Acronyms are introduced regularly in many contexts, not only to facilitate repeated reference to certain terms but also to imply wide acceptance of and add an air of importance to proposed ideas, processes, or methodologies. Instructional design loves acronyms. The buzz-cronyms of the hour include BD, PBL, TBL, and LCI (or LCT) (clues below).

Contributing to this long list, and in many ways consolidating it, I propose ADCL or Assessment-Driven Collaborative Learning. Details will be published in one of the 2009 volumes of Symposium, the journal of the College Music Society. In the meantime, here is a teaser:

ADCL incorporates features of backward design and project- and team-based learning in contexts that highlight student responsibility, all materialized through a series of graded team projects and enhanced by instructor guidance and feedback throughout the project-drafting process. Such design supports a) student motivation and engagement, b) meaningful instructor-to-student and student-to-student interactions, c) instructor- and peer-led learning, and d) formative and summative assessment, by wrapping a course around a single set of manageable, self-contained, resource-supported, and interrelated group assignments. Group assignment responses are drafted and submitted online in instructor-moderated discussion forums.

Evidence, collected over two years of using this technique and formally comparing it to more traditional instructional methods, suggests that ADCL maximizes a course’s learning impact and utilizes the instructor’s expertise and time most effectively and efficiently.

So no, we may not need one more acronym, but I believe we can do with one more effort to improve our students’ learning.

More next time…

When I began my undergrad in 2002, I was a fairly shy kid and had moved to a college two states away where I didn’t know anyone. I never would have thought that in three years I’d have been a founding member of an environmental club, vice president of a literary magazine, and the organizer of a writer’s group.

It’s difficult to overstate how much of an effect these student organizations had on the trajectory of my life. The environmental club implemented the college’s first recycling program, for which we needed to interact with college administrators and county officials. This was my first experience navigating different levels of organizational hierarchy to implement a program. We also networked with regional environmental advocacy to educate students about issues and mobilize them in petition and letter-writing campaigns, which provided me a taste of politics.

My role in this organization was one of the first items on my resume and gave me something to talk about in my first few job interviews. I likely would not have been seriously considered for my AmeriCorps position after college without it. But not only that, it provided me with leadership skills, teamwork experience, and a broad knowledge base in a subject other than my academic major.

The benefits of a traditional college experience are not limited to what students get from classes. College life provides an abundance of other enrichment opportunities, such as performances, symposia, and student organizations. And I worry that online students don’t have as much of an opportunity to tap into those activities.

Even if we accept that the majority of online students are nontraditional learners who are taking classes online precisely because they have complicated schedules that would not accommodate these activities, I wonder if more could be done to promote a well-rounded education among online learners.

Let’s look at student organizations, for example. In many ways, college campuses are unique environments as crucibles for grassroots organization, be it an activist political organization or a Frisbee club. It’s obviously easier for the first buds of a student organization to form on a traditional campus as classmates make small talk, share interests, and become friends.

But it’s important to remember that student organizations don’t simply emerge from the ether. There are physical and bureaucratic structures on every campus that promote their existence. There are designated meeting spaces for these organizations to use. There are bulletin boards used to advertise meetings and events. There is funding set aside for student-organization activities. There is a procedure in place for the college to legitimize the organization.

Without these physical and organizational elements, campuses would not enjoy the level of student enrichment they do today. And I fear that as universities expand into online classes, they’re missing opportunities to provide the full student experience to their online learners.

Of course, there’s nothing to stop online students from using third-party social-networking Web sites right now to form student organizations. Students can use something like Facebook’s Group feature to organize and Skype’s video conferencing for meetings. But the farther students need to reach outside their institution’s online learning environment to form these groups, the more initiative it takes, and the less likely they are to do it. I think we’ll only see a richness of online-student activities that approaches that of traditional students if we offer a comparable infrastructure to that of the brick-and-mortar institutions.

But how would one build a comparable infrastructure online? Perhaps each college or academic program could operate its own online discussion board, linked to existing student accounts, providing students the opportunity to share resources, experiences, and ideas.

As these discussions expose shared ideas, desires, and interests, students can form groups that meet synchronously through applications like Wimba. Tools like Blackboard Community System, a comparable software package to Blackboard Academic Suite, allows student groups to have their own uniquely branded space within the online learning environment. A student group using this as its hub could provide information, create discussions, or set up Wimba sessions for audio and video conferencing.

There are innumerable tools that could be integrated with the online learning environment in innumerable ways. But I hope that as online education progresses, extracurricular activity becomes more and more a standard part of the experience so that online learners have the same opportunities for growth that I did.

