Instructional technology / distance education

The Pulse: Lou Pugliese of Moodlerooms

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The new edition of The Pulse features a conversation with Lou Pugliese, chairman and CEO of Moodlerooms Inc., which provides hosting and support for Moodle, the open source course management system.

Who Sets E-Mail Rules?

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U. of Illinois says it is trying to protect privacy and intellectual property, but two national groups see unreasonable limits on free speech.

Against Phalloblogocentrism

Not quite 40 years ago, Andy Warhol said that in the future everybody would be famous for 15 minutes. It was a good prediction, one that verged on announcing a new entitlement. By 1997, someone had tweaked it for the post-Warholian digital era. “In the future,” the formula now went, “everyone will be famous to 15 people.” Again, a good call. Presumably the next version will involve intervals of 15 seconds.

But a small crowd gathered for a much longer interval on Saturday to attend the session of the Modern Language Association convention called “Meet the Bloggers.” While introducing the panelists, I quoted the “15 minutes/15 people” formulae – and added a corollary that seems to apply to academic bloggers: Anyone who wins more time or audience than that must bring to the table a particular knack for the kind of discussion fostered by the medium. Being well-respected within one’s area of specialist concern is not quite the same as being able to hold one’s own in what the maverick American cultural theorist Kenneth Burke called “the parlor.”

Here’s how Burke explained the image, back in 1941:

“Imagine that you enter a parlor. You come late. When you arrive, others have long preceded you, and they are engaged in a heated discussion, a discussion too heated for them to pause and tell you exactly what it is about. In fact, the discussion had already begun long before any of them got there, so that no one present is qualified to retrace for you all the steps that had gone before. You listen for a while, until you decide that you have caught the tenor of the argument; then you put in your oar. Someone answers; you answer him; another comes to your defense; another aligns himself against you, to either the embarrassment or gratification of your opponent, depending upon the quality of your ally's assistance. However, the discussion is interminable. The hour grows late, you must depart. And you do depart, with the discussion still vigorously in progress.”

The ability to orient oneself in that sort of free-for-all requires a kind of discursive finesse that probably cannot be certified (let alone quantified). For that matter, there is no particular reason to equate success in this endeavor with reaching a vast audience. For some topics, 15 people is a lot. Just this morning, for example, I saw a blog post that started by asking, “What is the future of phenomenological geography, and why is this question even important?”

Well, it’s a big parlor. It contains multitudes. And even if some administrators fail to grasp the fact, the existence of such a space provides a necessary -- if at wildly unregulated -- supplement to the standard venues of publication and formal scholarly gathering. Whenever the phenomenological geographers do get together face-to-face, for example, it has to make some difference that they have already had a chance to talk in a forum that is also potentially open to objections from structuralist geographers who don’t wish them well. (Please consider that a hypothetical: I don’t actually know if there is such a rumble now underway.)

The four speakers at the MLA session had each found a broad audience, as academic blogs go. The organizer of the event, Scott Eric Kaufman, a senior instructor in literary journalism at the University of California at Irvine, has a personal blog and also writes for The Valve. The latter was founded by the second panelist, John Holbo, who is assistant professor of philosophy at the National University of Singapore and the editor of Glassbead Books, an imprint of Parlor Press. (The name of which comes from that Kenneth Burke passage. Small world!)

The third panelist, Tedra Osell, an assistant professor of English at the University of Guelph, is very much better known as Bitch, Ph.D. (Even though Osell has now very publicly "outed" herself as Bitch Ph.D., it still feels like a violation, somehow, for anyone else to do so, although I use her name here with her permission.) And the last speaker was Michael Bérubé, whose day job is professor of English and cultural studies at Penn State University.

The text of Kaufman’s and Holbo’s papers can be found online, here and here, respectively. Bérubé indicates that he won’t be making his discussion of the phenomenon of the “blogspat” available online, if only because it would probably just start another one. But I’d like to think that Osell’s talk will end up in print soon. It would yield a well-turned essay on blogging, gender, 18th century periodical literature, the vicissitudes of Habermas’s concept of the public sphere, and the paradoxical overtones of the pseudonym “Bitch Ph.D.”

