On Moral Leadership

Posted on by Brian Hughes
NYTCREDIT: Chang W. Lee/The New York Times
NYTCREDIT: Chang W. Lee/The New York Times

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!

Skeptically Optimistic

Posted on by Brian Hughes
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The hat.

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?

Techitecture, The Emergence of

Posted on by Brian Hughes

My involvement in Teacher College’s Learning Theater project makes me appreciate how fast-evolving audio/video technologies (or better: display/capture/collaboration technologies) challenge traditional architecture.

Our project feels like “techitecture”—a combination of technology and architectural design and development. (And I’m curious that, having imagined this fanciful term, I have not found it used before in this way.)

The fit and function of technology elements in our space will go beyond traditional theater. Not only will the audience not be “fixed” (in seats, etc.), but it’s not even clear to us what events will eventually unfold in the space.

article-2700073-1FD8588400000578-158_634x462Designing the learning theater space seems more akin to designing the holodeck. It will essentially appear as an empty grid until users imagine ways to activate it.

In undertaking this type of project, it’s clear that architects need to be brave, and AV consultants need to be braver still… We are essentially designing a digital space with bulky materials from the past, and just enough matter to support the needs of humans.

And coffee.

A Democratic Agency

Posted on by Brian Hughes

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. . .

  • Isn’t the Internet itself enough? It’s cheap, and it provides key knowledge! But let’s make it even better. . .
  • Can or should educational organizations compete with no-cost, advertising-driven technologies?
  • Can or will the anti-democratic effects of high-cost education ever be overcome through other social means?

Programming as a New Literacy

Posted on by Brian Hughes

I’ve just read Douglas Rushkoff’s shortbook Program or Be Programmed, wherein he shares “Ten Commands for a Digital Age.” Though his portrayal of various “biases” of digital technology (e.g., timelessness, abstraction, depersonalization) is polemical, he succinctly describes major challenges of new technologies in 144 pages.

His main point is to describe a new literacy – a digital literacy he says we must achieve to continue to shape our world in positive ways. He argues that the consequence of not being able to “program” (or, he allows, at least being familiar with the scope and power of programming) would be to allow digital technology – and those who wield its powers – to overdetermine our lives.

I am sympathetic to this message, but reading his argument served as a good exercise to review the larger picture – and consider how well this kind of story about “digital literacy” hangs together.

One area Rushkoff’s book helped me reflect on was the design of online learning environments. In line with his descriptions of digital biases, current learning management systems are often positively shaped around the “advantages” of digital technologies. Asynchronous discussion boards are favored. Students are asked to use their real identities. There is “space” for collaboration.

So far, so good. But Rushkoff helps us ask: what about the “speed” of dialogue and collaboration? It seems to me that instructional designers (teachers or their assistants) could make the mistake of hoping that student interactions (with the course, and with other students) only increase. Or, similarly, that the administrative evaluators of such courses favor more frequent interactions.

As Rushkoff points out, such desires could be our ill-considered adoption of digital biases, and in fact, slower, less-frequent interactions could be preferable. While he harkens back to the “early days” of online bulletin boards, and points to the “depth” of discussion that came out of less frequent “logging in and signing on” (p. 24), I think it could more simply be a case of “less is more” – that writing and editing take time, and focus can help one achieve better communication. I wonder, therefore, how we could sharpen the design of online discussions to favor more reflective engagement.

There are already great examples of this online. From the way sites like the New York Times aggregates Comments, to the way tools like Disqus track one’s diverse contributions, there is a lot of good thinking about shaping online discussion. How could educational designers incorporate these and other strategies into a “course” experience?

Selling Magic, Not Technology

Posted on by Brian Hughes

“Magical” seems to be the best way to describe technology products in 2010. Behold Apple’s iPad:

And now Google, upon launching Instant Search, claims that their search tool “should feel like magic” (0:16).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ElubRNRIUg4

Should technology feel like magic?

According to the Oxford American Dictionary, magic is “the power of apparently influencing the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces.”

If that’s the intention of technology companies, then that’s pretty sad. It’s the equivalent of giving up on a certain kind of technological literacy. In these ads, we’re seeing the marketing departments of two of the most influential technology corporations in the world deciding that people are more comfortable in the middle ages. Indeed, it’s a little too reminiscent of recent marketing campaigns in other sectors:

Couldn’t technology literacy be an exciting marketing strategy? Imagine:

“The iPad. It’s a step forward in software/hardware integration.” Or: “Google Instant Search: Searching ought to give you more results.” For example:

I guess literacy just doesn’t make for a good ad campaign. But when it comes to buying technology, are a majority of folks really hoping to buy magic? I’d love to see a company challenge this pathetic state of affairs with ads showing that excitement can come with understanding.

Taking responsibility for the impact of software

Posted on by Brian Hughes

Here’s Steve Jobs, from a recent email thread with Gawker’s Ryan Tate:

Do you create anything, or just criticize others (sic) work and belittle their motivations?

This last missive from Job’s is a nice rejoinder from a back-and-forth with Tate about Apple’s iPad platform (and related technologies). And if you don’t look too closely, you might be impressed by it.