But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”
Luke 10:29 (NIV)

Recently I spent a week in small-town central Illinois, helping to support my mother and arrange her affairs after the accidental death of my stepfather, who raised Belgian draft horses that he sold to the Amish community. He, like most in the area, was a blue-collar man, working with his hands to create a life for himself and my mom in the challenging economic reality of the region to which they’d only recently relocated. Once, it was relatively simple for someone with a high school education to make a living in the factories and farms of downstate Illinois; those days have passed, their memory fading like the day’s last light over the prairie.

The cities of Decatur, Mattoon, and Charleston and the surrounding countryside are struggling to stay afloat economically, and it was impossible for me to shake the sense that rescue for them would be long in coming, if ever arriving at all. The industrial jobs that once supported the economy have been lost to globalization and outsourcing, large agribusiness corporations have swallowed up independent farms, setting prices and dictating what and how to plant and harvest, and the small businesses that supported and depended upon the larger economic engines have largely disappeared, leaving deserted storefronts and rundown homes behind. If the jobs that once supported the region are not coming back, what hope is there for the people that remain?

Education is the only hope. Only an educated people can grasp and make sense of the geopolitical and economic forces that have swept through their communities and mount informed responses to them. Only an educated populace will elect and hold accountable lawmakers that will act in the people’s best interest. Only an educated people will be able to effectively re-create their towns and develop strategies to attract and keep new industries and investment. Education alone may not be enough, but it’s the crucial foundation upon which any hopes for reinvention and revitalization are dependent.

And it will have to be online education. The need is so pervasive, the cost to travel to centers of higher education so prohibitive, and the resources so limited that classroom education cannot be the solution for adult students, who must balance dreams for a better life in the future with the pressing demands of the here and now. A single mother of three working long days for minimum wage doesn’t have the money or time to travel an hour each way to attend a night class. A farmer whose schedule is dictated by the whims of weather or interrupted by illness or injury of his livestock can’t be expected to show up every Wednesday night at six. Both, however, can learn online, asynchronously and at a distance. Up until now, I’ve been an advocate for online learning mostly on a theoretical basis; what I saw and heard downstate convinced me that what we do is essential and will only become more so as the economy worsens and global competition increases.

At the memorial service for my stepfather the pastor spoke about the nobility of hard, manual labor. I think there’s nobility too in empowering ourselves and others through education. At DePaul we talk a lot about using higher education to lift up the disadvantaged. I’ve usually thought of those unfortunates as residing in some shadowy elsewhere, but they’re all around us, sometimes just outside the reach of our vision.

But we can expand our horizons online. Online in distant, isolated, small towns and farms students log in and become our close neighbors and broaden our university’s reach and mission. While questions of how to attract and bring more of them into our community of learners and how to make our education affordable to them must be answered, my experiences of the past week have convinced me that our mission can and should embrace and uplift an ever more diverse group over an ever widening region. Just over the horizon the light has faded for many small Midwestern towns and cities, filled with people for whom online learning could bring a new dawn. It’s imperative that we work to bring about that brighter day.

My mother is a serial entrepreneur and has worked in retail for many years. She often says that the toughest thing about her line of work is the demand to always be “on”—to be perky, pleasant, enthusiastic, and accommodating at all times. Now that the new quarter is under way and I find myself teaching again, I’ve been thinking a lot about the similar pressure for instructors to be “on” when interacting with students.

The last time I taught, multiple students noted in their evaluations that I seemed annoyed and impatient when answering their questions. It came as a bit of a shock, particularly since my previous round of evaluations had turned out so well. After a healthy dose of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, I traced my steps and recalled a few instances in class when I was visibly frustrated with students who weren’t keeping up with a tutorial. I also knew I’d been particularly bad about reminding students if I’d already answered the same question multiple times, and I had probably mentioned more than once that certain mistakes on the assignments could have been avoided by reading the assignment instructions more carefully.

I usually find that I’m in a great mood for the first few weeks of the quarter. I answer repetitive questions with glee. Students who don’t follow directions don’t keep me up at night. Nothing can dampen the feeling that I’m living my dream of being a professor and that I’m single-handedly changing the world. But the honeymoon doesn’t last forever. Like a Starbucks barista at the end of an eight-hour shift or a J. Crew salesperson who has just been asked to fold the same twenty pairs of pants he just folded two hours ago, the normal wear and tear of the job begins to drain my reservoir of patience. Eventually, it gets harder to answer the same question five times with a smile. It gets more painful to grade assignments in which students disregard the rubric I so meticulously and lovingly constructed. By the end of the quarter, it can be difficult not to take things personally that have little or nothing to do with my abilities as a teacher.