There was one moment in Osell’s presentation that must have hit close to home, given the panel’s Y-chromosomal preponderance: her reference to the “old-boy network” in the blogosphere. This is no joke -- and no exaggeration, either. Just before heading off to Philadelphia, I had photocopied an article from the summer 2006 issue of Journalism and Mass Communication Quarterly called “The Gendered Blogosphere: Examining Inequality Using Network and Feminist Theory.” Looking it over now, it’s striking how exact her formulation really is.

The authors, Dustin Harp and Mark Tremayne, are both assistant professors of journalism at the University of Texas at Austin. “Sampling over one year from blog rankings,” they note, “we found that 10% of the top [political] bloggers were women.” They consider various explanations of why this might be, but conclude that “the linked nature of blogs” has had a skewing effect given certain tendencies familiar to network theorists.

“Original players in any network have an advantage,” write Harp and Tremayne; “the longer you have been around, the more links you are likely to acquire. In the 1990s men outnumbered women on the Web by a sizable margin. While that is no longer true, the early advantage may continue to grow and snowball. But this explanation alone cannot explain the pattern.”

A “second principle of network growth -- preferential attachment -- may [also] be responsible,” they suggest. To rephrase this in terms of the Burkean “parlor” analogy, the Internet throws open the doors so that many more participants may enter the fray. But if the conversation long-since well underway is headed in a particular direction -- if a few topics are dominant, and a few very full-throated conversationalists are making themselves heard -- it had can very difficult to get a hearing.

“In attempting to ‘subvert the hyperlink hierarchy,’” as Harp and Tremayne conclude, “women bloggers may be unwise to remove all links to the top male bloggers because linking tends to be reciprocal behavior. But positive action is needed. More links between and among women bloggers and others who understand the importance of inclusive spheres of discourse will be a step in the right direction.”

But will it be enough? You have to wonder. The problem seems to run deeper than network-generated patterns of communication. For example, the editors of Inside Higher Ed tell me that the site’s readership is more than 50 percent female. But you would never know it from the comments section -- which, during a full moon, is populated almost entirely by 60 year-old guys complaining about Ward Churchill. (Even if the topic is federal funding for astrophysics research, Ward Churchill is making it worse, somehow.) It is possible that I am exaggerating but that is often how it seems.

Now, there is no bias in favor of running such comments. As a venue for discussion, the comments section beneath each article is quite open. You have to avoid libel, and stay at least somewhat on topic (with “somewhat” being the operative word). Other than that, it is a very accessible forum -- and it would be a good thing if more women took to it.

The same principle applies to the blogosphere, academic and otherwise. But it’s easier to say this than to overcome either resistance or inertia, whether among writers or readers. For now -- as Osell’s paper at the MLA made clear -- pseudonymity is as viable and necessary a solution as any at hand.

“We all joke that ‘on the Internet, no one knows you’re a dog,’” she said. “But it seems to me that, in fact, this isn’t true. Even unschooled readers are fairly savvy about generic form, and one of the formal conceits of public discourse is that people whose social identities are marked as “other” -- women, in this case -- will, when writing personally, draw attention to their persons. Pseudonyms prevent texts from being impersonal, from pretending to objectivity; they draw attention to the author’s role in a way that a straight byline does not. At the same time, though, pseudonyms make a text more fully public: by hiding the author’s identity, the author becomes potentially anyone. Pseudonyms mean something, and one of the things they mean is that the pseudonymous writer has a reason for pseudonymity.

“When pseudonymity becomes a generic feature, as with essay periodicals and blogs, one of the things that means is that the genre entails risk, that publishing is risky.... The desire to talk about work conditions, or personal problems, or politics, or parenting is (apparently) more important than fears of being fired, or embarrassment, or shamed.  But because those risks are real, writers publish pseudonymously.”

One bit of news from the old boys’ club started to circulate just after the panel: the decision of  Michael Bérubé to wind down his blog, which has been running at a steady and even breakneck pace for three years now.

