A very short one today, as I’m struggling with a pile of stuff that I’m not sure I understand.
While it’s great that I get to do things I wouldn’t have otherwise be able to, Brexit has also meant I get asked to explain things that are either at the edge of my knowledge, or which are so novel that no-one’s considered them before.
You might have this in your classroom sometimes – I know I still do – so a couple of thoughts on how I handle it.
Firstly, work from what you know.
Nothing is so out-there that it doesn’t touch on something that’s much more settled, so build your conceptual bridge out from that. It not only gives you something more solid to work with, but often it’s where those involved are working from too.
Secondly, consider the range of options.
Politics is great to study because of its uncertainty, but that usually works within a bounded set of pathways. The more you can work through what that set might include, the better you can evaluate how actors might choose among them.
And thirdly, don’t be afraid to say you don’t know.
No-one knows everything and sometimes it’s a matter of either being too early to tell, or too uncertain to guess. Park it, say what would be a marker of things changing in a way that you could tell, so that your audience is left with some tools, even if they don’t get the answer there and then.
Right, back to the world of UK Parliamentary procedure.
A follow-up about asking students why they do what they do . . . For the second stage of this data-gathering exercise, I had students use Post-its to anonymously answer three questions at the beginning of class:
How are you feeling right now? (the one-word check-in)
Why are you feeling what you’re feeling?
Why did you come to class today?
Nineteen out of twenty-three students, or more than eighty percent, reported feeling badly — the same proportion as last time. Of the nineteen, ten referenced being tired while four wrote “stressed.” Only one wrote “hungry.” The overwhelming majority of people in this group attributed their feelings to too little sleep and too much work.
The other four students felt “happy,” “good,” “relaxed,” and “chill.” Three of these students attributed their feelings to having had time to eat, buy coffee, or otherwise get ready before class. One of them mentioned sleeping comfortably, while another wrote “not super-stressed . . . trying to stay calm for the day ahead.”
I sorted answers to the third question into a few different categories, which are shown below, along with their frequencies. A few students’ comments fell into more than one category.
I had to; attendance is mandatory: 7
Get a good grade: 5
I am paying for the course: 3
Learn something: 3
Participate in discussion: 1
Collaborate with teammates on an upcoming assignment: 3
Miscellaneous reasons — “My roommate told me I couldn’t skip,” “I was awake so I figured why not,” “Because I didn’t go to the last one,” “I try to go to all of my classes,” “Didn’t want to miss anything,” “To avoid falling behind”: 6
In sum, only seven students, or thirty percent, indicated that they had been intrinsically motivated to attend class that day; i.e., they came to learn or participate in a learning-oriented activity. More than half of the students indicated that they were extrinsically motivated by the fear that their grades would be harmed if they did not attend. What I think is interesting here: I do not penalize students for being absent from class — I regard them as legal adults, free to suffer the natural consequences of their actions. I do not grade on attendance or class participation. Only students’ written work, submitted before class, gets assessed.
Sometimes the best way to find out why students do what they do is to ask them.
During a recent lunchtime conversation with a colleague, I learned about the “one-word check-in” — asking students to each describe, with a single adjective, how they felt at that moment. I decided to incorporate this into a data collection exercise that I hoped would demonstrate one benefit of taking notes in class — a problem for which I still haven’t figured out a solution.
My hypothesis: students who took notes — a more cognitively-engaging activity than just listening — would be more likely to feel better by the end of class.
I collected data in my course on globalization, which meets twice a week in seventy-five minute sessions from 9:30 a.m. to 10:45 a.m. The class, when everyone attends, has only twenty-five students, so my results are not statistically significant.
As students were entering the classroom and settling into their chairs, I gave each person three Post-it notes, along with a playing card dealt from a stacked deck (more on this further down). I told everyone to marked their Post-it notes with the suit and number of the playing card each had received. This allowed me to sort the Post-its by individual student afterward. Students should also number each Post-its with a 1, 2, or 3, to simplify keeping them in the correct sequence after class. I didn’t think of this at the time, but luckily I kept each pile of Post-it notes separate after they were collected.
At the beginning of class, students wrote a one-word check-in on Post-it #1.
After the discussion of that day’s reading response, students wrote on Post-it #2 answers to “Have I written any notes during today’s class?” and “Why?”
Students then clustered into teams to discuss plans for an upcoming project assignment. Note that this introduces a methodological flaw in my research design, but it turned out to be irrelevant.
At the end of class, students wrote a one-word check-out on Post-it #3.