When I reflected more on what went wrong during my last term in the classroom, I realized I wasn’t just in a bad mood. I had also brushed off a critical task that I had performed the quarter before: asking my students for feedback before the middle of the term. The first time I tried it, I worried that surveying my students would draw attention to my lack of experience. I didn’t want to seem needy, but I was even more afraid of waiting until the end of the quarter to find out what my students really thought of me. So, I gave them an incredibly simple survey with only two questions:

1. How challenging is the course so far? (This was a multiple-choice question.)
2. Do you have any suggestions on how I can improve the course? (This was an open-ended question with a comment box.)

This survey was helpful in two ways. First, I learned that I was flying through my software demonstrations and needed to slow down. Second, I showed my students that I genuinely cared about them and wanted to make the course the best it could be. While I can’t say that my little survey made all the difference in my evaluation results that quarter, I feel certain that it played a significant role. When I taught again, I was a bit overconfident, having passed the last quarter with flying colors. I meant to ask my students for feedback but never got around to it. I told myself the students wouldn’t complete it, that I should have done it the week before, or that I should wait until next week. It was always the wrong time to ask for feedback, and before I knew it, the opportunity had slipped through my fingers.

This quarter I’m determined not to make the same mistake. I’ve already asked my students a few simple questions and their responses have helped me correct a few small problems that would have magnified over time. I made sure to include a question about my attitude and patience level, and I plan to offer the survey again to help me snap out of any funk that might set in as the quarter progresses. Asking for feedback early on also goes a long way to foster goodwill. Because I teach in a creative discipline, I have to offer a lot of criticism to help students improve. I can tell them all day long that they shouldn’t take this criticism personally, but giving them the opportunity to critique my teaching helps me lead by example. It also gives the students a chance to blow off some steam before the final evaluations, and I’d much rather get the worst over with early and in a survey that no one has to see but me.

Surveys can be conducted through Blackboard, but it can be difficult to convince students that they are truly anonymous. DePaul employees have the option to use QuickData, our home-grown tool that allows faculty to create surveys by completing a few simple forms. Because these surveys can be taken from any computer and don’t require students to log in, faculty might find they get more frank and honest feedback. For instructors outside DePaul, Web-based survey tools like Survey Monkey and Survey Gizmo offer a similar promise of anonymity. Of course, giving students the freedom to say whatever they like about their instructors has its downsides. However, I find it’s better to embrace this early in the quarter when there’s still time to do something about it. Hopefully, the result is a better learning experience for everyone and fewer disgruntled students venting several weeks’ worth of frustration in a course evaluation that will be read by department heads.

My students aren’t really my customers and I don’t like to think that I’m obligated to put on a happy face at all times and serve them like a Ritz-Carlton concierge. However, I do think student feedback is essential if I’m going to become a better teacher. When this feedback comes only once at the end of the quarter, it’s easy to feel defensive and powerless. That’s why it’s so important to ask students for regular feedback. It might make me seem a bit needy, but that’s an adjective I can live with, and I know my mom would agree. But just to be sure, I think I’ll send her a survey.

“Change,” a slogan of the Obama campaign, is undoubtedly winning its own presidential bid in the buzzword competition. The word “change,” probably of Celtic origin, is defined as an action to make different or to shift from one to another (Merriam-Webster OnLine). It can mean anything from a slight alteration to a radical transformation. When it comes to education, I think that change is, in fact, the ultimate goal of teaching and learning: change from unknown to known, from viewing things from one level to viewing them from another, and from systematic knowledge acquisition to an individualized, conscious battle of lucidity (Morin, 1999; George Siemens 2008). And that ultimate form of change as a result of learning is called “transformational learning.”

About a month ago, I attended a session on language learning and VoIP at the Wisconsin Distance Learning Conference. The presenter, Kerrin Barret, shared the findings of her dissertation studying a cross-cultural language-learning community supported by synchronous VoIP. Although her focus was on the role of VoIP in improving cultural and linguistic competencies, she found (with pleasant surprise, I am sure) that transformational learning occurred across participant groups in the online English-language-learning program, which involved teachers from the United States and students from Taiwan and mainland China. One of the themes that emerged from her study was that by participating in this online program, either as teachers or students, her study population became interculturally competent, which made them view the world as well as themselves differently. This perspective change echoes Merizow’s definition of “transformational learning”: a “disorienting dilemma” occurs in an adult learner’s life to cause her or him to reflect critically, with the end result that the individual’s conception of him/herself and worldview is inexorably changed.

