CALL for APPLICATIONS: 5th ECPR Teaching and Learning Summer School

The ECPR Teaching and Learning Politics (TLP) standing group together with Comenius University in Bratislava invite applications for the 5th ECPR Teaching and Learning Summer School to be held in Bratislava, Slovakia, from 6 July to 13 July 2020.

The summer school is organized around the effective use of three methods— simulation, games and academic debate. The summer school will draw upon best practice in the scholarship of teaching and learning and will offer a combination of practical and theoretical sessions.

The fee for the 2020 summer school is €270, which includes accommodation, lunches/dinners, coffee breaks, tuition, e-reader and a trip to a UNESCO World heritage site.

The applications should include a CV, a motivation letter and a statement of teaching philosophy. Application deadline is 16 February 2020. Full call for applications is available from the TLP website (here).

Petty Officer Usherwood?

It’s nearly Christmas, if anyone’s short of ideas

Yesterday I had about a third of my students turn up for class. Possibly that was related to the deadline for an essay due for me later that day – certainly the number who turned up was about the same as the number who’d already submitted the work.

Since I’ve known that this was going to be an awkward timing since the start of semester, back in early October, I’d left some of the session open, so I could be flexible about what to do, including not asking for any specific prep beyond the general reading.

In the event, I spent a block of the class talking about assessment. Unsurprisingly, since they’d already submitted, none of the students who turned up wanted to talk about the essay, but they did want to talk about the exam, which’ll be after the Christmas break.

So we discussed how that would work (we’re doing a seen-paper format, so they get it a week beforehand) and what I was looking for.

So what’s the problem?

Well, the people who turned up yesterday are the ones who most likely didn’t need the discussion, either because they’d have worked out the salient points already, or because they’d have asked. Indeed, the student who asked about the exam some weeks ago was there.

The issue is for those who didn’t turn up, the ones still working on their essay a couple of hours ahead of the deadline, the ones will the poor attendance throughout the semester.

This is a classic of the Matthew Principle: those that have, get more. And it’s not really helped by me being a bit petty-minded.

I could have waited until next week’s final class to discuss the exam – and probably someone who wasn’t there yesterday will ask about it – but I have also spent two months trying to reinforce the message that the rational choice for a student who’s finding it hard going is to come to class, because that’s the best place to get the essentials together, and to get questions answered.

Partly, this is about incentives. For my other class, on negotiation, I have great attendance, mainly because the classwork is very active and because the assessment is about what you’ve done in class. In this case, the work is more mixed and it’s not directly linked.

Maybe I need to be thinking about whether I can change that, in a way that works for the subject matter.

But maybe I also need to think more about how much this is a case of taking horses to water: where do me responsibilities lie and where do they end?

Maybe one for class discussion next week.

Why does no one come and talk to me anymore?

This guest post comes from Patrick Bijsmans of Maastricht University.

I’ve always considered myself an approachable teacher; someone students can come to with questions or worries or just for a talk. And from what I hear, I am considered to be approachable.

Still, I am noticing something that worries me. I have been having open office for about 9 years now, but fewer students have been showing up. Weeks go by when no one comes, even in periods when I am teaching and coordinating courses.

I know that I am not the first one raising this issue. It is even the topic of students’ research! But I still believe that students can learn from meeting with us for input and feedback, whether this concerns a relatively simple question or my assessment of their paper.

So, why does no one come and talk to me anymore?

Turnout during open office hours again was low during the first weeks of this year, when I coordinated and taught a first-year course on academic research and writing. At the end, students write a short paper. These are randomly distributed among teaching staff, myself plus 10 other colleagues – together we teach 25 problem-based learning groups of about 12 students. As soon as results are out, all students, whether they have failed or passed, are invited to meet with the person who marked their paper to discuss the assessment during scheduled open office hours.

This year I asked colleagues to inform me about the number of students that had shown up. The table below shows the data for those who failed the course. Interestingly one colleague had to do her open office hours via Skype; no less than 7 out of 9 students showed up. Yet, there is some research that suggests that using technology does not make a huge difference.

