Degrees and professionalism

If Ted Purinton is to be believed, there’s some uncertainty about the future of and role of the Ed.D. degree, primarily due to the fact that whither go the Ivies and other preeminent universities, so follow the other colleges. Once upon a time, the Ed.D. degree had an image problem. But then…

Within the field of education, Ed.D. programs had for a long time been assumed to be inferior to Ph.D. programs, and only marginally useful to the improvement of educational practice, policy, and administration. That is, until Vanderbilt University, the University of Southern California, Harvard University, and a few other institutions revamped their doctor in education, or Ed.D., programs within the past decade (with Harvard creating an Ed.L.D. in educational leadership), emphasizing practice over scholarship and school-based improvement over university-level teaching.

And all was well with the world. Until…

Just recently, however, the Harvard Graduate School of Education, home to one of the most influential Doctor of Education programs in the nation, was granted permission by the university to offer its first Ph.D.; further, its Ed.D. will eventually be eliminated. For many decades, the university did not see the field of education as worthy of the Doctor of Philosophy degree. Times have changed, of course; the Ph.D. appears to look better to Harvard applicants, and the university has recognized the need for and the interdisciplinary nature of educational research.

 

The question to be asked, then, is supposedly this:

What impact does the elimination of a practice-related doctoral degree have on the prospects of educational professionalism?

Purinton seems worried that education’s professionalism will suffer as its primary doctoral-level degree becomes more removed from applied practice, that the more practical sorts of degrees (such as the Ed.D.) are part of a structure that generates a sort of working professional knowledge. I suspect that this worry might be misplaced, in part because of the structure of education in this country, and in part because of more philosophic considerations.
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Grades are punishment. Discuss.

Sometimes it’s nice to be given the keys to the car; you get to do what you want.  you can do things like pull out interesting comments and put them up for discussion.  (Of course, that’s not usually Joanne’s style so she might not appreciate my doing this…)  Here’s Mark Barnes’ latest comment from the comments to my recent post on computer essay scoring.

Grades are a punishment, because they are subjective, judgmental and provide no useful feedback for students. There’s much more to it, but I’m not sure this is the thread for it.

So given that that post wasn’t the place for a more in-depth discussion about this issue.  I propose that this post is.  He’s right: there is much more to it, which you can (and should) read about here.  Here’s Mark’s list of reasons he doesn’t given grades, without the more detailed explanations:

5 — Grades are always subjective.

4 — A points and percentages system discriminates.

3 — Poor weighting of activities punishes some students while rewarding others.

2 — Grades turn even honest kids into cheaters.

1 — When students perform for points or letters, they lose any interest in real learning.

I think he’s terribly mistaken, but I also think this is an important conversation worth having.  For my part, I’ll rattle off some very brief, glib responses and then make way for all of you (I may have more to say in the comments).

I think that #5 is pretty obviously false, and that it’s not necessarily a terrible thing even if it’s true.   #4 is true; but it might be a feature, not a bug.  #3 is an argument against poor weighting, not against grades.  #2 is, I think, false.  It’s easy to seem “honest” when there’s nothing at stake.  Honesty’s about what you do when it matters.

#1, I think, is the one real, substantive point that Barnes has, though I think it’s at once overstated (they probably lose “much”, not “any” interest).  But it’s also possible that it’s operating on some wrong assumptions, too.  Part of the reason I think schools need the carrot and the stick is because what the schools are promoting is not “real learning.”   It’s quite often disembodied, inert knowledge designed not to teach any sort of useful skill, but to inculcate a certain type of worldview, or mimic the sorts of mental processes of a certain type of person.  There isn’t any interest there to begin with, so it would be false to think that the grades destroy that interest.

Charter poaching, competition, and dignity

Julia Lawrence at EducationNews gives us a brief look at some legislative offensives in ongoing charter warsGeorgia is considering a law to allow the state to approve charter schools in a district without the district’s consent, and Mississippi is considering something similar which also allows the state to put charters anywhere, not just in low-performing districts.  (It appears that Mississippi law currently only allows charters as a remedial measure.)  Perhaps somewhat predictably, district superintendents aren’t thrilled to have their power attacked like this.