"The blogging has started to take three to four hours a day for longer posts, and one to two for shorter ones, and my days aren't so fluid anymore,” he told me. “But actually it's the longer term that has me worried. Right now I do the blog, plus teaching, plus all the usual committee things, plus some other writing, plus hockey. Something's got to give, and even though the hockey's the obvious first choice, I figure I only have another five years of meaningful hockey in me (‘meaningful’ here means ‘hockey in which it actually matters to either team whether I am on the ice or not’).”

The reference to a five-year window turns out to be overdetermined. He is now writing two books, one called The Left at War, the other Disability and Narrative. (“No overlap whatsoever, I assure you!”) And he might write a sequel to Life as We Know It: A Father, a Family, and an Exceptional Child, his memoir about raising a son with Down’s syndrome.

“As it happens,” he says, “Jamie is out of school in another five years, and whatever arrangements we make for him, they will be vastly different than the arrangement I have now. Indeed, this will be the last year in which he has his after-school program, and in a few years his summer program disappears, too.... The thing that jumps out as being the least necessary to my overall well-being between now and 2011 is the blog.”

Given Tedra Osell’s paper during the panel, I wondered if he had any insights, as an old boy leaving the network, about what would be necessary to change things.

“More Tedras!” he answered. “Besides that, of course, it hasn't escaped me that the vast majority of academic bloggers are junior faculty and graduate students. Most female academics' blogs are anonymous, as well.  Both things are related, and both things are factors. Perhaps the Valve and Crooked Timber lineups could use some shaking up, or perhaps there could be a few similar group blogs made up mostly of women.”

He noted that things actually have begun to change to some degree outside the academic blogosphere. The feminist group blog Pandagon has “something like five times my readership of 9,000 people per day. How much longer will it take before the academic blogosphere sees the same kind of thing? I have no idea. Another 2-3 years? I think it'll depend on how many female graduate students and junior faculty keep it up, and how many do it under their own names -- post-tenure, I would guess.”

Scott McLemee
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Our Obligation to Adapt

Imagine the following hypothetical scenario. Jen is a college first-year student. She attended a public high school in which randomly selected students received iPads as part of an innovative curricular grant project. Jen was fortunate enough to be one of the selected students. She loved writing, reading and using the computer – sometimes for fun, sometimes for homework.

Jen scored in the 78th percentile on the SATs, played on a varsity athletic team, and late in her senior year, showed an aptitude for and interest in photography. She worked during the summer. One of her two parents is a college graduate. Their combined income approximates $95,000.

Jen was accepted to a variety of colleges and universities, and decided to attend a mid-sized university, largely because of the financial aid package, and because its website showcased a new photography major.

Jen was bemused after her first week in college. She is a product of iPhones, smartboards, iPads and text messaging, and yet her classroom was devoid of technological gadgetry. Her professors lecture, sometimes with PowerPoint, sometimes without. They talk about research as if it is something to be done in a library, and not on one’s lap or in one’s hand.

The preceding example may or may not sound familiar to many educators and students, but it is likely to be the norm in the next few years. Our students process, retrieve and garner information in ways unimaginable a few years ago, if not months ago. We faculty, trained with card catalogs, photocopy packets, and reserve reading, are rapidly becoming living, breathing anachronisms.

Challenges abound – for Jen and for us. Students’ demand for infotainment need not be satisfied, but so too one should not dismiss the reality that such demand is a creation of cultural forces not easily ignored. Similarly, Jen’s technological acumen is not unique, nor is her professor’s lack of it. That divide is only likely to grow. Even as universities attempt to prepare faculty with info-tech workshops and seminars, today’s teenager is going to be more proficient at web design, for example, than your typical 50-something year-old English or sociology professor.

Years ago, I would find an article – in hard copy or on microfiche. If the abstract looked relevant, I would print out the article and read it. Now the digital version of that article is available with the touch of a few clicks. Which article abstracts does one read? How does one choose? The plethora of data is overwhelming for me; it must be daunting for someone without years of experience filtering and culling information.