A different randomly-selected student collected each set of Post-it notes after students had finished writing on them, which he or she placed face down on a table. The goal here was to make it obvious that I was trying to preserve the anonymity of students’ responses. However, I had dealt cards from a stacked deck (low value cards on the bottom) so that I could identify which responses were from men and which were from women — because I expected that women would be more likely to take notes.
Now for the results. Out of 23 students who were in class that day . . .
There’s not much that separates PoliSci academics from others in most aspects of pedagogy, but one that is quite notable is the question of “what’s your politics?”
The reasons for this should be pretty clear, so I’ll not get into that, but instead will offer some thoughts, because we get this kind of thing on our side of the Atlantic too.
As the various respondents to Carolyn’s tweet suggest, the very question speaks to a set of assumptions, which can be usefully exposed and explored.
However, that can be a deflection, rather than an answer, so it still behoves us to consider what answers we can give.
It’s something I’ve had to chew on a lot in recent years, given my work on Brexit: “how did you vote?” is now getting overtaken by “what do you think we should do?”
The fact that I genuinely don’t know what we should do is neither here nor there, because the rest of what I’m offering people is what I claim to be impartial and fair insight into assorted issues, so if I’m seen as speaking for any one party then my whole work is compromised.
This is, of course, the problem we all face: politics gets seen as a clash of interests with no objective truth to be defended, thus meaning we must all be on one side or another.
Without wishing to get lost down an ontological or epistemological hole on this one, I think it’s possible to mark out a more segmented view of politics: we have our own views, but the consequence of those is limited, especially if we are reflective about these.
Thus I can acknowledge how I voted in the referendum, while also stressing that my interest now is in helping others to reach an informed and considered set of decisions about what comes next. It helps that this is my heartfelt belief – process matters much more than outcome to me right now.
But we can also communicate such messages in different ways in our classroom.
Promoting and defending a range of perspectives on contentious issues; fostering a space in which different views can be discussed with respect and tolerance; acknowledging the limits of what evidence (and anecdote, for that matter) can tell us.
These elements often prove to be much more meaningful in conveying the values of academic inquiry and debate and the interplay between facts and opinions than any “what’s your politics?” discussion.
Still doesn’t make it that much easier when you get asked, though.
This guest post is part of a series linked to the publication of G. Pleschova & A. Simon (eds.) Learning to teach in central Europe: Reflections from early career researchers. This post comes from Marcus Walsh-Führing.
Encouraging active learning and increasing engagement can be a big
challenge for teachers, especially when it comes to improving participation in
the classroom where students are learning in a secondary language. As
demographics are changing in classrooms, I find myself re-evaluating my
teaching methods to maximize learning outcomes and came across Godwin Awuah’s
chapter, Using group work to improve participation and overcome fear of foreign
languages among non-native English speakers, in the book, Early career academics’ reflections on learning to teach in Central
Europe, Gabriela Pleschová and Agnes Simon (eds.). This chapter will help
educators with teaching concepts or theory by introducing a new teaching tool to
the classroom setting.
In his chapter, Awuah describes an experiment whereby he compares
activity-based to lecture-style learning in a classroom setting comprised of non-native
English speakers. In his study, the author distinguishes between types of group
activities by focusing on the impact of learning outcomes for students. He
conducted his study of classroom participation with topic maps which allow for
direct observation of student learning and the utilization of quasi-experimental
techniques to evaluate findings.
In his findings, learning outcomes were accomplished with topic maps,
but there was strong evidence that a combination between topic maps and group
work strengthen students‘ conceptualization of subject matters. In addition, topic
maps created a working environment that was non-threatening by encouraging
peer-to-peer engagement in working on ideas in a systematic way. Topic maps created
a framework for students to work through the problems presented in the assignment
to gain the necessary knowledge for understanding learning outcomes.
The author observed that group learning with the help of topic maps
improved participants’ engagement by 70% and positively impacted students’
assessment scores with a mean net difference of 25%. He also noticed that
participants with a stronger command of the English language engaged more
actively in classes and assisted their fellow students with signs of
difficulties in the language component of the assessment.
I believe that the hands-on approach with topic maps offers a valuable
supplement in combination with a lecture-style lesson plan. As an instructor,
this teaching strategy will allow me to observe the impact of my learning
outcomes while, at the same time, reinforcing key terms and lowering barriers
for non-native English speakers in the classroom.