The fact that various political entities and individuals are bickering over who gets the power to tax and spend isn’t a terribly interesting one to me; politicians have been fighting over things like that for millennia, and they’d probably fight over it even if everyone completely supported charter schools, because the fights Lawrence is highlighting are, I think, about power, not policy.  So I had considered just putting up a post entitled “charter schools” with the text “Discuss”, and letting the usual suspects fly into a frenzy in the comments.   That might have been fun to watch.

But I wanted instead to try to focus attention on a very particular issue, raised by a Tennessee superintendent who seems to simply not like the idea of charter schools being approved in his district: poaching.  Here’s what he says:

If 17 new charter schools open here in the fall, Memphis City Schools Supt. Kriner Cash said he expects to bleed staff as the startups “cannibalize” the city schools, picking at sinews of talent and leaving a weakened system behind.

“Everyone is going to cannibalize our top people,” Cash said. “With the new evaluation system, we now know who our top folks are. Who do you think they are going to be after with every lure, bait and catch you can imagine?”

I was a little shocked when I read this, because it seemed like such an admission of weakness.  Essentially, he’s holding up a giant sign that says, “We don’t deserve to survive as an organization.”  Can you imagine the CEO of a private company making this sort of complaint in public?  He’d be laughed at by the public and removed the next day by the board.

It had always been my impression that charter schools received slightly less funding per student than public schools.  (The link is to a New York study, and though one should be mindful of generalizing from a single state, I believe California works similarly.)  Given the financial disparity, what “lure, bait, and catch” could charters use that are unavailable to districts?

Teacher-based decision-making, and teacher-involved management might be one draw — but then Superintendent Cash is really just complaining that his serfs are being given their freedom in the next Principality over, and why can’t they just stay in their place like good little peasants.  Surely that’s not his argument.

Better working conditions might be a possibility, but why doesn’t the district just improve its working conditions by adopting whatever policies the charter schools adopt?  If teachers like a schedule with a few more breaks, then give them a few more breaks.  If the charters give teachers more classroom authority, why not give your teachers more classroom authority?  If the charters let the teachers pick their own curricular materials, why not do the same?

Perhaps I could understand a complaint that went something like this: the charter schools will take all of our best students.  The best teachers and staff will follow the best students because they’re easier to teach.  That seems like a legitimate worry about why you’d lose your best teachers.  Of course, that just pushes back the problem.  Now we have to ask a different version of the same question: why are you losing your best students?  Once you think it through, it really starts to look like the Superintendent isn’t just complaining about competition and the fact that it would harm education, but rather he’s complaining about competition and the fact that he (and the district) would lose.

Look, I’m not saying that competition in our education system is going to make things better, not for everybody and maybe not even for the students.  I’m not saying that everyone has to like competition; some people really just want their comfortable little slice of the pie.  I understand that; it’s a significant part of human nature.  We can fight out issues about how much and what types of competition we’ll have in our society in the legislatures.

Fight about power.  Fight about policy.  But whining about how competition is going to hand you your hat, and using the assertion that your competitors are better than you are to argue that they shouldn’t be allowed to compete really betrays a lack of dignity.

The tests that can be computer scored

Over at the Curriculum Matters blog, Erik Robelen has a link-filled post about machine-scoring of essay tests entitled “Man vs. Computer: Who wins the essay-scoring challenge?

It seems there was a study.

“The results demonstrated that overall, automated essay scoring was capable of producing scores similar to human scores for extended-response writing items with equal performance for both source-based and traditional writing genre,” says the study, co-authored by Mark Shermis, the dean of the University of Akron’s college of education, and Ben Hammer of Kaggle, a private firm that provides a platform for predictive modeling and analytics competitions.

There’s something odd going on here.

Barbara Chow, the education program director at Hewlett, said in the press release that she believes the results will encourage states to include a greater dose of writing in their state assessments.