Number of failed students Number of failed students attending open office hours
Patrick95
Colleague 1 72
Colleague 296
Colleague 394
Colleague 4124
Colleague 594
Colleague 61711
Colleague 7159
Colleague 8174
Colleague 9156
Colleague 1097
Total12862

Why did so few students show up?

I decided to ask some simple questions to the students themselves during a session in our mentor programme. The approximately 100 students who attended (out of nearly 300) might not be representative of the group of students that does not turn up in my office. But I still learned something interesting.

Of the 86 students completing questions via an online survey tool, 36 had failed the course and 29 had attended the open office hours. Those who attended, generally did so to get clarification regarding their paper’s assessment.

Of those who did not attend, some simply stated that they passed the course and saw no need to discuss the feedback. Others referred to having been sick, stressed and/or busy with the new courses – when asked, quite a few of these students did not write to staff to ask for another appointment.

Asked why they thought others had not come, some answered that these must be lazy students or that they missed motivation because they knew what they had done wrong.

But quite a few answers touched upon something that we might all too easily overlook, namely students’ expectations regarding feedback opportunities. These answers did not just concern not knowing what to do with feedback. For instance, one student wrote that students who did not show up might be “insecure and/or uncomfortable with getting feedback”. Another student wrote that “you have limited time with the tutors and tutors often have a lot of work and not much time for you”.

Could it be that low attendance during open office hours is due to barriers to students’ engagement with feedback or, more generally, a lack of feedback literacy?

This is something that I want to explore in more detail. I have already briefly discussed this with our academic writing advisor, and we may want to see whether we can specifically address this issue in a forthcoming curriculum review.

But what about solutions for the here and now? There are many ways in which open office are organised, but what works best?

One colleague suggested changing times. Admittedly, my open office hours are Wednesdays from 08:30-09:30, but this never was a problem – and the feedback open office hours during the aforementioned course were scheduled in the afternoon. Elsewhere in cyberspace people have been suggesting other solutions, including a rethink of faculty office space. I’d love to squeeze in a couch, but my office is rather tiny.

On Twitter someone suggested that the wording ‘open office hours’ is unclear to students and that ‘student drop-in hours’ may make more sense. So, the name plate next to my door now mentions my student drop-in hours and so does the syllabus of an upcoming course.

Let’s see what happens. I hope students will come and talk to me again. The door’s open, simply turn up at the stated time!

Too much, too close

For non-UK readers, you may or may not be aware that we’re having a general election here pretty soon, in what looks like a season 4 finale for “The Brexit Saga” (many, many more seasons still to come).

I mention it here mainly because it’s made my home life come a lot closer to my work life, as I try to marry Political Science to The State of This with loved ones.

Usually when we talk about learning and teaching, we value proximity. Active learning assumes that more visceral experiences are more likely to generate deep understanding of substance and process than are passive, transmission models.

And it’s certainly the case that the immediacy of the election and the salience of the issues has driven a markedly higher level of inquiry from both voting and non-voting members of the household.

For context, our constituency has become a much more contested one of late, including the current MP having lost the party whip (but still standing) and an electoral pact between a couple of the other parties to try and improve their chances. Let’s just say I’ve got a lot of campaign materials through our door of late.

However, for some of the voters in the house, the situation is profoundly unhappy: levels of trust in anyone are low, the head vote isn’t the same as the heart vote, especially as the heart vote option might not even be possible in any case.

Some voters in the house are distinctly hacked off by this, and my efforts to apply the salve of rational choice action under FPTP aren’t going that well (especially when some voters in the house are behavioural scientists).

But enough of my exciting mealtime conversations: what might we learn from this for our teaching?

Well, it reminds me that we have to be careful not to let our students overly-invest in their learning environment. This does happen with big. multi-day simulation exercises, which is why it’s essential to have a comprehensive debrief straight after to allow they to step back out.

But it’s also an issue with emotional/sensitive topics. We need to be very careful about how we set up those discussions and how all participants frame their contributions. We also need to give space for students to give voice to their concerns and preoccupations, be that in the group or individually.

What we can’t – and shouldn’t – do is try to pretend that emotion doesn’t come into it. Politics is emotional at a pretty basic level, so if we cut that out then we lose both only the recognition of individual engagement with it, but also a part of our understanding.

