One pedagogical experiment that I’m taking on this semester is an attempt to draw students into the lecture/discussion more fully by using exploratory questions to invite students to work on a common problem with the instructor. While it is admittedly somewhat Socratic, beginning with a shared question can help to articulate the purpose of the class session and motivate students to think about the underlying intellectual issues that this problem engages. For classes that tend to be relatively pragmatic, this kind of starting point seems to provide a more concrete analog for discussion at a more theoretical level.
Teachers can pose these initial, exploratory questions to the class directly, or they might pose them rhetorically and articulate the stakes before inviting student input. According to What the Best College Teachers Do by Ken Bain (Harvard UP, 2004), these questions “confront students with a common problem (of understanding, application, analysis, or synthesis)” and help to explain its broader significance. In a larger class, however, this can lead to a few students frequently dominating the conversation if other students feel less comfortable speaking publicly about new ideas. I’ve tried a number of strategies to try to invite more of the class into the conversation.
The first strategy is requiring that students complete a course journal or discussion board question on the topics to be discussed in class. Gathering these responses before class allows me to see what students throughout the class are thinking, and calling on students based on their ‘published’ written work does not put them on the spot in the same way that asking them to respond to a question or idea for the first time might do. A second option, which I’m trying this semester for the first time, is to use in-class polling. Many campuses still have “clickers” for this purpose, and smaller classes can use the resources at PollEverywhere to have students answer with their phones or computers. Students can see the breakdown of results immediately, and the distribution of responses (particularly to more open-ended questions) can be provocative. In a sense, students can see how many other students in the class share their opinion in real time, which might inspire confidence in students less likely to speak on their own or might encourage students with different opinions challenge the prevailing assumptions.
from ProfHacker: “Multiple Choice Exam Theory (Just In Time For The New Term)”
For those of us interested in what Sterne calls “large lecture pedagogy,” this post from ProfHacker covers some of the best practices for large sections in humanities classrooms that can mitigate some of the potential shortcomings of the multiple-choice test. The comment on clickers resonates with my experiences as a student and an instructor, but I have seen them used in more illuminating ways from time to time. Ultimately, what may be the biggest challenge related to the multiple-choice format of assessment is the fact that the instructor cannot fully control the way in which students approach the exam–through the lens of their previous experiences with this kind of assessment. The genre of the ‘test’ can encourage students to draw upon either positive or negative habits of thought developed in their earlier educational experiences.
Social Media and the Classroom
From Forbes magazine – an instructor at Temple University talks about using social media in the classroom as a way of engaging students twice with the same material. While the article offers some great starting points and can provoke some useful discussion among the technophiles and curmudgeons, I think that Shapiro might have emphasizes more strongly the underlying point that harnessing these existing technologies means educating students about the potential benefits and limitations of these technologies. He points to this explicitly when talking about Twitter, but changes to the traditional curriculum–such as hybrid or online courses–means asking students to think critically about their existing use of technology and meeting them at widely varying levels of familiarity and technological fluency.
Towards the end of last year, one of my colleagues (also an ABD literature student) pointed me towards the ‘pomodoro’ method of increasing productivity. The time management idea apparently comes from a book by Francesco Cirillo, and the idea is that you take about five minutes off for every 25 that you work on the task in order to keep your mind and focus fresh for the task at hand. Part of what made this stand out to me is my interest in trying to avoid a repetitive stress injury while writing my dissertation since the effects of the injury would be present for years to come. Coupled with concentrated efforts to reduce multitasking and distractions, the benefits of this kind of time management have become almost cliché among graduate students trying to finish their dissertations or theses. Having found it to be useful in my own work, I have begun to question why our time management goals differ so dramatically from the way in which we ordinarily structure classroom time.
Given this fact, what does this knowledge and these practices imply about the way in which teachers traditionally order their classrooms? From my experience, the conventional knowledge in many institutions of higher education is that variety and changing teaching methods (group and individual work, lecture and discussion, reflection and recall) can help students maintain focus, but is there too little room for downtime or breaks? Are students in 3-hour evening classes, for instance, better served by an intricate and wholly uninterrupted class that allows them to cover the maximum amount of material, or would they be able to engage with the material more with structured time that permits them to relax or pause their focus during the class period? Perhaps it is this need for this kind of structuring that makes integrating downtime in the classroom so difficult, as it is easy for students to ‘lose focus’ when instructors provide down time or early dismissals without the structure needed to make the downtime productive in the long run. How might one assess downtime and its purpose, student focus in a way that permits a variety of learning styles and differences?
While currently teaching a course on Shakespeare and Film, I asked students to keep a regular course journal in a single subject notebook rather than use the online tools (Blackboard’s blog or discussion board function). Part of my justification for this assignment was to encourage regular writing and reflection on the material because it was a once-weekly evening course. Rather than have all posts available for other students to read on the Discussion Board, I opted for the relative privacy of a single notebook.
I was impressed that a number of students who found typing more comfortable felt free to ask about an alternative medium, but I continue to wonder if there would be a way to allow a wider range of writing media for an assignment like this that would fit more closely with the ideals of universal design but avoid fragmentation of the assignment/task itself. The privacy of the written journal in particular seems to have improved the quality of many posts above my colleagues’ similar assignments. I also suspect that an unexamined, subconscious assumption about the personal nature of the written word over the printed word may have cut down on the number of directly plagiarized entries that I might have otherwise received. The fact that not all students have the same facility in handwriting and the practical inconveniences of asking 50-80 students to hand in a physical journal, however, might still give us pause.
Of particular note to those teaching film courses, Cavender notes that “It’s still OK to rip a DVD for the purpose of creating clips for use in educational settings.”
See the full article (and links to more in-depth analysis at Ars Technica) here.
This past week, I asked students to reflect on the recurring use of water imagery in Luhrmann’s version of Romeo and Juliet and to consider its thematic significance for the film as an interpretation of Shakespeare’s play. One enterprising student suggested the idea that, in light of the almost deliberately campy religious imagery used throughout the early part of the film, this might be a symbolic form of baptism in which Romeo sheds his former narcissistic love in favor of a new form of love. This dovetails nicely with Juliet’s famous reflection on Romeo’s name in 2.2, on which Romeo exclaims “Call me but love and I’ll be new baptized.” The second, and for me more persuasive, option that we produced was the idea that the images of water are all characterized by the need for air: Juliet’s first appearance under the water of her bath, for instance, is a moment of quiet in the middle of the chaotic Capulet household, and Romeo/DiCaprio emphasizes his inability to breathe underwater as he hides in the revised ‘balcony’ scene. The final image of the film, then, is the two lovers underwater–symbolizing the impossibility of their love’s survival. It remains a single moment that they must abandon to survive and can only pursue at their own peril.