As the world becomes more globalized, the challenges laid out in Awuah’s
chapter will become more frequent. To address these problems, we as teachers
need to find innovative and tested tools that will enhance our teaching
Awuah proves through direct observation that topic maps result in a
higher number of students producing more comprehensive class engagement. The
article helped me understand how how to better present complex concepts to
students who are non-native English speakers. Awuah’s chapter is a perfect read
for all educators who are looking for a teaching strategy that is backed up by
Next semester, I plan to incorporate topic maps in my ‘ Introduction to
Comparative Politics‘ class to explain the complexity between the state and the
nation state. The incorporation of group work with topic maps will help non-native
English speaking students better conceptualize the idea of the state through
interaction and hands-on engagement.
A few years ago, I had a student who kept walking out of class.
He did this because he’d decided that, in several of the various negotiation scenarios into which I had placed him, his optimal strategy was to literally walk away from the table.
During the semester, he did this about four times, usually to snippy comments from his classmates.
We talked about it a fair bit, as a group, because I felt it was really useful to unpack the merits and demerits of this approach, which I’d not seen before (or since, for that matter).
I was remembering this case the other day, as my current group of negotiation students once again decided to hold a closed door meeting of principals, kicking out most of the class to the corridor outside.
As one student noted in the debrief: “why does this keep happening? Every time it does, it just really alienates people and makes it harder to reach an agreement”.
And that’s my question here: how and why do cohorts get stuck in patterns of behaviour?
During last September’s annual conference of the University Association for Contemporary European Studies (UACES) in Bath, Simon kicked off the teaching and learning afternoon gathering with a teaching and learning bingo.
I enjoyed this a lot. It was nice, active, fun. I got to meet new people and learned new thing about teaching and learning. Based on this (perhaps somewhat subjective) experience, I decided to hijack Simon’s idea and use it in two similar, but different settings. This is what happened.
Problem-Based Learning workshop Bolzano
Maastricht University is known for its application of Problem-BasedLearning (PBL). New staff have to attend a PBL introduction training session upon starting at our university. All teaching staff also need to complete the so-called University Teaching Qualification (UTQ) trajectory (this, in fact, applies to all higher education institutions in the Netherlands). One of my duties is to coordinate UTQ at my home faculty. And it was this – plus my teaching experience – that lead me to being invited to convene a workshop entitled ‘Tutors in problem-based learning from distant facilitator to approachable coach’ at the University of Bolzano early October.
Since I did not know any of the people there, I thought this would be a great opportunity to use the T&L bingo.
I adapted Simon’s bingo to my own needs. The instructions are relatively straightforward and the items of a diverse nature, including more light-hearted ones.
It worked surprisingly well. I got to know the participants, plus they got to know each other a bit better too. It also provided me with some input for the workshop (‘The one thing they’re hoping to learn more about today’). Considering it was a day-long workshop, this helped me to focus on specific points and also, towards the end, to check if everyone thought that we sufficiently covered their needs.
University Teaching Qualification workshop Maastricht
I already wrote that I coordinate UTQ at my home faculty. This year 13 colleagues have to complete the trajectory. The group of participants is very diverse in terms of disciplinary backgrounds and teaching experience, and included teaching assistants, PhD students and a professor. Not everyone knew each other, so once again the bingo seemed like a good idea. And once again, I thought I could use the input for the workshop.
This time too, I adapted the bingo to the setting,with specific questions about the topics that we were going to focus on during the day.
Even though there was some hilarity as to whether this was really a serious exercise (see this tweet),participants actively engaged in it. As they will be working together throughout this academic year, it was important that they got to know each other – the usual round of introduction is a bit boring, especially because it usually does not result in new information. Once more I included a question that gave me specific input as to the expectations for the day (‘Your colleague’s personal learning goal for today’).
What I learned
The good: after a bit of hesitation everyone got really involved. Some colleagues did their utmost best to talk to everyone; others decided for a longer talk when the issue at hand was interesting. Reason enough to do it again, though I’d probably want to explain the exercise better in order to avoid awkward moments at the start.
The bad: timing is an issue. In both cases, we took much more time than I had anticipated, as everyone really got into it and because I had encouraged them to try and talk to everyone. Next time I might consider using a timer or buzzer. Or perhaps offer a prize to the person who gets most boxes filled within a set time.
The ugly: I enjoyed it so much that I also got completely carried away. And subsequently lost track of time… As such, a timer is definitely needed! Someone needs to keep track of me too. I might ask one of the other participants to be in charge of time instead.
