The Great Reversal: A Question to Ask Ourselves as Faculty

"How am I doing in my teaching?"

If we're even half-way conscientious (and perhaps a bit self-conscious!), certainly as faculty we ask ourselves this question at a somewhat regular interval.  It's natural--and commendable--that we'd "self-evaluate" our craft!  After all, part of this 9x9x25 Challenge is intended to help us do just that!

But I wonder if that's the right question?

I can be confident and/or convinced that my "teaching" is good--maybe even excellent.  But how do I know if that self-evaluation is correct?

Maybe my positive assessment reflects a certain mastery of  the  course material.   "Certainly, I must be a great teacher because I know my subject so well!"  No doubt this is a prerequesite for pedagogical prowess.  But is it enough?  How many of us can remember professors who were close to genius when it came to the "knowledge" of their discipline, but couldn't teach their way out of the proverbial paper bag?

Or perhaps my good self-assessment reflects a comfort with the way I've decided to teach.  My lectures or activities or online courses are fine tuned (I've actually perfected them over the years), my tests are spot on, and my classes run like a well-oiled machine.  This has the potential of being a very good thing, but is it necessarily a good gauge of teaching?

Or... maybe I'm commended by my colleagues and supervisors regarding my teaching.  I welcome this as affirmation that I'm on the right track!  But is it really an accurate assessment of how I'm doing as an instructor?

I would like to propose that this question, "How well am I teaching?" may actually be a wrong and even miseleading question, regardless of the answer.  However well I know my subject, or how flawlessly my class seems to run, or what others say about my teaching, these may not be an accurate barometer of my effectiveness, because all of these are "teacher-centric" assessments.

IF the goal of education isn't to evaluate how teachers teach, but to facililtate students actually learning (sometimes in spite of our teaching), then instead, the most helpful question (it seems to me) is

"How, what and how well are my students learning?"

What if I reversed my normal "self-talk" as a teacher, and used this question as the gauge of my success?  What if I judged my performance on how well my students were able to apply what I think I've been teaching, instead of just looking at the mechanics and process of instruction?

What if I actually ASKED MY STUDENTS if, in fact, they were actually learnng?

A Tale of Four Classrooms

As I walked through the hallway, I glanced into a classroom.  Students were sitting in rows, blurry eyed.  No one had books or paper out.  No one was taking notes.  Honestly, no one was doing anything.  The instructor was standing behind the computer podium talking.  Students were nodding off.

The next classroom looked like a behive.  Students were in small groups conversing, standing up writing on white boards, examining and critiquing each others work.  Periodically, attention would focus on the instructor, who was moving about from group to group.  A whole class discussion would briefly occur, then students would go back to interacting with their groups.  Toward the end of the class, the groups were rotating around the classroom, taking notes off the whiteboards that other groups had created.

In a third classroom, the instructor had moved the tables in a large rectangle.  Students were sitting around the table, interacting with each other in a "popcorn" fashion.  A few raised their hands, but most of all the students spoke up when they had something to say, while still being respectful of the group.  And their was a lot being said.  It was difficult to tell exactly who the instructor was--the students seemed to be instructing each other.

No one, except the professor, was in the last classroom,  although books and backpacks littered the place.  Come to find out that the students were in a different building examining a set of posters for which they were assigned questions.  After a while, teams of two students trickled in, each set of partners conversing rapidly about their discoveries.  When everyone returned, they went over the questions and shared their answers together.

"We've been conditioned to sit in rows, look at the back of peoples' heads, not turn around, to sit quietly, not talk and not think," a student told me this week.  No wonder discussion can be difficult: Education is not "supposed" to involve the free, energetic and some chaotic exchange of ideas (at least not in the minds of many of our students).

But they really do want to discuss.  They want to try out ideas.  They want to be challenged.  But both the physical set up of most of our classrooms and many of our pedagogical techniques are not very conducive to creating curious, expressive and excited scholars.  And WE need to break out of the "passive learning" mold.  If you need some inspiration and instruction, head over the the Family Enrichment Center next to Building 1.  They'll be glad to let you look through the glass as those preschoolers "learn."  Look at how their classrooms are set up.  Observe the interaction between teacher and student, and student-to-student.  We could learn a few lessons.

I smile to myself each time I see the signs posted our classrooms, "It is COLLEGE POLICY to return the furniture to its original arrangement."  As if "the original arrangement" is some kind of "sacred seating," and also the best arrangment for learning.  For one, it's NOT "college policy" (though it may be the "preferred procedure").  And secondly, it's probably not even good pedagogy.  But it IS great for dulling the mind.

