Teaching
It's not about me, it's about you.
Every now and then, scholars who work as educators are asked to present their "teaching philosophy." For those working in so-called higher education, the exercise often involves careful introspection and an uncomfortable balance between understated modesty and the self-promotional imperative to document the elusive, ephemeral achievements of the classroom. It's hard to measure the surplus value created by teaching labor-power. Grants have dollar signs attached to them, and research yields books or articles that can be counted and monitored on such bizarre benchmarks as citations or the "impact factor" of the journal where the work appeared.
But success in teaching is much more difficult to measure and evaluate. Yes, of course everyone cites numerical scores on teaching evaluations. But it is widely understood that these measurements capture only one limited and particular type of success. Most students give positive evaluations for the educational experiences they enjoy; the learning challenges that have the greatest long-term value are not always enjoyable (at least not at first...).
So the eyewitnesses at the scene of the pedagocial crime are not always able to distinguish Good Teacher from Bad Teacher in the lineup. At the end of the semester, the eyewitnesses leave, and it's hard to track them down again. The successful "teachable moments" in the classroom, therefore, are elusive and ephemeral. So when it comes time for professors to justify ourselves, we're forced to be a bit self-promotional, and to try to find some tangible evidence of success.
Not long after I joined UBC, I went through that familiar keep-your-job ritual of the academy, The Tenure Review. In the process I tried to achieve the right balance between modesty and self-promotion in my statement of teaching philosophy. Here's what I wrote:
"For many years I have been privileged with the reduced teaching assignments that come with a joint appointment with a research center. I do not regard such a privilege as a license to neglect students. I really do believe the oft-recited statement that research and teaching are two sides of the same coin, although I would add the valuable currency of advising to the metaphor. In the realm of advising through scholarship, I undertook major substantive revisions and rewrites on two student seminar papers that showed promise (Keith Brown, Julie Silva), and stewarded the manuscripts to peer-reviewed publication. In formal classroom teaching, I am committed to rigor and innovation at all levels of the curriculum, and I have enjoyed teaching advanced seminars with enrollments below a dozen, middle-division offerings with 75-100 students, as well as introductory surveys enrolling 150 to 250. By the numbers, student evaluations usually rank my overall teaching effectiveness at a mean between 4.4 and 4.6 on a 5.0 scale. I am also working to revitalize our department's Urban Studies program. My first offering of the program's fourth-year seminar coincided with intense public debate around Vancouver's bid to host the 2010 Olympics, and thus one part of the class integrated urban studies scholarship with a local case study of the bid process. We worked with a local alliance of nonprofits and other researchers on campus to develop a community survey (for which we secured ethics/human-subjects approval) administered at a series of forums organized by the city's Mayor.
At the graduate level, I have enjoyed the opportunity to undertake major revisions to the structure, literature, and theoretical emphasis of long-established courses in the graduate curriculum (urban housing and labor markets, urban systems, migration). I also developed a new course at Rutgers, focusing on contemporary developments in quantitative geographical analysis; this course allowed students to develop the methodological components of their individualized research agendas while engaging classic multivariate techniques as well as recent advances in ecological inference, expansion methods, and spatial econometrics. Most of my advising roles have been as part of the 'supporting cast' of committees, but I do take these responsibilities (and opportunities) very seriously. I am currently supervising a new doctoral student at U.B.C. (Mona Atia) who is working with me on a project supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada."
On reflection, the precarious balancing act of modesty and self-promotion was a failure: I took far too much credit for a teaching enterprise that is (or at least should be) an inherently collective, social, and cooperative activity. Teaching is the ultimate public good: in Sayerian realist philosophy, "teaching" is part of a quintessentially necessary relation, with one facet defined by its corollary: teaching presumes learning. It's a cooperative project, even when (and perhaps especially when) instructors impose a rigid, hierarchical order in the classroom. Yes, as an undergraduate, I did enjoy those courses where the instructor seemed casual and open to students' requests and recommendations on the content, schedule, and workload of the semester; I understood clearly that those instructors were giving students the opportunity to participate, partially to subvert the traditional teacher/student hierarchy. Yet I also enjoyed those "traditional," hierarchical faculty, who imposed clear protocols and requirements that we were expected to follow. Even before I knew anything about Chomsky, I vaguely understood that one of the functions of the academy is to manufacture consent -- and if we are involved in that, then we might as well try to reserve our consent for those who deserve it. I was all too happy to consent to a hierarchical learning experience in a logical, rigorous curriculum taught by first-rate scholars. Such collective consent can make the hierarchical classroom setting just as cooperative, a common production, as the laid-back, open-ended participatory seminar or workshop. But that hierarchy is dangerous when it is generalized to the entire curriculum: only a few parts of a few fields can legitimately stake a claim to a settled, established paradigm where there really is One Right Way to get The Right Answer. And those fields, and those claims of One Right Way, are often precisely the settled assumption we most need to disturb, to unsettle; it's just that we need to invest enough time in that traditional hierarchical classroom to understand the body of knowledge that we'll need to dismantle, decolonize, and reconstruct.