I’d love to try this exercise with students. I think it would make a great course opening. I mostly teach in a programme with +300 students, so they do not always know each other despite changing tutor groups every 8 weeks and every course. Plus it would be a great way to have them discuss a course topic in a more informal setting and get to know more about the course’s intended learning outcomes. Obviously, I would have to adapt the bingo to the course itself. I would include a debriefing so that we all get to know more about students’ pre-knowledge about the topic and our expectations of the course, the group and the tutor (i.e. me).
This guest post is part of a series linked to the publication of G. Pleschova & A. Simon (eds.) Learning to teach in central Europe: Reflections from early career researchers. This post comes from Sarah Holz.
a teacher who aspires to student-centered learning, increasing student class participation
and involvement in seminars is a central concern for me. Reading Michal
Tkaczyk’s book chapter offered some insightful and thought provoking
ideas for me because the chapter addresses the question in how far enhanced
student participation, interest in the subject matter, and the acquisition of
key concepts are linked.
In his chapter, which is part of the newly released online book Early Career Academics’ Reflections on Learning to Teach in Central Europe edited by Gabriela Pleschová and Agnes Simon, Michal Tkaczyk offers insights into the findings from a teaching innovation introduced in a seminar on semiotic analysis of media contents. The innovation aimed at (1) improving student knowledge-acquisition, (2) enhancing their skills to apply key concepts of semiotic analysis and (3) promoting student participation.
After last week’s class discussion about participation, I decided to run an exercise that made it really easy to show the marginal benefit of preparation.
I told students to prepare for a meeting about putting together an agenda for another negotiation, and gave them all specific roles, plus some rules of procedure.
(For those who are looking for Brexit sims, this was a Council working group, putting together an agenda for the Commission to take to the UK to discuss the Political Declaration).
Because it was about formulating an agenda, I hoped that students would see they didn’t need to get too deeply into substantive positions, as long as they could frame the general areas to be covered.
Plus, but giving clear roles and rules, I incentivised everyone to push out their own draft agendas prior to the meeting. In so doing, I hoped they’d see that even a small amount of preparation could have big effects.
(for those benighted souls unfamiliar with Eurovision, the title’s from a song, so it’s fine. Really)
I ran into a bit of roadblock yesterday in class.
The students had been undertaking a negotiation on drawing up a joint statement by a number of groups and we were talking through some of the debriefing points.
I suggested that they’d taken things much as they came, whereas if they’d come with an agenda, or some text, had pushed to become chair or rapporteur, or generally had been more forceful, then they’d have been much more successful in securing what they wanted to achieve.
This produced, well if not quite uproar then at least debate.
Various individuals argued that given the dynamic of the group, anyone who came in with A Plan would risk marginalising themselves for the rest of the module, as others would be resentful to them.
It was pointed out that they’d managed to produce a text, so why do things differently?
And they also highlighted that they had other modules to study for, so there was a limit to how much time they would or could put into preparing, not least because of the way I assess.
That assessment is based on self-reflective writing, so I’m not judging their ‘success’ in negotiating per se,
The discussion was a useful one, at least for me.
The root of it all largely appeared to come down to students taking my comments as a striving for perfection, rather than as a relativistic statement.
As we continued to talk, I tried to underline that I wasn’t asking that everyone did everything, but rather that doing a bit more than others would produce much of the same effect.
To take the example from the session, one student became the effective chair because they’d happened to say something at the outset of the session. It required no additional preparation, and because that individual also offered to write up the statement, they gained huge influence over the outcome.
Just a little bit
And this is perhaps the point for the rest of us.
There’s a tension in what we teach our students between the notional perfection of How Things Should Be and How To Do Better Than We Are Now.
That’s probably most pronounced in questions of methodology: how systematically and perfectly should one pursue a methodological approach and where can one cut corners (and to what cost)?
But it’s true of all our work. I’ve seen enough theory to know that there are almost endless levels of refinement of theoretical positions to know that perfection is never truly possible in a practical setting.
With that in mind, perhaps we have to ask ourselves how we tackle this tension in our classes. To counsel perfection is one thing, but do we not then set up students for some level of failure? But if we don’t strive to do the best we can, do we risk not helping students to maximise their potential and their practice?
The answers to these questions will vary from place to place, but a starting point has to be an understanding of what we aim to achieve with our students.
In my case, I’m going into the coming sessions with some new ideas to help draw students more into the kind of logic that I discussed with them, to see if that addresses the dilemma.
And if it does, then we’ll move onto the next line of the song: “A little bit more”.