The Doors Are Locked at YC!!

Friday I came to school to work and for some meetings, arriving upstairs in Building 3 about 11 am.

Three “automatic” doors leading to my office were locked.  Yes, on a work day.  (What about students wanting to drop off papers, or who would arrange meetings on this day in which they had no classes, so they actually had time to meet?)

Daily, many of these same doors are locked.  Students can view at least eight faculty offices from either end of the back hallway of this building, but can’t get through to them due to locked doors.  One each of the outside double doors at each end of the building leading to the faculty offices and classrooms are locked down every day. 

Students by nature are intimidated from coming to see faculty in their offices (despite our begging, pleading, encouraging and sometime even requiring them to do so).  Unfortunately, the slightest barrier will discourage them.  Even though we may not want to admit it, these locked doors send a not so subtle message to our students:  “Keep out!  You’re not really welcome here.”

Thursday I had a student, who I didn’t know, stick his head into my office and ask, “How do I find my way out of here?”  At any given hour of the day one can find Richard, Ivonne, other staff and numerous faculty acting as “catacomb guides,” assisting students in finding the secret passageways to faculty workplaces. Clearly, our office spaces (and they are legion!) in Building 3 were not designed to encourage student-teacher interaction.

We know that student-instructor interaction is a KEY to the ubiquitous call for “completion” and “retention.” But it seems like we’ve neglected to think carefully about this key component:  Students' physical access to their instructors.

Granted, at this point it is totally infeasible to redesign our office layout.  But, given that limitation, shouldn’t we be doing EVERYTHING POSSIBLE to encourage student interaction?

When I’ve enquired about this situation, I’ve been told that the locked doors are a result of “county codes” and “security.”  But if this is the case, why is it not uniformly enforced across campus?  The double doors to the Rider Diner, Library and—yes—even the Administration Building are both almost always unlocked.  Why is it more restrictive for students to visit their teachers?

This raises several questions:

*  Are we perpetuating, even creating, a “culture of fear” on our campus in the name of so-called “safety”? (Please excuse the sociologist in me.)

*  Why can’t we have open conversations with facilities, campus safety, administration and others involved on how to lessen these restrictions and make our offices more inviting and accessible to students?

*  We are working so hard to make “Pathways” for students degree programs, certificates and career goals.  Why is it so difficult to clear “pathways” for students to the offices of faculty, when we know that is such a key to student success?

*  Have we been so taken by automation that it overrides our goal of educating? What are we thinking?  Really?

Education at YC: Is It Just a Show?

"As of now, I feel as if a diploma is just a certificate that I need in order to get the job that I want.  I know that I am not the only student who feels this way.  With the technology I have access to, most of the situations that can come up where school is useful can be googled.  It is getting to the point that there is no real point in school.  It is just for show.  Are students really there to learn or to receive a certificate so they make more money each year?"

This came as a response to an assignment in a "critical thinking" class I'm teaching this semester.  And it was not from a traditiionally-aged student.  My response was manifold.

My first reaction was that of a sense of failure.  What have I done or said to make this (or any other student) think that the ONLY reason for education is to increase their annual income?  By expressing this, I'm not at all diminishing to importance of the economic rewards of education!  I certainly feel that's a very important part of things.  But this student (and evidently others) seem to feel that the goal is to "check off the box," get a piece of paper, and move on.

Another simultaneous reaction was one of shock--but not of surprise.  Shock that this sentiment, which we've all heard before, was scrolled in black and white!  There is a boldness to the statement that rattles me to the core.

Perhaps most of all, I felt a deep, deep sadness in reading the student's views.  A sadness that kind of sounds like, "Is that what higher education has come to?  Just a utilitarian hoop through which to jump?  What about all the other glorious insights about myself, others, and the physical and social world that can be experienced in the classroom?  What about the relationships that can be made with fellow students and professors?"

I also had to ask myself if some of the messages we are sending as an institution encourage such a shallow view of learning?  Pathways, retention, completion, dual enrollment, "early start"--all of these have value, IF considered in the larger context of learning and personal development.  But have we emphasized these to the point that the love of learning is being lost?

I know--part of this attitude is a result of the "conditioning" students have undergone in 13+ years of "compulsory" education before they get to us, where for the most part they sit in desks in rows, and see themselves (rightly or wrongly) as vessels being force-fed full of information.  With "Google" at their fingertips, I understand that they may feel college is more or less useless, IF accessing information is all it entails.

But is there more?  How do I, as an instructor, communicate that "more."  And how do we, as an institution, escape for our "institutional trappings" and communicate that "more"?

I wonder.