From the from the book review of “Anticapitalist, antiracism”:
American elites are monopolizing progress, and monopolies can be broken. Aggressive policies to protect workers, redistribute income, and make education and health affordable would bring real change. But such measures could also prove expensive for the winners. Which gives them a strong interest in convincing the public that they can help out within the system that so benefits the winners.
– Anand Giridharadas from Beware Rich People Who Say They Want to Change the World
It’s true that Denmark doesn’t at all fit the classic definition of socialism, which involves government ownership of the means of production. It is, instead, social-democratic: a market economy where the downsides of capitalism are mitigated by government action, including a very strong social safety net.
What if one of the make-or-break achievements in life is learning how to grapple with the following challenge:
Live in the present, but imagine in the future.
What if that is much easier said than done? What does it take to really imagine in the future? How does one really assess the “present”?
What if the desire to align one’s actions/behaviors to an imagined future is really counterproductive? What if I could be undertaking much more productive projects if I committed more fully to a near-term agenda? (Is diversifying one’s actions a matter of hedging against an unknown future?)
And what if, instead of trying to imagine my way out of the present, I let me imagination wander more freely? What if I made grander assumptions about the future? Would that in fact help me choose better projects in the present? (Isn’t this really what I already do—but not really with much self-awareness?)
What’s a better direction to push in? Connect the present with the imagined? Or disentangle them further?
Isn’t it also a bit of a paradox to live without imagining the future? Where does the absurdity kick in? When I try to align my actions to things that haven’t yet taken place but could transpire in 10, 20, 30 or 100 years? And can one align one’s actions to things that seem unlikely to ever transpire? Would this be considered rational behavior?
It’s the economy.
A simple example that inspires this meditation is how financial markets allow investors to place bets on the future, thereby enabling businesses to use capital to make that future more likely to come transpire. Or money itself, really—an invention of human imagination that enables humans to align their actions in innovative and world-changing ways. We are able to use imagination to change the future—literally building the living conditions and constraints of not-yet-even-born humans.
This is both very banal (we determine the future!) and operationally unsettling (the quality of our imagination can determine every aspect of human livelihood!) in this matter. Particularly: how much can any one human really contribute to this reality-bending? And in a deeply pro-capitalist, anti-humanist society, how is the scale and scope of one’s contribution directly tied to their wealth?
We’re doomed?
What if we humans are just not that good at imagining complex things? (Or just not that good of thinking in general?) Or what if the humans that are good at imagining are systematically selected against (to lean on evolutionary terminology) when capital is distributed? Or what if the selection process that would eventually promote “good imaginers” (obviously a loaded notion) is just too slow?
The term “meritocracy” was coined by sociologist Michael Young in his 1958 satire, The Rise of Meritocracy. Pro-tip: he was satirizing meritocracy, and was not happy that his work led to the popularization of the idea as a positive political philosophy. (I’ve recently run across this history in Edward Luce’s book, The Retreat of Western Liberalism.)
I appreciate this perspective, and am coming to believe that the tension between the ideals of meritocracy and social justice in the U.S. has never been more pronounced (let’s say since WWII). With the education sector sitting right at the heart of this tension, what does it mean for our work at EdLab?
For one, it suggests we should be mindful of how educational tools can be used to widen the gap between the rich and the poor. With inequality in the U.S. reaching impressive (though controversial) heights, it’s hard not to imagine that America’s “bootstrapping myth” is less realistic than ever.
It also suggests we have to be increasingly mindful of how education is positioned as instrumental for economic mobility—as compared to, say, an arena for curiosity. It’s easy to regard the latter as a elitist or privileged notion of education, but this uncharitable view could also be seen as a “view from inequality.” In other words, if economic goods were more equally distributed, there may be less pressure on education to lead to outcomes that were directly related to one’s economic status.
It’s fair to expect that in the coming years we’ll increasingly hear that education should serve the economic interests of Americans. While I agree in a narrow sense (that education should make every student more literate in regard to economics), in a broader sense, it’s a sad and self-defeating outcome of existing (and still rising) inequality. This instrumental view could be a dangerous dead-end for American education, rife with ceaseless testing, accountability measures, and narrowed (read: “low”) expectations. But one could object, “It’s time Americans get serious about educational outcomes to finally get ahead!”
This seems plausible, but consider if it’s putting the cart before the horse: Inequality could be a political problem, not an educational one. This is an important view from a “social justice” perspective, albeit one more often (only?) held by “Leftist” politicians and academics (Robert Reich being one of my favorites—check out his recent book, Saving Capitalism).
What does education look like if we don’t align it with a meritocratic-friendly perspective? I suspect it looks a lot like good teaching, great schools, and serious fun. In other words, like what we already know “good” education to look like. The problem, on this view, isn’t that our educational tools are substandard, or that it’s increasingly unaffordable for the vast majority of Americans (and even less so for the majority of global citizens in an increasingly connected world). The problem would seem to be that America is a plutocracy that can’t figure out how—or why—to invest in education.
