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What the US elections taught me about higher ed and learning

Electoral college? Swing states? Primaries? What about a caucus? These terms did not make sense to me as someone who grew up in the Philippines, where the electoral system is based on the more straightforward popular vote. Despite having lived in the US for a total of over six years and through three presidential elections – and in Washington, DC, at that – I have only observed the country’s complicated politics from the sidelines.

But the socio-political tumult in the last four years and even more so in the last few months, having to stay home due to the pandemic, and the past week’s protracted ballot-counting have forced me to pay closer attention to American politics. Also, I caved in to finally having a television as a friend lent me a flatscreen TV last month. 

Back in November, I had one course left in my graduate program in learning design, and should have been focusing on how to use and manipulate the Viterbi algorithm for an introductory course in natural language processing. Instead, I was transfixed by TV, news websites, and Twitter since the election day, like the rest of the nation and perhaps the world, occasionally tweeting my own take on the election to cope with our collective anxiety. With my background in instructional design, and the amount of time I spent in front of screens big and small – consuming content on counties and paths to victory – I’ve been thinking a lot about my own learning behavior and wondering how to turn the momentous event into an educational opportunity.

Adapting the credential system

Traditional education systems work by requiring students to register for courses at the start of the semester. These are predetermined subjects that count toward one’s program of study. The opportunity to learn adjacent intellectual interests may be pursued through electives and independent research studies, often in later semesters or years. For good reason, students give priority to officially registered for-credit courses because they will be assessed and receive a grade according to their performance in them. This often relegates to the sidelines any spontaneous and serendipitous topics that pique students’ interest during the semester, only to be pursued during one’s free time, or worse, dismissed altogether so they can focus on more pressing assignments and deadlines.

Educational institutions should adapt the traditional credit system to accommodate these spontaneous learning opportunities. This would encourage self-directed learning among students. What differentiates this “freelective” from independent study is the flexibility to choose what to study based on ideas students encounter at any point during the semester or the academic year, and earn credentials toward their degree as they and the faculty see fit. Learning should not be constrained by the calendar and administrators’ convenience, only starting in late August and January, and ending by December and May. In November, students were in the final stretch of the fall semester, or in my case, my graduate program, with no leeway in earning credits to officially document learning. On the brighter side, ePortfolios can showcase students’ academic and extracurricular projects, which universities and potential employers now consider as valid evidence of learning. 

Remote learning by remote control

Campus closures due to the pandemic and the subsequent shift to online learning have further limited students’ physical and intellectual spaces for discovery. I have been glued to my phone and TV, especially this first week of November in the lead up to the Election Day and the ballot counting that never seemed to end. Only after spending many hours watching political analysts did I become familiar with the location of each state, capital, and even the county to which it belongs. While the whole nation was gripped with anticipation to learn the results in the swing states, I soon found myself googling how they have voted in the past presidential elections. This taught me how people’s voting tendencies sometimes hinged on the candidate despite their party affiliation. Meanwhile, determining candidates’ winning paths was a virtual exercise on probabilities. I also learned how nuanced US politics can be where people can vote for a Republican state legislator and a Democratic president. Perhaps most importantly, I better understood the history of voter suppression, another much-contested battleground in this country’s democracy.

Watching the live broadcast was akin to attending large lectures via Zoom. Though listening to repetitive punditry may not be the most efficient way to learn, the piecemeal release of results allows us to process the information, and seems to be a better experience than watching a lecture recording. Moreover, Steve Kornacki and John King with each tap and swipe on their Magic Walls gave a masterclass on the use of digital technology and data visualization. Faculty could assess student learning through reflections that critique political structures, compare and contrast electoral systems and processes, or delve into media literacy and misinformation.

Significant events such as the pandemic and the election have brought forth disruption as well as opportunities for innovation in higher education institutions and the way we learn. We should address that students’ interests wax and wane over time, and by experimenting with more flexible administrative procedures, we can reinforce discovery and learning that is not tethered to the academic calendar. We could further draw inspiration from connectivist and multimedia learning by identifying potential sources of knowledge and information that are salient, and timely, and accessible.

CNN was playing in the background as I started writing this piece. Joe King had just updated the latest vote count in Philadelphia on his Magic Wall, and Wolf Blitzer just called the presidency for Joe Biden. Americans seemed ready and passed the final exam.

Spending the second half of spring semester online

My classes ended in late April, and after handing in a final project due yesterday, my second semester in graduate school is officially over.

But I and the rest of the students around the world have physically stopped going to our classrooms sometime in late February or early March, depending on when COVID-19 started to spread in our community. At Georgetown, my classmates and I bid our goodbyes and well wishes for the spring break, with that uncomfortable feeling of probably not seeing each other again and returning to our classrooms for an indefinite period of time. We should have listened to one professor who nudged us to meet in our classroom that one time he only joined via Zoom, preempting the university might make the call to close the campus soon. We saw each other again after the spring break, but only as little rectangles on our computer screen.