By now it’s well-known that Apple draws the ire of the free software community. But Steve Jobs take the time (here in a private email conversation) to clearly articulate his views and motivations. Really? A CEO taking the time to pursue an email flame war with a spiteful blogger? Very respectable. Admirable, even.

That’s what it seems to take these days to engage the public, especially in the software development space. And I like Jobs’ response and his insistence on participation: he asks (I paraphrase), “Are you at least engaged in similar work?”

But wait, is that enough? Tate started the email thread by criticizing Jobs’ abuse of the language of “revolutions.” Does Jobs offer an adequate defense?

Jobs’ response is related to a too-easy dismissal: “If you don’t do X, you can’t criticize it.” But I don’t think that’s Jobs’ attitude in this case. Tate’s criticism against Apple is steeped in deep knowledge of the software world. I think Jobs’ is asking for empathy, saying (again I paraphrase), “It’s hard to bring these new technologies into the world, isn’t your quibble with us a minor one? Why can’t this discussion be more civil?” Or even, “It’s a mistake to equate what we’re doing here with something important.”

But then that’s why Tate is right and Jobs is, ultimately, a corporate ass: Jobs isn’t taking personal responsibility for his company’s ridiculous (“it’s magical” and “it’s revolutionary”) claims. Jobs’ insistence on deflating the significance of the iPad’s implications for the software community flies in the face of Apple’s language describing it. Once you say it’s revolutionary, there’s no going back and saying that you didn’t mean “in a cultural or political way” (Jobs’: “It’s not about freedom”).

So, frankly, this exchange turns out to be as offensive as it is instructive. I’m glad Tate shared it. Sure, we can empathize with Jobs… it is tough making great things. Especially complex things. But the work of understanding them – seeing their implications, assessing their value, and measuring their impact – is a shared responsibility between both developers and consumers. Indeed, it’s part of the cost of doing business, though easy to forget.

So, how can a development group take responsibility?

  • Do an impact study and publish it
  • Build assessment into your development process
  • Perform ongoing data analysis and research, and share it
  • And, of course, talk openly with your customers (at least Jobs got that one right!)… with luck, they’ll engage you in a fruitful conversation about culture, politics, and the future.

An irony of scholarly attribution

Posted on by Brian Hughes

I have been thinking about the academic honesty issues for a while now. So far my best ideas are in my draft essay, Challenges on the Horizon for Scholarly Attribution (another Knol experiment).

My interest in academic honesty came out of my exploration of the copyright wars, and my subsequent considerations of ownership in academic culture. Policies about scholarly attribution (acknowledgements, citation, and so on), for example, are the result of beliefs about the importance of acknowledging ownership of ideas – at once protecting authors’ livelihoods as well as allowing us to trace the history of an idea through multiple author’s works.

I have struggled to untangle these two goals not only to better understand the intention behind academic policies, but also their effects. My purpose is twofold: 1) to suggest that AHPs reveal a conflict between the scholarly and educational goals of academic culture, and 2) to show how limitations conceived by intellectuals under the sway of copyright law have a dramatic negative impact on educational opportunities.

From the abstract of my essay:

This essay explores how new tools demand that educators rethink the goals and effects of policies that prescribe originality in scholarship. The example of appropriation in art, and the conflict between appropriation and copyright law, will not only suggest how new tools can allow individuals to overcome limitations of policy to a productive end, but how we may value originality differently as a result of technological change.

An additional sidenote about my interest: those familiar with copyright law (and especially those who are critical of it) can appreciate the irony that academic honesty applies to ideas themselves – which is not the case with copyright. Thus, academics have seemingly gone one step further than so-called capitalists to protect themselves and their trade at the cost of individuals’ ability to freely “create culture.” This is perhaps my strongest motivation to continue to create an analysis of this urgent matter. I believe that the future of education depends on ending this embargo on unattributed intellectual production. (Which is not to say that attribution doesn’t have a proper role in education.)

A Disney-related setback for e-learning?

Posted on by Brian Hughes

“If you’ve spent money on an e-learning course in the last five years, you’re entitled to a full refund. We now admit that our courses don’t make you any smarter.”

OK, no one has said that yet, but if you’ve seen the recent news, then you know that Walt Disney has taken the bold step of responding to the threat of a class action lawsuit by offering refunds for “educational” materials sold in recent years – Baby Einstein videos.

“The Walt Disney Company’s entire Baby Einstein marketing regime is based on express and implied claims that their videos are educational and beneficial for early childhood development,” a letter from the lawyers said, calling those claims “false because research shows that television viewing is potentially harmful for very young children.”

Of course the real danger isn’t the degradation of a young child’s vision from frequent and extended use of the television. The problem seems to be about “fostering parent-child interaction.”

Having seen Baby Einstein material, I am somewhat shocked that Disney has acquiesced to removing the label “educational” from these products… it seems to acknowledge that products so labeled would literally have to raise a child’s IQ. Doesn’t that seem like a pretty tough new standard for education? (One that, perhaps, most “educational” products would have difficulty achieving? At least it would prove to be a new, hard-to-prove evaluative standard…)

But even more interesting, I think, is the apparent agreement that the videos are more or less worthless as learning tools – that you might as well turn off the tv and talk with your child. Could it be that this same outcome will be demonstrated all the way up the educational food chain?