Stepping back and asking people to reflect on their emotions is part of that, but even this isn’t easy. Which is why we also have to show that we acknowledge and empathise.

Sometimes we don’t have good – in the sense of being satisfactory – answers to issues, and that’s fine to admit too, because it’s in the gaps that our own reflection and understanding grows.

Maybe something to discuss over a family meal sometime?

Learning in the army

This guest post comes from Lt Chad Barrigan, Learning Development Officer in the Army’s Educational and Training Services.

I’m an Education Officer in the Army. Like every teacher, we are faced with the eternal question about what our role is. Are we there to be a font of and dispenser of knowledge or are we there to exploit the knowledge of the students in the room? I find myself firmly in the latter camp and despair at the idea of teaching classes based off PowerPoint and research tasks. The problem we face is how do we get the same base level of knowledge across the class to actually be able to do a good exploitation activity?

I think I may have found a way to do this and it is a combination of using learning technology, scenario-based learning, motion graphic design, Black Mirror’s Bandersnatch and Star Trek in an exercise called Clarke’s Crisis (solely named so as to wind up a colleague.)

Continue reading

Strikingly absent

This week a lot of people I know in the UK are on strike, as part of the UCU’s industrial action on pay and pensions.

However, none of the people I know at my institution are part of that, because insufficient numbers voted on action, so we have to continue working. It’s a labour deregulation thing.

So since I can’t strike, I’ll go for encouraging you to find out more about the action, which is also supported by the National Union of Students.

If you want to read more about the way in which colleagues are left feeling precarious and undervalued then check out #UCUstrike on Twitter for some (all-too-common) examples.

And if you want the logic of collection action explained to you, then go find a political scientist, probably on a picket line.

Skinning your (teaching) cat

No cats were harmed in the writing of this blog

The other week I got to be interviewed by our university’s Department of Higher Education, for their new podcast series.

We talked about how my practice has developed and what advice I could pass on to others, which mainly fell into the category of ‘learning to let go’.

Mostly, though, it reminded me that I like teaching and that’s the single most important thing, just as it is for any part of your working life.

I like walking into the classroom and discovering what’s happening with my students, building knowledge and understanding (theirs and mine) together.

I’m guessing you feel something similar too – otherwise you’d not be reading this blog – but you’ll know someone who doesn’t really feel that.

The trite answer would be to say that maybe those people shouldn’t be teaching, but we know that’s not often an option.

So instead, I’d remind them that ‘teaching’ covers a lot of different things: it’s no more meaningful than ‘research’ in terms of specifying what to do.

So experiment: try something else out.

Think about the things you really enjoy doing and try doing those. If that’s research, then make your students into researchers. If it’s engagement with practitioners, get them to develop those skills. If it’s being in the media, interview them.

It’s easy to be lazy about teaching, to reproduce the things you got as a students, to reuse the other guy’s notes.

So give it a whirl and maybe you’ll see why people like me like teaching so much.

Trying to up my game

At the end of last month, I came to the end of my term with UK in a Changing Europe. The programme, which aims to bring the fruits of social science research on UK-EU relations to a public audience, was a great occasion for me to bring insights from my pedagogic work to public and political communication.

Part of that was thinking about different ways to package data and information.

Obviously (since you’re reading this) there’s the blogging, but also Twitter, podcasting, vlogs and graphics. Plus all manner of face-to-face events and formats.

Now that I’ve stopped with quite such a full-on public engagement role, I want to try and bring some more of that experience back into the classroom.

My first port of call has been the graphics, because they remain one of the less-explored avenues to date.

When I started out, shortly after the 2016 referendum, I haven’t really got the hang of it [shock]: I think this is one of my very first efforts:

Click through and you’ll see lots and lots of words and not a huge amount of structure: I’m trying to cover all the detail here, but of only some elements.

However, I also notice that the very next day, I also produced something with lots of empty spaces:

Simple, yes, but not very helpful beyond some groupings.

Since then I’ve produced dozens of the things, with not much more to go on than informal feedback and personal reflection: I’d suggest that this might not be the best way to go about it. Taking a course/workshop would have saved a lot of time all round.

