of The Apprentice demonstrate that the appeal was not strictly American. But the export failed in other markets. “Work, Power and Performance: Analyzing the 'Reality' Game of The Apprentice,” by Jo Littler and Nick Couldry (published in the journal Cultural Sociology in 2011), points out that the German and Finnish programs each lasted just one season.
At least some of the success of the British and American versions could derive from how the show translates the normally precarious conditions of employment under neoliberalism into the entertainment of a high-stakes game: “The fact that there are no safety nets for contestants on the program is constantly emphasized,” Littler and Couldry write. “Indeed, the risk of being cast aside is turned into a source of dramatic excitement and tension (‘You’re fired!’).” Viewers accustomed to social-democratic norms of employment might be less inclined to feeling vicariously involved in the contestants’ hopes and fears. The authors note that on the short-lived Finnish show, “You’re fired!” was replaced with “You are free to leave” -- a less humiliating pronouncement, if somewhat anticlimactic by contrast.
In their pioneering discussion of “what The Apprentice teaches about communication skills” from 2005, Kinnick and Parton cited a letter to The Wall Street Journal in which “Trump claimed that many business schools have made The Apprentice mandatory viewing and that he has received many letters asking that the episodes be packaged for the educational market.”
Of late, the words “Trump claimed” inspire far more caution than they once did. Still, much of the scholarship on The Apprentice takes its pedagogical significance as a given. Whether or not Trump’s name appears on the syllabus, his reality-television program is, after all these years, an element of how students entering the classroom understand or imagine the white-collar workplace.
In their content analysis of the first season, Kinnick and Parton identified a number of what they called “Trumpisms”: statements made on camera by the tycoon offering advice on communication and persuasion in the business world. (One example may suffice: “Negotiation is a very delicate art. Sometimes you have to be tough; sometimes you have to be sweet as pie -- it depends upon who you are dealing with.”) Kinnick and Parton wrote very little about Trump’s apothegms, and later scholars have found even less to say. The show’s more important lessons are taught, rather, by example.
Because the main objective of the meeting is for Trump to find out which member in the losing team is the weakest and should be fired, stereotypically masculine, aggressive behaviors such as insulting, criticizing, attacking others to put them down are not only common, but also considered normative at times. Indeed, the classification of the boardroom interaction as taking place in a “masculine” domain can be justified by, for instance, Trump’s usual style of speaking during the boardroom meetings over the 15 episodes: the frequent use of interruptions, the issuing of direct and unattenuated directives, the giving of cruel criticisms and negative evaluations without mitigation, and his dominance of the speaking floor.
The zero-sum approach leaves precious little room for communication styles that “place emphasis on the relational aspects of the interaction” while fostering “avoidance of confrontations,” “the use of politeness strategies and hedging devices, as well as minimal responses and supportive feedback.” Such interaction is typically identified as feminine. The association between gender and interaction style here is open to question, of course, but in the world of The Apprentice, it usually operates to women’s disadvantage in fairly direct ways: “While being tough may run the risk of being negatively perceived as ‘unwomanly,’” writes Sung, “acting in a feminine way may be seen as a sign of incompetence and viewed more negatively than being ‘rude.’”
On its surface, The Apprentice suggests that the key to success in the contingent new economy has not fundamentally changed, and that a “by your bootstrap” mentality is every bit the foundation for the reality television contestants of 21st-century late capitalism as it was for the characters of Horatio Alger’s early capitalism novels of the 19th century. Beneath that surface, however, savvy viewers uncover a strategy suggesting hard work, talent and perseverance are not enough, and that to really succeed one must adopt the cynical, detached attitudes governing the “game” of aestheticized work.
In “the ‘game’ of aestheticized work,” every decision and gesture is driven by the need to promote the self as brand. That, at least, is one business Trump has run without bankruptcy -- of the financial variety, anyway. And it’s one he can always go back to, whatever the electorate may decide.