And she believes this is good for education.

“The more we can use essays to assess what students have learned,” she said, “the greater likelihood they’ll master important academic content, critical thinking, and effective communication.”

Even if we grant that assessments help in mastering what they measure — something that I don’t think is clear in the absence of grade-like motivation — I can imagine that a school could spend the entire day doing nothing but assessing what’s learned through essays, and never actually get around to teaching anyone anything at all.  But let’s put aside the fact that the last quoted sentence is a blatant falsehood and focus on something else entirely.

The prevailing thought seems to be along the following lines: The test is a good test.  The fact that its essays get the same results from human readers and computer evaluation makes it better, because a machine-scorable essay is cheaper, and easier to deploy as an assessment.

But here’s another view: the fact that a machine can score your essays just as well as your human readers suggests that your human readers aren’t really doing a good job of reading the essays in the first place.  It suggests that having the essays you have on your test, and grading them in the way you do, is an utter waste of time, money, and effort.  The fact that you’re able to waste this time more cheaply by using a computer doesn’t transform it into a worthwhile activity.

If I were a testing agency, and someone established in a study that a computer program could grade my essays as well as my human graders, I’d be embarrassed, because it would now be public knowledge, proved by social science, that my essay tests weren’t really being read for substance and content all along, but instead were being assessed through some sort of cheap, easy algorithmic rubric — either by design or (less likely) through the laziness of my graders.  Of course, I don’t think anyone in the test industry is thinking of denying that students’ essays are assessed through a cheap, easy algorithmic rubric.  They’re issuing press releases.

The fact that this is a selling point for the test-makers is all the proof I need to know that there are large chunks of the education establishment in this country that have no real interest in actually educating people to “think critically” or “communicate effectively”.

In fact, you might even think that learning these skills might require practice communicating with someone that thinks.   But what do I know?

A hazy shade of pledging

Michael Winerip had a fairly long article in the NY Times yesterday about collegiate fraternity hazing.  The article is structured as if it were written by committee, but it’s worth reading anyway.  It centers on the death of a Cornell student, George Desdunes, and uses a detailed discussion of that tragedy as an indirect way of raising larger questions about fraternity hazing and collegiate alcohol policy generally.

There was one vexing sentence (vexing for me, anyway) in his article, though, which I think needs to be flagged, if for no other reason that it makes for interesting discussion:

ALCOHOL is often the not-so-secret ingredient that turns pledging into hazing.

Does alcohol really turn pledging into hazing?  Or does it turn hazing into something dangerous?  Does Winerip mean to say that when pledging is dangerous, as it might be when alcohol is involved, it then becomes hazing?  That would be a fairly narrow view of hazing, something more akin to the legal definitions that are commonly used which rely on concepts such as “substantial risk of physical injury”.  Many anti-hazing advocates and several universities, however, use much broader definitions that include as hazing things like risks of “emotional harm”, “humiliation”, or “degradation”.  That’s a very, very different set of behaviors.

Winerip never actually tells us exactly what he means by hazing, but his discussion seems to indicate that he’s primarily concerned with the narrower, more dangerous phenomenon.  That’s probably a good thing, though I think that there are probably some further lines that can and should be drawn across that particular territory — rugby, for instance, creates a “substantial risk of physical injury” by most actuarial definitions, but no one seems to think that the Chi Psi pledges shouldn’t have to play the brothers in a few games as part of their initiation.

In any case, I think we always should be careful to be very specific about what we’re talking about when we discuss things like hazing, harassment, bullying, or other behaviors that we want to inhibit, prohibit, or punish in our schools and colleges (or anywhere else, for that matter).

Let’s recess for… recess

Julia Steiny  has an excellent column up this week lamenting the modern loss of recess, and running over some of the major arguments in favor of having regular breaks for play and other unstructured activities.  She also talks about two groups (Peaceful Playgrounds and Let Children Play) pushing for a “right” to recess.

I’m always skeptical of couching things like this in the language of rights, but as a practice recess seems like sort of a no-brainer to me.