We need to devote some time to rethink how we – faculty and students alike – read, write, study, research, and more generally, learn. As a relatively new dean, I have asked faculty to rethink their classes, not by tweaking a syllabus by adding or removing a book, but by thinking about today’s and tomorrow’s students. While this process has just commenced, I find that, generally, faculty are eager to accept the challenge. They too realize that today’s students are showing different learning skills than but a few years ago. Anecdotal evidence suggests that they are comfortable with facts – dates, times, and places – but less secure questioning ambiguous or conflicting ideas. Perhaps this is nothing new. After all, contextual analysis is a tricky and sometimes exhausting enterprise.

We have to develop those skills by adapting our own pedagogy and modifying our formal training. Many of us still love the book – the smell, the spine, and the ability to write in the margins. But we need not be intellectual dinosaurs. Perhaps there is something to be said about digital textbooks, replete with high-pixel digital images, highlighting and note-taking capabilities, podcasts and moving cameras. (The new digital art history books are mesmerizing.)

How do we develop those skills? The responsibility, I would suggest first lies with provosts, deans and chairs. Instead of wasting valuable time on weekly meetings about the status quo, we should be listening carefully to college-bound high school students. Our faculty should be present too, perhaps sitting in the background taking copious notes (either on a memo pad or an iPad). Provosts should make technology in the classroom the theme of their faculty retreats, perhaps for the next year or two, if only because technological advancements find the marketplace faster than the glacially slow academic calendar.

We then should be holding a series of summits with our information technology departments, not as we always do to discuss next year’s budget, but to imagine together what the next five or ten years of classroom instruction will look like, and to develop specific strategies for implementing that vision. Perhaps it will require a million dollars. Perhaps, indeed. If so, then it is time for us deans to raise funds, or for us quickly to develop strategic partners with computer companies.

There are no more Luddites in the university. I should know. I learned how to do chi-squares calculations by hand, and I still believe such a method teaches students how to understand the relationship between two variables. I still have a file cabinet full of journal articles. My fondness for books and bookstores has not dissipated, nor has my passion for reading the hard copy of the newspaper.

Critics may misinterpret this call for action as a desire to teach to the whims of technology. Quite the contrary. Even the able scholar with a fountain pen now uses a laptop and a flash drive. Information abounds – good, bad, true and false. It can be retrieved and stored in ways inconceivable but two years ago. Teaching Jen to discern what is crud and what is critically valuable – in a way that both inspirational and imaginative – is no easy task. Her voracious intellectual appetite must be met with creative energy we have not yet tapped.

Robert M. Eisinger
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Robert M. Eisinger is the dean of the school of liberal arts at the Savannah College of Art and Design.

On the Road Again

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Distance education program at Chattanooga State Technical Community College reaches for a new constituency: truckers.

Blackboard Buys iPhone-Application Company

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The course management giant announces that it has purchased a company run by Stanford undergraduates.

More Engaged

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Annual survey of student engagement finds notable gains across sectors, and offers new analysis on gaps between science and non-science students, the transfer experience, and impact of learning management systems.

Spare the Rod, Pay the Prof

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U. of Kentucky uses carrots, not sticks, to encourage professors to teach online -- and gets good traction with its humanities faculty.

Faculty Workshop on Sustainable Assessment Processes

Wed, 10/26/2011


Baltimore , Maryland
United States

Antidote for Entitled 'Customers'

Many professors are perplexed by their students’ entitlement complex. To their way of thinking, say the faculty, students see themselves as customers who deserve being treated as “always right” no matter how wrong, rude, inconsiderate, or otherwise bizarre they behave. In one recent essay, Brian Hall expressed his concern that students were telling him he wasn’t teaching to their style. In expressing his frustration, he uses the “e” word: “Maybe students are so used to our consumer-driven society that they have an inaccurate sense of entitlement. They believe the customer is always right … and I am only supposed to teach students what they want to know and nothing more.”

Equally dismayed is Elayne Clift, who concluded from her semester in hell that “Every college teacher I know is bemoaning the same kind of thing. Whether it’s rude behavior, lack of intellectual rigor, or both, we are struggling with the same frightening decline in student performance…. A sense of entitlement now pervades the academy, excellence be damned.”