Maybe the revolution we need isn’t an “educational” one, but what if an educational revolution is the only kind we can bring about? That is a striking problem and opportunity.
On this day, hundreds of thousands of people are marching together throughout the world to protest Donald Trump’s inauguration yesterday. I write in sympathy with these marchers, with the hope of creating more understanding between the 63 million Americans who voted for Trump, and the 66 million who did not. (Yeah, it’s a long shot, so I’ll try to keep it short.)
Here, I want to acknowledge Donald Trump as a moral leader. I think that we “on the left” don’t create enough space in everyday conversation to allow for this. We tend to get stuck on the immoral (or even just amoral) actions we’ve witnessed, and lash out with the claim that “he is not moral,” and so on. This kind of communication is likely to underscore many of the demonstrations today.
But I’ve done a lot of thinking about morality in the course of my education, and I think we should acknowledge that there are many visions of the good. Action that is in line with such visions are generally regarded as “moral.” Groups of people vie for the moral high ground—the argumentative advantage that their good is the good. When history settles, the winner gets to “write it,” as the saying goes. Prematurely then, we hope we are the victors, but sometimes we are not.
I think it may be unwise to pursue this moral position in the time of Trump. (Perhaps just too late.)
A more pluralistic understanding of morality has the consequence of raising the bar on our descriptions of the good. We have to say more about what we want, what it means, and why it deserves to be part of our vision. Of course we do this; we do it all the time. It’s the kind of talk we all look for in a visionary leader. But—and be honest now—when was the last time you sat down with a spreadsheet and charted out all the pieces of your vision, how they are connected, and what the costs are of achieving them? It’s the kind of thing we generally do shorthand (e.g., pulling bits from the news or op-ed pieces), allow others to do for us (re: especially “the political class”), or maybe even forget to do.
I think the cost of this omission of tallying the sum total of our vision of the good (assuming we even have one, or only one), is higher than we think. If, for example, our vision isn’t as coherent as we think it is, then we need to be more open to criticism. My suspicion is that many people voted for Trump because Clinton seemed to smug and sure of herself—and not particularly what she said or how she said it, but how her representation of policies didn’t sit well with the people actually experiencing economic despair.
Or, in other words, the Culture War maybe played a smaller role in Clinton’s loss than we think. Yet I’m not making an “It’s the economy, stupid” argument. I think the problem is about articulating a coherent vision of the good. I think it’s what Obama was able to do, though I think it’s fair to say he spent down most of the “capital” the Left has—for better or worse—pursing a diverse, meaningful agenda that unfortunately was not seen as doing enough fast enough for many Americans (well okay, maybe in a hasty sense it’s an “It’s the economy, stupid” moment). I don’t know if it was possible to do more, but he certainly didn’t go out of his way to cooperate with the Republican-led Congress.
So here came Trump with an alternative vision of the good. Racist. Sexist. Anti-immigrant. Isolationist. Anti-media. Anti-science. Anti-democratic. Fascist. But importantly: distinctly alternative.
It’s a vision nonetheless. It’s not even particularly coherent; I’m not sure how one can hold a coherent vision that’s anchored in an anti-science denial of global warming. But it was different than visions afforded by the Democrats. It was starkly different from even most visions outlined by more traditional Republicans. It was essentially an anti-establishment vision, and he wowed enough Americans to rise to power.
Philosophically, then, I acknowledge Donald Trump as a moral leader in a weak sense—allowing for room that his vision is compelling for some people as surely as other leaders inspire others. To acknowledge this is to step (however unwillingly) into a different political landscape than we’ve become accustomed to. I think it means we should at least contemplate abandoning the competition for “moral leadership” in a strong sense—meaning that we are somehow striving towards ultimate agreement and understanding, and a unanimously-shared view that a singular vision of the good has once-and-for-all risen above all others. As in the Christian-Judeo sense.
I think it’s important for the Left to start now from a different place. We should, instead, be focused on how the policy positions Trump represents (or, indeed, is unable to define) differ from our own. Particularly how we think they will lead to outcomes that we find undesirable. Once we’ve agreed on how to articulate that, we need to be more strategic in enacting communication that directs attention to our visions.
Yes, my heart is with the pussyhat, but my mind charts a somewhat different course for future moral leaders to help us achieve justice around the globe.
This short essay was drafted in an afternoon. I hope to be able to clarify and expand it over time!
The slogan is deeply judgmental yet optimistic: “Make America Great Again.” Until now, a week away from the inauguration, I’ve mostly turned a blind eye to it. But there it is, now firmly lodged in our collective imagination.
There is some truth in it. K-12 education education in America isn’t “great.” But it never really was, broadly speaking. Americans are often an optimistic bunch, however, and we’ve invested a great deal in public education over the past century. Have we seen this investment pay off? Slowly, steadily, I think we have, though American education remains firmly middling compared to other (albeit smaller) countries.