During the presentation, I asked Kerrin, the session participants, and especially myself a question: should transformational learning be made a specific goal of our programs? The follow-up question in my mind was: will making it a goal of the programs give them a better chance to achieve the result, since curriculum design is becoming more and more goal-driven? At that moment, two examples came to my mind: my Chinese language class and DOTS, our faculty development program. For the former, I always wanted to make the class go beyond just the words and grammars; and for the latter, we have been striving to make an impact on faculty’s view and practice of teaching instead of just developing a couple online courses.

In seeking an answer to my own question, I thought about why transformational learning has not been made a goal of either my class or our program. I saw two reasons: 1) the goal seems to be so far above the ground for any teacher and student to achieve over the course of a class or a program; and 2) desirable as it is, making a class or a program a transformational learning experience to anyone doesn’t seem to be a demandable task, nor can it be measured easily with any form of standards. And when it comes to faculty development, a third reason is that faculty are put off by being preached to, which they see as humiliating.

This debate of “to be or not to be” is actually well documented in the literature of transformational learning, where two seemingly different views of transformational learning are presented: one view, represented by Mezirow, emphasizes rationality or rational, critical reflection; and the other, led by Boyd and Meyer, stresses the intuitive and emotional nature of the transformational process.

As a big follower of Etienne Wenger, I tend to agree with Boyd and Meyer because, as Wenger pointed out, “learning cannot be designed.” (Note: he didn’t say instruction cannot be designed, so that’s no job-security threat to instructional designers.) “Ultimately, it (learning) belongs to the realm of experience and practice. It follows the negotiation of meaning; it moves on its own terms. It slips through the cracks; it creates its own cracks. Learning happens, design or no design.” (Wenger, 1998)

If the result of transformational learning is so personal and hence uncontrollable, what can we, the educators, do to help one achieve this ultimate form of learning? Despite their different views on the process of transformational learning, all researchers and theorists seem to agree that educators play a significant role in the student’s perspective transformation, and “fostering transformative learning in the classroom depends to a large extent on establishing meaningful, genuine relationships with students” (Cranton, 2006, cited by Karrin 2008).

“Relationship” is the key word that I picked from this passage. As factual information becomes more and more accessible to everyone in its various forms of presentation, the role of educators is changing from knowledge carriers to relationship builders, trust agents, mentors, and role models for students. A class or a program provides us an opportunity to serve in that support role of difference-making.

If change is now a dream of all Americans, a dream of a transformational change as a result of learning should, then, be a “secret” goal of all American educators. It is an explicit but unstated goal with the greatest reward for both the teachers and the learners. The “medal” was awarded when a student in Kerrin’s study said, “I feel from learning I am different”; my dream came true when a student wrote me a card saying, “you taught me more than Chinese but how to be a considerate and caring person;” our goal was met when faculty said in their interviews, “DOTS makes me think about teaching differently.”

As a graduate student from the writing program working at IDD, I often wonder how much time it makes sense to devote to copy editing the online-course syllabi and modules that come across my desk. I sometimes think I’m being too stringent in my attempts to apply the rules of the Chicago Manual of Style. I have a tendency to get lost for upwards of half an hour at a time trying to resolve ambiguities of correct hyphen and comma use. (I’m still not sure if I should use a comma before a coordinating conjunction connecting two imperative clauses.)

Generally, the amount of attention that gets paid to a certain text’s punctuation, grammar, and accuracy is proportional to the number of people we expect to read it. An article in a national news magazine is rigorously scrutinized while an e-mail to officemates may not be reread once. Given that logic, it doesn’t seem to make sense to go over every course module with a fine-toothed comb.

However, I think everyone involved in producing a class should have a healthy amount of fear of students misunderstanding the course content. I bring this up because I think there’s a sense that proper grammar and punctuation, while important in order to appear professional, are purely cosmetic—at best only necessary to make a text easier to read. But something as simple as a hyphen or a capital letter can make a sentence mean something entirely different than what is intended.

In neither speech nor writing is meaning in the words alone. For example, in speech, we can distinguish the White House, the building where the president lives, from a generic house that happens to be white, by using stressed and unstressed syllables. “The white house” is not the same “the white house.” Say it out loud; you’ll hear the difference.

While we use and interpret stressed syllables naturally in speech, in writing, we have to rely on visual elements to make sure our audience reads the sentence the way it is intended. When these are absent or inconsistent, the writer loses control of what the reader interprets.