The first week felt familiar and new at the same time. Even before we moved online, anyone in my class can opt to Zoom in. Our classroom is equipped with built-in microphones, cameras, and robotic arms that enhance telepresence. One classmate is based in Arizona and doing our program online full-time.

She said it was actually a much better experience for her now that everyone is online, whereas there were times when it was difficult for her to jump into the classroom discussions before. Instructors also faced orchestration challenges when they had to moderate both in-person and online discussions. We’re fortunate to have a dedicated graduate associate who oversees the tech for us.

Yet it was still odd to see everyone’s faces, including our professor’s, in one of those now-ubiquitous boxes in a Zoom room. I have this habit of arriving early in a classroom so I can settle down and ease myself into an “academic mindset.” Doing the same online makes me feel I clicked on the wrong link and entered the wrong Zoom room when I see I’m the only participant. Also, it is very easy to get distracted, open a new browser, and get lost in that parallel online portal, as if checking and refreshing a news site incessantly would yield some good news about the pandemic. 

One time, I got paired up with a classmate and fellow graduate associate in a breakout group, and we chatted how we were both coping with the situation. We talked about what we miss the most, and we agreed that we’ve lost that sense of accountability, asking each other if we’ve read this paper or finished that assignment. It’s one of those spontaneous interactions that are difficult if not impossible to replicate online.

I’ve learned to delineate the space (I bought a compact computer desk!) and time for work, classes, and rest. It hasn’t been easy in the confines of my studio apartment, when on some days there are back-to-back online meetings and classes. In addition to my screen time that has gone off the charts, perhaps what I like the least is the absence of that friendly chit chat after class, as we start packing our laptops and zipping our bags, which has been replaced by that sudden quiet and disconnect once I click the “Leave Meeting” button.

Two months later, I’ve only seen our school building twice, outside, during a couple of early morning walks when I retraced my usual route to campus that I took for granted and now terribly miss. Everything is still up in the air on how classes for Fall 2020 will look like. Fully online, Hyflex, or in-person? I just finished my final paper for one of my core courses, University as a Design Problem, where I examined how socialization might look like for first year students this coming Fall 2020. It’s based on a combination of a HyFlex and low-density scenario, and a few recommendations that aim to redefine the first year experience. I know it’s a tough sell, but choosing the topic is perhaps a part of me hoping that we’ll gain a sense of normalcy in the coming semester.

But for now all we can do is wait and see, and give ourselves a pat in the back, whether you’re a faculty, staff or student, for making it through the semester. In the meantime, I continue to work at CNDLS, now helping trouble-shoot the university’s summer online courses. Last Monday, I savored the semester break between finishing a draft of my final paper and starting my summer course on Gaming, Design, and Education – all eight hours of it.

Photo credit: mwinkler via Unsplash

Moving to online learning after spring break

A week has passed after spring break, but none of my classmates, professors, and other staff has set foot on campus again, not only in Georgetown, but in many if not all colleges and K-12 schools all over the US, maybe even the world.

Transitioning to online classes shouldn’t be a struggle. I’ve had work from home and remote work arrangements before. And our classes – part of a graduate program in learning, design, and technology – are not foreign to remote and virtual learning environments. Online learning should be coming naturally, both in theory and practice. Just last week, I sent in a mid-term paper on online learning and Biesta’s purposes of education.

But there I was missing assignment deadlines and appreciating the fact that some of my professors have dialed back on assigning readings this past week. Perhaps it was from finishing a paper over spring break. Or more likely, I’ve put priority on shadowing colleagues as we held office hours during work days for faculty. Then I picked up shifts for office hours to assist faculty move their teaching online and work their way around Canvas and Zoom, via Zoom.

I didn’t plan to work over the break, having looked forward to it only three weeks in the new semester. But I saw it coming. My office has been holding meetings days before the break, bracing for the onslaught of this monstrous wave, watching it from the opposite shore as it approached our way. It arrived by way of an email from the university president, first for a couple of weeks, and later for the rest of the semester.

Most faculty will have taught their first classes post-spring break by now. The classes are by no means expected to be perfect versions of their classroom counterpart. Debates are still going on in education institutions whether to shift to pass or fail, synchronous or asynchronous, or whether to continue or stop teaching altogether in this unsettling time. 

I looked forward to my classes this past week, a welcome diversion that gave me the slightest sense of normalcy, where for a couple of hours we were able to gather and see familiar faces to talk about learning, higher education, education technology, their confluence and multifaceted challenges, as we have been doing in the past seven months. It wasn’t much of a form of escape. It was a short circuit in our graduate program, and the world, as we are now living through the very topics and challenges in higher ed that we have been discussing all along.

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