Talking about Trayvon

Should teachers talk to their students about the Trayvon Martin controversy in Florida?  As always with current events, it’s a sensitive question.

Jeffrey Carpenter and Scott Weathers at Education Week say yes; it’s a teachable moment.  (Subscription barrier)

Teaching for Change has an (obviously politicized, since it’s Teaching for Change) list of suggestions about how to discuss the issue with young children.

But perhaps one should just talk — as a teacher was fired in Michigan for, it seems, running a fundraiser with her students for Trayvon Martin’s family.

I think that teachers discuss it, but only as a sort of concrete springboard for more abstract issues.  They should probably avoid talking specifically about the details of the controversy unless they’re going to do at least several hours of serious research into the various alleged facts of the case and the various ways the narratives have shifted since their inception.  Is Zimmerman white?  That’s a complex question.  Was Trayvon shot for wearing a hoodie?  It’s not clear the hoodie had anything at all to do with anything; Zimmerman only mentioned the hoodie after he explained to the operator why the man was suspicious, in response to a question about what the man was wearing.  Was Zimmerman injured?  Did he mutter “coons” or “cold”?  At the very least, teachers should be aware that these are questions, and not facts.

There’s also the question of understanding the legal issues.  I’ve personally seen two teachers discuss the matter with their students in the last few weeks.  While both teachers were well-intentioned, intelligent, and quite up-front about their own biases in the case, and handled themselves admirably insofar as they were discussing delicate, politically charged issues,  they both fell victim to a simple lack of legal understanding.  They didn’t really understand the burdens that police face in making an arrest and their knowledge of the facts was very clearly limited to one or two sources that they’d read.  It’s not that the teachers were really doing anything wrong — like I said, they tried very hard to present the issue fairly and to make clear their own presumptions– but they just didn’t really know what it was they didn’t know.  And that’s treacherous ground for an educator.

I’m not saying that teachers need to be lawyers.  That’s clearly asking too much; I am a lawyer, and I’m not at all sure I’d want to talk to a high school class about this case because there’s so much I just don’t understand about what’s going on.  If I did talk to a high school class about this, it would be primarily to flag issues and explain what I (and, by way of the lesson, the students) simply don’t know.  But even if I’m being overcautious, if the teachers aren’t going to take the time to understand, for example, that “Stand Your Ground” laws probably have nothing to do with the case, then I think they really should just avoid talking about it in anything except the most general of terms.

The Martin-Zimmerman situation is, fundamentally, a legal issue right now.  (Or it should be, if we want to avoid simply defaulting to mob rule.)  That means that the applicability of various statutes and burdens and presumptions really, really, matters.   The law really matters.  If you want to discuss the situation in detail with your students, if you want to make it a teachable moment and not just an opportunity to inflame passions, then you either need to do the hard work of gathering the often conflicting allegations and bits of evidence and  understand what’s going on with the law, or you need to accept the limitations of your knowledge, make them explicit, and only speak more generally about society’s racial tensions, the sorts of problems that face minority youth (which are real; I know from my own experience), the way that the law protects us from mob rule, and other related issues.

Maybe they can use value-added for Sociology profs

How should we measure college’s success in educating students?  The New York Times‘ Richard Perez-Pena takes a look.

The answer seems to be shaping up to be “tests”.

Being right isn’t enough

It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.

“A superintendent walks into an honors composition classroom, and sees students copying the school rules into their notebooks.  He turns to the teacher and says…”

The punchline took place last fall, but I only read about it today in the LA Times.  Apparently what the superintendent says in this particular joke is something along the lines of:

That’s why Deasy blew his top last fall when he encountered students in a 12th-grade English class copying a list of classroom rules into their composition books.

Busywork, he called it. An insult to their potential. A disrespectful waste of time in an Honors Composition course.

He told the students as much, then asked their teacher, Patrena Shankling, what they were supposed to be learning from this.