If, for example, someone referred to the syllabus for an online course as “the online course syllabus,” there’s a very real chance that the reader could interpret it instead as a course syllabus that is online, possibly assuming we are talking about a face-to-face course in which the professor posted the syllabus on Blackboard.

To prevent this kind of miscommunication, the phrase must be hyphenated as “online-course syllabus” because the words “online course” function as a compound adjective to modify “syllabus.”

Perhaps I am trying too hard to justify my existence as a writing student working at IDD. But since instructors are often trying to differentiate subtle shades of meaning and convey complicated ideas, I think every effort should be made to eliminate the potential for this kind of misinterpretation. Remember that in asynchronous learning it’s harder for students to ask and get answers to questions when they’re confused.

Of course, much of the time, students will be able to tell what you mean by context, but not always. And I think we should be on the lookout for the situations where a comma, a hyphen, or a capital letter can keep students from misunderstanding the class concepts.

When I attended the EDUCAUSE Learning Initiative’s annual meeting in January of 2008, I was sitting in a general session, and I was thinking to myself about online education and what students ‘do’ in that environment. I then got to thinking about service-learning and how authentic, situational, and service-based assignments can be of great value to students.

All of that led to the thought that, for the most part, online learning and service-learning seem to be mutually exclusive. The question is, do they have to be?

To see what has been done in this arena, I did a search and found an article, a case study, from the EDMEDIA conference in 2002. Lesa Lorenzen Huber from Indiana University, in her paper titled “The Human Touch: Incorporating Service-Learning into an Online Course,” discusses an instance where she took on the challenge of incorporating service-learning into her online course. This was filled with a great number of challenges but also had a lot of rewards.

Let’s take a step back and establish the essence of service learning. According to Learn and Serve America’s National Service-Learning Clearinghouse, “service-learning is a teaching and learning strategy that integrates meaningful community service with instruction and reflection to enrich the learning experience, teach civic responsibility, and strengthen communities.” In the case of Huber’s experience, the service-learning component was to have the students serve the community by working with new, elderly residents in the area and to welcome them to the community.

Huber also had four features she wanted to be sure were included in her course, as they are important elements of any service-learning course:

1. Service is clearly connected to the academic component and treated as a text via readings, discussion, speakers, etc.
2. A reciprocal relationship between the university and the community makes each a partner in the education of students.
3. Service meets a genuine community need as defined by the community-based organization.
4. 4. The philanthropic and civic content of the students’ service is discussed and examined. It is the practice of citizenship, broadly defined, that distinguishes service-learning from practica or internships, which focus more on professional preparation.

These elements can directly lead to a rewarding student experience. However, in an online course, it becomes difficult to incorporate the element of service. How are such service projects set up with so many different communities interfacing at once? How are the variables controlled in order for service to be a ‘learning text’ when students come from different areas? How do you build a reciprocal relationship between the university and many communities?

Despite these concerns, Huber proceeded with her course. It wasn’t easy. “At the beginning of the fall semester I had decided this type of model to increase student involvement in a human services online course was just too problematic.”[i] Through the term, though, she received such overwhelming positive feedback from the students that she reconsidered.

In online courses, students often report feeling isolated while taking the class. Service-learning is one way to fix that problem. While they may not physically see their classmates, they will get out in the community and put into practice skills they are learning in the course and can then come back to the online class and discuss their individual experiences. This leads to a rich community interaction as well as a rich online discussion and interactions between students.

Expectations of online courses also become a factor. By and large, most online courses require a student only to log in to the computer and participate online or read a textbook in addition to writing papers. Online learning does not have to equate to computer-only learning. Courses can require the students to go out and complete a project, interview people, or do other types of assignments involving time and work away from the computer. Service-learning takes this to the next level, as the work outside the class and away from the Internet is not only an assignment but also a form of the text and an integral part of the course.

Service-learning courses are not easy to construct; nor are effective online courses. To combine the two together makes the creation of such a course even more challenging; however, with the greater obstacles come greater rewards and, in the end, more comprehensive and significant student learning. It is because of this that faculty should consider incorporating service-learning into their online courses and that the two do not need to be mutually exclusive.

[i] Huber, L. (2002). The Human Touch: Incorporating Service-Learning into an Online Course. In P. Barker & S. Rebelsky (Eds.), Proceedings of World Conference on Educational Multimedia, Hypermedia and Telecommunications 2002 (pp. 1164-1169). Chesapeake, VA: AACE.