As with all other public goods, higher education is under assault. There are enormous profits to be made by re-defining the collective teaching/learning experience, to shatter the community production into individualized elements that can be standardized, routinized, commodified, and put under surveillance in the expanding audit cultures of neoliberalism. The push for privatization and marketization has been underway for some time, and in many universities it is now standard procedure to view students as customers. Did you enjoy the class? What did you like most about the class? What did you like least about the class? This insidious trend is perfect for socializing generations of students into life in the consumer society, where everything has its price. It's also in line with the established infrastructure of treating consumers as targets: the next time you feel that warm glow of self-esteem when you are asked if you enjoyed a particular class, think about the last time an unscrupulous corporation suckered you into a nasty financial transaction, all the while advertising/assuring you about their commitment to customer service, and that "your opinion is important to us." And don't forget that the corporate model of targeting consumers is now diffusing throughout the university, enabled by the simultaneous and interdependent acceleration of a) competition, b) automation, and c) cynicism. Frank Furedi (2011, p. A12), Professor of Sociology at the University of Kent, relates a story that makes the point:
"A couple of years ago, I was listening to a presentation about a new and apparently sophisticated anti-plagiarism tool. Throughout the talk, the speaker boasted of her software's potential for detecting copied work and preserving 'academic integrity.'
I was a little despondent about the notion that, henceforth, the value of academic integrity would be secured through computer software. Nor did I feel reassured when, towards the end of the presentation, we were told that 'academic judgment' was still necessary to determine whether plagiarism had taken place. To me, the notion that academic judgment had become an adjunct to plagiarism detection software was even more disturbing than the association of this product with the upholding of academic security."
Even if we accept the logic of marketization, it is clear that the "product" of higher education -- the cooperative teaching/learning experience now subject to commodification -- is in crisis. In December, 2010, Maclean's surveyed the wreckage of the job market for today's new university graduates, compared to the Baby Boomers, Generation Xers, and members of Generation Y; Maclean's offered a depressing label for today's graduates: "Generation Screwed." Idealistic young students have always been faced with tough choices in how to balance the joy of pure learning with the pragmatic considerations of employment, debt, and long-term earnings potential; but things seem to have changed. Selling out doesn't work when there are no buyers for the commodity of higher-educated labor power; we need an entirely new labor theory of value. James Cote, a professor of sociology at the University of Western Ontario, notes that the university degree has become the "entry-level qualification" for a basic, living-wage job; the downgrading of labor now means that "Yes, there is an advantage to a university education. But only because there is a disadvantage" to other paths, other choices that were once viable points of entry into the middle class (quoted in Laucus, 2011b). Interviewed (Laucius, 2011a, p. C2) for a story on the catastrophe of high unemployment among recent graduates, business student Lauren Jamieson, 21, clearly understood the importance of product placement in a commodifed society:
"When my dad graduated, not that many people had university degrees. ... Now so many people have degrees. It's like, 'What else do you have?' It's like when you see two products on the shelf, and one has all these high ratings, and the other one doesn't."
You are Not a Product on the Shelf
You are not a product on a shelf. But if we don't act fast, you will be a product, with all the metaphors implied by what it means to be a product. If you're a product, then the question becomes: what's your price? Can the customer return you? What happens when the next best product comes along? What's your "sell by" date? In other words, what is your shelf life? The treatment of students as commodities is not far off, when the Financial Times quotes Dave Wilson, chief executive of the Graduate Management Admission Council in the UK, declaring that "places on exceptional MBA programmes are scarce commodities and the economic return is so substantial that some people are prepared to risk and to try things that would gain them an unfair advantage." (Wylie, 2012). If those admissions "places" are scarce commodities, and if too many people are competing for economic motivations to get that substantial economic return, then it makes it impossible for real, live human beings to decide whether to trust one another. We're all forced to see one another in instrumental terms, as commodities.
The solution? Hey, let's use a website to automate the process! Authenticate! Automate! Commodify! Now, when you're forced to go to services like this, you become part of the millions and billions of data points that ... make the corporate service-provider a "scarce commodity," extracting its substantial economic return. Dear Mister Dave Wilson also tells the reporter (Wylie, 2012) that the Council has "invested heavily in biometric palm-vein technology to defeat applicants who try to cheat its Graduate Management Admission Test."
As the comedian Dave Barry always wrote, I Am Not Making This Up. Consider a recent post to the UBC thread on Reddit. A user asks, "Will UBC start monitoring online assignment and online timed assignments/tests with video/audio feeds?" I remember first reading about these technologies more than a few years ago. They can use cameras on drones, facial recognition software and video authentication systems, and software to analyze the rhythms of the keystrokes you use to make sure that You Are Who You Say You Are. "Some American universities now monitor these kinds of things with film and/or audio software," the user asks on Reddit UBC.
"Lots of people do online assignments and tests in pajamas or with their kids around or breastfeeding, or while singing off-key, or in public, or with copyrighted material playing (like TV or radio) or whatever, and it raises all sorts of legal and privacy concerns and just seems creepy and it's a way to be totally disrespecting students so I hope UBC never adopts these things but do you think they will because it's relatively easy for TAs and profs to tell if online assignments are in line with a student's inclass and exam work and stuff based on syntax and grammar and stuff so it's super lazy to boot and a totally unnecessary invasion of privacy. Plus they don't watch you while you do regular at-home assignments. (Or are they secretly already doing so? /s) (also no I don't do assignments in run-on sentences but this is the web so yeah)."