Let me just say that from the limited amount of information I have, he’s absolutely, 100% right.  It is busywork.  It’s a disrespectful insult to almost any high school class.  And, frankly, it’s probably (rank speculation alert!) the sort of thing that happens all the time in high schools.  (The mindless, stupid copying, that is, not the superintendent walking in.)

But as right as he might be, as righteous as his indignation may properly burn, he’s also a bit of an ass for going after the teacher in front of her students.  That’s not good management.  It’s not good leadership.  It’s not good manners.  If you really want, you can lean on the teacher, force an apology to the students later.  But going after someone in public is just going to end badly.  It’s the sort of thing you only do if you absolutely have to.

So in light of this criticism, it turns out that the teacher was also right when she objected…

Shankling was a substitute. It was the second day of the fall semester, and she was following the teacher’s lesson plan. She didn’t appreciate being scolded by Deasy in front of the students in her class.

But of course, as we know from seeing the superintendent in action, being right isn’t enough.  You also have to avoid acting stupidly, which seems to have been remarkably difficult in that classroom that day for several parties…

They wound up in a shouting match. She ordered Deasy to leave, he threatened to have her removed, she said.

One day later, Shankling, substitute No. 970595, was banned from teaching in L.A. Unified.

Let me say it again: being right isn’t enough.  You should also  be decent, and wise.  And being right is definitely not enough if you’re in a giant bureaucracy like the LAUSD.

On the other hand, when it comes to LAUSD superintendents, given the district’s track record, I might be perfectly happy with someone who’s just right.

Emergency measures for everyone?

There was a comedian, I forget his name, who had a joke about airplanes.  To paraphrase: “The black box,” he said, “Always survives the crash.  Why don’t they make the entire plane out that stuff?”  That’s obviously not a serious question, but it touches on a notion that is somewhat serious.  To get to the serious core of that notion, we’ll have to talk about something even more serious: cartoons.

Many children’s cartoons from the 70′s and 80′s (and shows like Power Rangers) have a similar notion running through them.  (Modern cartoons may have the same dynamic; I don’t watch them anymore though, so I can’t really comment.)  The formula is pretty stable: the “good guys” always seem to have trouble dealing with the bad guy/problem of the week, but then they form Voltron/turn into He-Man/use their Care Bear powers/Summon Godzilla and the evil is defeated, the problem solved, and everyone lives happily ever after.

The question that pops into one’s head after watching a few years of this is, of course, “Why don’t they just form Voltron in the first place?” In other words, why wait until you’re getting your head beat in to do what works?

Barry Garelick writes something in a very similar vein about mathematics education, in an EducationNews opinion piece. It’s fairly long, but it’s worth reading.  He includes a great deal of detail, some of which I was unaware (such as IDEIA’s definition of “learning disability” being based on a delta of IQ and achievement).  Here’s the core of his argument:

IDEIA required instead that states must permit districts to adopt alternative models including the “Response to Intervention” (RtI) model in which struggling students are pulled out of class and given alternative instruction.

What type of alternative instruction is effective? A popular textbook on special education (Rosenberg, et. al, 2008), notes that up to 50% of students with learning disabilities have been shown to overcome their learning difficulties when given explicit instruction. This idea is echoed by others and has become the mainstay of RtI. What Works Clearinghouse finds strong evidence that explicit instruction is an effective intervention, stating: “Instruction during the intervention should be explicit and systematic. This includes providing models of proficient problem solving, verbalization of thought processes, guided practice, corrective feedback, and frequent cumulative review”. Also, the final report of the President’s National Math Advisory Panel states: “Explicit instruction with students who have mathematical difficulties has shown consistently positive effects on performance with word problems and computation. Results are consistent for students with learning disabilities, as well as other students who perform in the lowest third of a typical class.”

Garelick argues that, like the hapless good guys on Saturday Morning cartoons, schools are waiting until they are getting their heads beat in (i.e., when students are falling behind in math achievement) to do what actually works.  Why not simply do what works in the first place, and have “emergency” measures for everyone?

His arguments aren’t perfect, but they’re provocative and probably have more than a little truth to them.  Read the whole thing.