So, with respect to education at least, we can certainly do a lot better. But the slogan “MAGA” is unsettling because it harkens back to a history that is no longer a good yardstick for measuring our progress. America has changed. The world has changed. We’re more inclusive and diverse now. Many of our classrooms are more progressive now, and we’re trying to make progress in many areas at once (link to the “Guiding Vision and Definition of Principles of the Women’s March on Washington).
But I’m skeptically optimistic about education.
I think we’re going to see education get worse before it gets better—this will be true for most aspects of American life over the next 4 years, unless you’re lucky enough to be a billionaire (… or vested in Russia’s political regime?). With Republican support for vouchers and other options that put public money into private hands, it looks like a federal investment in public education will be on a swift decline.
But after that—when the jobs don’t really come back, and the money doesn’t really end up in the pockets of most Americans—I think Americans will wise up to the false promises, the angry dismissals, and get-fixed-quick schemes and realize that education is worth the investment and worth the wait.
I hope we have the time. I hope we have the patience.
What do you think?
Likely not.
I just finished reading Jaron Lanier’s ‘Who Owns the Future?‘—about a year after the rest of the world, it turns out—and I’m not optimistic.
It was an excellent read, especially due to Lanier’s broad experience with technologies and his interest in economics. He offers educators a lot to think about, such as:
Will teaching be a middle class job (at least) in the future?
Will humans even be paid to teach?
How will education be limited by software? And how will that software hide the contribution of humans?
These are some questions at the core of his ruminating, and the thesis of the book (that the world is generally headed in the wrong direction with respect to how networks are designed and used) opened up these questions in new ways for me.
I am afraid I am quite sympathetic to his worries. Unfortunately his bleak vision of the future isn’t well-balanced by his ideas for how to mitigate the present dangers of technology and create a better world for humans.
In general, I’d like to think I’m working on a solution just by working in the education sector. But Lanier gives me pause, and a lot to think about.
Some notes from attending the National Association of College and University Attorneys’ Copyright and Fair Use: Codes of Best Practice in Higher Education webinar.
Quotes from the webinar:
Other fun:
For me, the story about EdLab—its purpose, vision, and strategy—boils down to the goal of democracy. This post is a reflection on today’s seminar by Gary Natriello, but I think it may also resonate with anyone who’s a part of a similar organization.
Gary articulated a vision of the future of the education sector that follows from a few basic assumptions about learning, economics, and technology. Namely, that the so-called “digital revolution” is ringing in a new age of “networked learning” (think: low-cost, p2p learning). He also shared his concern that while we ought to want to help shape this future, it seems unlikely that we at EdLab—as products of the current educational system—can feasibly do so. Why exactly? Because it would be too hard for us to participate in the midwifery of this new sector: pay cuts, lay-offs, new (possibly lower, or non-existant) educational standards, and so on.
Sound bad? It sounded even more bleak when he said it in front of a Keynote deck that juxtaposed glamourous visions of childhood with the realities of work at Foxconn. . .
But I don’t really follow his line of thinking all the way down that bleak path, and I’m particularly skeptical about two of his basic assumptions (and let me acknowledge that it’s easy to be skeptical—it’s hard to be the one in front of the room).
Assumption #1: We currently prioritize uniformity as an educational outcome.
Well. . . I guess so, but it seems like uniformity is just one of many outcomes of the current educational system. I agree we value it, as it seems integral to a democratic ideal of equal opportunity, so it’s hard to imagine a successful democracy without a shared sense of history, science, culture, etc. Perhaps Gary’s view of education can aptly be described as post-democratic.
Assumption #2: The expense of the current educational system makes it unsustainable.
I don’t know enough about economic principles to mount a compelling counterargument, but what the heck, it’s a blog, right? I don’t buy it, and here’s why: Somewhere there must be a principle of modern capitalism about potential and purpose of “creating new markets,” and the point must be that when everything is accounted for, there is a huge surplus of labor in the world. That is, the amenities of capital-generating activities seem to be diverse enough to support a virtuous circle of labor. (Sure wealth is distributed unequally, but hey, a lot of people are willing to work to afford the data plan on their iPhone.)
Why should this come to an end? And why shouldn’t education—even in its increasingly expensive forms—partake in this economy? My response to Gary is that the current education is sustainable. But I wouldn’t want to suggest that it’s deeply democratic. In terms of the cost of education, I think the education sector is already incredibly diverse (though we don’t like to admit it)—if only because education is so unevenly applied (note: additional skepticism about uniformity). So it’s going to become more interestingly diverse as different types of education are increasingly acknowledged as legitimate. In this way, I think Gary’s view is overly pessimistic about future economic conditions.
Conclusions
When I reflect on where my views intersect with Gary’s, I’m confronted by a surprisingly optimistic view of education. It’s a view that counterbalances the news cycle—how putting iPads in kid’s hands is going to empower them and “save schools”—and affords us a different, more democratic space to work (at EdLab, and similar do-tanks). Yes, it’s a technology-rich space, but that’s not the point. Our goal is to locate or create cheap tools that give more learners access to key knowledge. It’s not about the best education. It’s probably not even good yet. But it’s getting better, and more real every day.
Further Questions. . .