In an interview with the authors of the newly published Lowering Higher Education: The Rise of Corporate Universities and the Fall of Liberal Education (University of Toronto Press), James E. Côté and Anton L. Allahar state, “The corporate model treats students like customers, and as customers they expect services and products for their tuition fees. The services include high grades in return for little effort. The products include guaranteed credentials with a guaranteed value. With this sense of entitlement, most will not prepare for classes, and expect all material to be told to them in simple terms in entertaining classes.”

Cumulatively these articles generate hundreds of comments, ranging from faculty at their wits’ end with underprepared and overdemanding students to others who suggest faculty leave the academy and their cushy jobs if they can’t handle their students. What seems in short supply are ideas worth trying that could eliminate entitled student syndrome and get all of us stakeholders in higher education united in achieving our common goal – students who demonstrate a passion for learning that enables them to graduate on time with good prospects for career success.

A hint toward a potential solution was offered in a comment to Hall’s essay: “It's not that complex. All they learned is there is no loyalty. They've watched every older family member get laid off, downsized, and outsourced. The only thing they believe in is building relationships on trust and credibility…. What makes you different from anyone else? The relationship, the relationship.”

As I see the problem, many students expect one type of college experience while their faculty believes in delivering something completely different. The resulting disconnect, manifested in students’ awful behavior, is owing to the gap between the desired and actual experience. To my way of thinking, a potential solution lies in doing the exact opposite of what faculty are inclined to do, which is giving students the idealized learning experience they themselves had or aspire to in their classrooms.

Instead, create a student learning experience designed empathically to meet students’ expectations. By “design” I don’t mean construct a syllabus, exercises and lectures, all those things we typically associate with course design. On top of all that usual activity, faculty members should try designing an actual experience for their students, modeled on the principles and qualities of iconic user experiences.

Does this sound like a recommendation to treat students as customers, and if so, isn’t that the root of the whole entitled student problem? If faculty have no control over student experience expectations anyway, why not turn it into a strategy for better behaviors conducive to learning?

Consider the potential value in approaching what happens in the classroom as if your job depended on how good an experience you delivered. If you were an independent consultant being paid directly by the students, as your customers, how many of them would recommend you to their friends versus how many would ask for refunds? The goal is an experience that builds relationships based on trust, leading to loyalty.

Here are three principles faculty can employ to create the student learning experience:

1. Start with why.
2. Write your experience brand statement.
3. Move toward totality

The ‘why.’ In his book, Start With Why, the author Simon Sinek explains why it’s critical to start anything you do, whether it’s selling widgets or teaching, by first articulating why you do it -- what’s your purpose, your belief, your reason for getting out of bed and going to your classes. He shares the stories of inspired leaders and others who succeeded where many failed. They all have one thing in common: the golden circle. At the center is “why”; the how (technique) and what (results) are peripheral. Sinek points out that no one buys what you do, they buy why you do it.

Just another meaningless “achieve success” business-jargon platitude? Think about it. You want your students to come to your class because they believe in what you offer them – because they believe in you. To paraphrase Sinek, if people buy why you do what you do, not what you do, and you have no clear sense of why you teach this material, then why should any student give you their undivided attention and respect? Because you have a title, some letters after your name and grading power? Sorry, that’s not good enough.

If the only message students get from you is that they must take this class to master some subject matter in order to succeed on assignments, that’s all based on the “what” of the golden circle. The “what” are your results -- what you get for your effort, such as a grade. What people want – and why they follow any inspiring leader – is to satisfy a deep innate desire to emotionally connect with other humans. Think back to your most inspiring instructors, and to those for whom you had only disdain. Which ones connected with you on an emotional level? Those instructors were the ones with which students wanted to build relationships.

Imagine sharing the why message in every class, each time. I teach instruction sessions. I only have 50 minutes – not 16 weeks. I could easily throw up a list of outcomes, like “you’ll be able to search a database” – who cares? The first thing I do is look them square in the eye and tell them that if they listen to me and work with me for the next 50 minutes, I believe they will do better in the course, improve their papers, and learn an important skill; I want them to believe in me first. Then I can deliver the experience that I’ve designed for the session. In answer to Hall’s question: no, you should not teach the students only what they want to know. Instead give them an experience that drives them to want to know what you have to offer.