For me, the first big thing was thinking about how to move away from what are essentially lists (like the two above), to a format that makes real use of the visual component to relate elements to each other.

The second was about working more to produce content that met the needs of the people using this: I’ve pitched different graphics to those without any substantial knowledge and to those working closely with the material.

That’s all been well and good and I’ve had a handful of graphics get really big audiences, mainly by virtue of trying to break down somewhat complicated things into simpler summaries (e.g. here and here). Getting retweeted by key influencers also matters, so do think about tagging people in too.

But my changing status has also been an opportunity to revisit what I do, including the template, which was essentially a expedient let’s-use-the-university’s-poster-template choice back in 2016.

What’s new?

The past couple of Mondays, I’ve been posting my new efforts. Here’s the first one:

As you see, it’s not massively different: a simpler title banner, clearer details on dates, versions and sharing rights, plus my Twitter handle and a link to a PDF version (i.e. all the stuff I should always have had in).

The colour was horrible and won’t be used again, but the format does highlight my efforts to try and take the reader through the subject matter.

And as for sticking with PowerPoint? Well, I know how to use it, even if it’s not the most elegant or high-powered.

Next steps

But this new formatting isn’t the core of what I want to do: I’m going to bring this into the classroom.

As you’ll recall, I flipped my Intro to the EU class last year, with somewhat mixed results. A big part of the issues was students not seeing what the point of the contact time previously used for lecturing was.

Enter graphics.

I’m planning to use that lecture time briefly for any Q&A on the flipped lecture (as before), but much more for getting the group to generate graphics on a key question.

Given there’s about 120 of them, that’ll need some snow-balling of groups and for me to investigate some software for sharing graphical content, but I think it’ll be good for getting more active and reflective skills developed by students.

We’re still at early days on this, but I’ll report as it evolves.

Triggering debate

One of the persistent problems of teaching politics is that it’s not a steady target: things keep happening.

Niche (and better than a photo of a bus)

There has been much discussion of this, both generally and on this blog, but it’s something that come back into my consideration of late as I think about how I’m teaching.

In the past weeks, I have several classes that have started from a specific trigger. That’s either been a news event, or some material that I’ve come across that prompts a question (and a discussion).

Last week, my students sourcing some campaigning materials from the 2016 referendum and then used them in class to consider what that told them about framing and rhetoric more generally.

Tomorrow, I’m running a public event where people can ask any question about Brexit of me and my colleagues: there we’ll find ourselves very much wherever the audience want.

This connection to events (and to symbols) is important. Firstly, it helps those we’re helping to learn to see how academic study fits with the world in practice. And secondly, it provides a hook on to which we tie ourselves as we explore the issues surrounding it.

In many ways this is analogous to the use of theory to anchor our debate: in that case, we seek out master-ideas that pull together disparate phenomena and – hopefully – make them cohere. In the event-led model, we’re focusing on a phenomenon as a site of interaction for multiple concepts and ideas.

Putting it like that makes me think about why it’s important to have a balance between the two approaches. It’s good to have a rounded set of perspectives on any one event, but equally it’s important to see the structural processes that transcend it.

It might be that in the appreciation of the mixture of specificity and sameness of the world around us that we can gain the fullest understanding.

Something to talk about with class, perhaps.

GIYF, apparently

Long story

This academic year I’ve encountered a problem that wasn’t previously one I’d seen.

On several occasions, students have been in touch to say they can’t access materials, or links in reading lists are broken.

That’s bad, on my part, but a quick type into Google pulls up the correct link and/or material.

Most of me assumes that search engines are a staple of modern life, so I struggle to understand why one wouldn’t just check on one if you couldn’t find what you wanted.

But a bit of me also worries that this is symptomatic of some kind of learned helplessness: by being in the habit of just being given stuff, one loses the ability to find stuff for yourself.

I know we go around the spoon-feeding debate in education pretty regularly, but this seems like an odd case, given that we could expect using search engines to be a much more pervasive thing.

I need to follow this up with students and I’ll come back with any feedback, but I’d also welcome your thoughts too, both on causes and solutions.