You remember the cliche, right? You're not paranoid if they're really out to get you. This is a student who has given some serious thought to the implications of technological possibilities. A lot of those implications are simply logical, if extreme, extrapolations. And, to judge by the comments of those who read and responded, there's quite a bit of fear ... and humor or irony. "Well, we are discussing having each student implanted with a monitoring chip," one writes. "Welcome to Imagine Day," another posts. "Please give me both your arms."
Then things go in another direction. "If we are talking about actual tests worth a large fraction of the course grade then sure, monitoring sounds reasonable because it's like the same thing as going to write the exam."
Huh? You mean unlimited surveillance is okay, just so long as it's for the big things that really count in the grade? Think through the implications of that logic (I can't tell you what to think, I can only begin a conversation about how to think).
A few other students offer unrelated comments, and then someone else writes this: "It's part of a deal the American universities cut with the FBI. Now they can blatantly spy on you with no repercussions or outcry. Be warned, you're now on their watch list."
This might be the next Glenn Greenwald, who helped document the details of the NSA's comprehensive online surveillance of hundreds of millions. But this ain't just the FBI anymore! Whatever nation you're living in, and whatever nation you were born in or have some ties to ... they're all having to keep an eye on the population, because that's what defines the nation-state: a monopoly on the legitimate use of force. As more of life goes online, so does the state -- police, military, security. Every country has a different phrase.
At this point, I am about to cry. Students are out there thinking deeply about how much surveillance UBC is using on them. Whatever time they're devoting to these thoughts comes from something else: there's only so much time in the day. Isn't it sad that the relations between students the institution where they are coming to learn comes down to ... wondering what kind of technology is going to be used by the "university" on its "students"?
*
Teaching requires trust. Learning requires trust. Trust cannot be automated, despite all the sophisticated bots and Cloud services, and all the neocommunitarian, neoauthoritarian efforts of Corporate Capitalism and the iNSA American Cybersecurity Infrastructure to develop a "National Strategy for Trusted Identities in Cyberspace."
Yes, yes, I know. Five minutes from now, they will assure us that trust can be automated, digitized, turned into a commodity.
But I don't think we should try. Trust must not be automated. We should actively resist efforts to automate trust. I want you to join me in this fight.
Why?
Not long ago, I finished reading the latest stack of final papers from a fourth-year undergraduate seminar that I teach every spring. This year, I gave the students more freedom than ever before; and the students responded with energy, enthusiasm, creativity, rigour, and integrity. That last point -- integrity -- is crucially important for the point I'm making here. My judgment of their integrity is not based on any technology: unlike some professors in some departments at some institutions of higher education, I do not require my students to submit their written work to services like Turnitin.com, which boasts more than 20 million "licensed students" that it can put through the automated pee-in-the-cup insult of comparing to its monstrous database of "220+million archived student papers, 90,000 journals, articles, and books, 1+million active instructors, 20+ billion web pages crawled, 10,000 educational institutions ... in 126 countries." (iParadigms, LLC, 2012). I know that hese numbers will change the second I finish writing this and posting it with my version of Ye Olde HTML Editor.
Don't let the details distract you. What matters is that a private company is growing dramatically each year, based on a convenient service provided to ... instructors who suspect that their students are taking shortcuts and committing plagiariasm. The instructors suspect their students because the competitive pressures are intensifying, and getting a college degree is now not enough. You have to get the right degree, with the best grades, and you have to have all the additional "extracurricular activities" that are no longer "extra," because everyone now expects those extras... and on and on, one and one, and soon the individual one of your individual identity bleeds into the binary code of a sentient global capitalism in its last gasp of the iAnnihilation of Space by FaceTime,® on Facebook.™ Now, only now, do I fully understand why Marcus Doel (2001) was so angry at The Number One.
Let me be clear: I do have respect for those students who see this kind of technological solution as a good thing. Some students have reminded me that these technologies will help ensure that the grade they get will not be undermined by the cheating of others who might cheat.
But I hope you can see what's at stake. Let's return to that stack of papers I just finished grading. I used the word "integrity," among many other words, to describe the impressive work of the students in that seminar. I trusted them -- I gave them a lot of freedom to explore through the term, without all the surveillance infrastructure of university life, which of course is inherited from the peculiar history of late-medieval European theology and nineteenth-century state-building in North America and other parts of what we recognize as the Global North. In other words, in that seminar I offered the option for students to get feedback on their ideas and their writing during the semester -- but I did not constantly interrupt them with midterm exams, quizzes, discrete chunks of thoughts that could be assigned grades to provide reassurance of progress (like "problem statement," "research design," "literature review," and the other modules I've asked in previous years). Instead, I allowed students the freedom to explore, while providing feedback on anything they put in front of me.
Here is a stack of papers from previous years. Note all the scrawled comments on the pages on top. That's what I did instead of all those mechanisms of grading and surveillance.