The experience brand statement. The EBS is a way to express the why as a form of action; it defines the experience you want others to have in response to what you offer them. By establishing an EBS, the instructor seeks to deliver a consistent experience and touchstone for dealing with those situations that fall outside the norms of classroom behavior. Consider the Pike Place Fish Market in Seattle. It is universally recognized as the most famous fish market because of the unique experience it delivers. People flock there to buy the products, and take part in their totally unique and zany way of fishmongering. But it started with an EBS: treat everyone as if they are world-famous.

That’s the whole point of the EBS – to create loyalty and relationships – and to be different in how you go about it. What exactly do you bring to the classroom that students can’t get anywhere else or that they haven’t already experienced a thousand times since preschool? You may wish to dismiss this idea by telling yourself that you don’t have to do anything different because they are paying to learn, nothing more or less, and that as long as you teach the content you are doing your job and it’s their responsibility to be engaged, cooperative and respectful. But I ask, why should they if you don’t take the time to design an enlightening and engaging learning experience for them?

Move toward totality. What likely exacerbates the problem of the entitled student and the barriers to creating a student learning experience is that each faculty member teaches in a silo called the course. At most colleges and universities, there is no student learning experience. There is only the course experience, and it can differ radically from course to course. Most of the world’s iconic user experiences are the exact opposite of what happens in higher education. Imagine if every aspect of Apple’s business were a totally different experience. Your iPhone, your iPad, your iPod would all work completely differently with different interfaces. Each would require the use of a different web-based service, each with completely different experiences. You might need to go to different Apple stores for service. In other words, you’d have a broken system where none of the parts worked together, and you’d ultimately have one truly bad experience.

That’s why the best experiences are based on creating systems that work together – a systemic user experience that delivers satisfaction from the moment you first explore, through your interaction and all the way through until you end your relationship. Think of it as totality. The experience is great from start to finish, and is always consistent and coordinated at any touchpoint where contact occurs. Now, does any of that describe your college or university, or even the courses in your department?

So what would a course based on these three principles look like? A good example is provided by Ryan Cordell, who shared his beliefs on why it’s important to use technology to engage students, and provided examples and resources for creating this learning experience. If I had to sum up Cordell’s philosophy of applying technology to engage students in building their scholarly authoring skills as an EBS it would be: Students Will Get Their Intellectual Hands Dirty. Cordell’s belief, his purpose, is to immerse his students in a scholarly experience. Remember, your students don’t buy what you do; they buy why you do it.

In his Chronicle of Higher Education essays this spring about “The Perfect Storm in Undergraduate Education,” Thomas H. Benton shares his views on why higher education is academically adrift. He says, “Few people outside of higher education understand how little control professors actually have over what students can learn.” I found it so puzzling a statement. It’s the professor who has more control over what happens in the classroom to affect learning than anyone else. Granted, Benton has no control over his students’ level of preparation or the shortcuts other faculty take or their lack of rigor. But he – and every other instructor – holds ultimate control over the design of the unique experience that is the class, and the faculty can collaborate to create the total learning experience the institution delivers.

Like many faculty members, I suspect that Benton interprets the term “experience” only in negative ways, as in a manufactured college experience promised by administrators. In part two of the essay he writes, “Increasingly, students are buying an ‘experience’ instead of earning an education, and, in the competition to attract customers, that's what's colleges are selling.” If designed experiences are so powerful in selling students on choosing one college over another, why not design a course-level learning experience and sell students on what you offer them as their instructor?

The choice is up to each instructor. You can stop making excuses. Stop blaming it on poor preparation. Stop blaming it on the administrators. Stop blaming it on helicopter parents. Stop blaming it on MTV, video games and smartphones. Stop blaming it on society. Most of all stop blaming it on a student’s sense of entitlement. No amount of finger-pointing will create positive change or help you achieve the goals you set for yourself when you chose to teach. If it’s time to change something up, start with the learning experience the students get. Think about why you do it and how to design an experience around it. There’s no time for more excuses.

Steven J. Bell is associate university librarian for research and instructional services for Temple University Libraries. He blogs at the Kept-Up Academic Librarian.


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