Posts tagged ‘perception of university’
Probably my favorite session from the CRA Snowbird conference this last summer (see agenda with links to all talks) was a session on creating Colleges or Schools of Computer Science. Should we? Why?
The most compelling two talks in the session were from Randy Bryant and Rich LeBlanc, because they were so similar in structure. They both argued that you don’t make the argument for a high-level College or School of Computing because you’re big and important. You make it because you have a driving definition of computing that makes it unique.
- Randy told the story of how CMU’s School of Computer Science was driven by the original definition of computer science from Newell and Simon, and how that definition was broader than most people’s definition of CS today. I recently blogged on that definition.
- Rich told the story of how Georgia Tech’s College of Computing was driven by the ACM report The Future of Computing (led by Peter Denning) which showed how Computing crossed science, mathematics, and engineering. Of course, Rich’s story was particularly powerful for me because I lived that definition — that was the vision that drove the College of Computing when I first got here in 1993. Rich told the story of how that definition convinced faculty and administrators at Georgia Tech that Computing couldn’t be contained within the Colleges of Engineering or Science. It needed to be its own entity. (I may also be biased because Rich quoted me from this blog 🙂
Many of the people in the audience wanted to know, “How can I turn my Department into a School or College?” One audience member said, “My CS department is the biggest one in the College of Engineering. How do I break apart into my own College.” All the panelists told him, “You can’t.” No Dean will allow its biggest department to leave — that would be crazy. Some participants (from U. Michigan and U. Washington, in particular) pointed out why they don’t have a College or School of Computing — they have successful multi-department collaborations that make it unnecessary. A new College or School is expensive. Don’t do it unless you have to.
Every University Student should Learn to Program: Guzdial Arguing for CS for All in Higher Education
A colleague recently approached me and said, “It would be useful if Universities got involved in this CS for All effort. All Universities should offer courses aimed at everyone on campus. There should be a systematic effort to get everyone to take those classes.”
I agree, and have been making this argument for several years now. I spent a few minutes gathering the papers, blog posts, and book where I’ve made that argument over the last decade and a bit.
In 2002, Elliot Soloway and I argued in CACM that we needed a new way to engage students in intro programming: Teaching the Nintendo Generation to Program.
In 2003, I published the first paper on Media Computation: A media computation course for non-majors.
In 2004, Andrea Forte led the team studying the Media Computation class at GT:Computers for communication, not calculation: Media as a motivation and context for learning and A CS1 course designed to address interests of women.
In 2005, Andrea Forte and I presented empirical evidence about the courses we’d designed for specific audiences: Motivation and nonmajors in computer science: identifying discrete audiences for introductory courses. I published a paper in CACM about how the courses came to be at Georgia Tech: Teaching computing to everyone.
In 2008, I offered the historical argument for teaching everyone to program: Paving the Way for Computational Thinking.
We’ve published several papers about our design process: Imagineering inauthentic legitimate peripheral participation: an instructional design approach for motivating computing education and Design process for a non-majors computing course.
My 2013 ICER paper was a review of a decade’s worth of research on Media Computation: Exploring hypotheses about media computation
My keynote at VL/HCC 2015 was on how computing for all is a requirement for modern society: Requirements for a computing-literate society
My 2015 book is, to a great extent: an exploration of how to achieve CS for All: Learner-Centered Design of Computing Education: Research on Computing for Everyone.
In blog posts, it’s been a frequent topic of conversation:
- In 2011, I argued that it makes more sense to require CS at universities before pushing into K-12, because then all pre-service teachers have some CS which makes later PD much easier and cheaper: https://computinged.wordpress.com/2015/11/30/require-cs-at-universities-before-k-12-computational-community-for-everyone/ and https://computinged.wordpress.com/2011/05/17/if-you-want-cs-in-high-school-require-cs-in-college/
- In 2013, I pointed out that CS is becoming increasingly valuable outside of CS: https://computinged.wordpress.com/2013/12/10/why-are-english-and-lots-of-other-majors-studying-computer-science/
- One of my earlier Blog@CACM posts was on how students learn things in MediaComp that informs them about their world, not just about CS: http://cacm.acm.org/blogs/blog-cacm/26343-media-computation-for-creativity-and-surprises/fulltext
- On how CS is a value-added to a liberal education: http://cacm.acm.org/blogs/blog-cacm/101738-computer-science-as-value-added-to-a-liberal-education/fulltext
I don’t know how to convince University CS departments to do just about anything, but here are my contributions to the dialogs that I hope are happening at Colleges and Universities worldwide about how to prepare students to engage in computational literacy.
Malcolm Gladwell’s new podcast, Revisionist History, recently included a mini-series about the inequities in society that higher education perpetuates. Higher education is a necessity for a middle class life in today’s US, but not everyone gets access to higher education, which means that the economic divide grows larger. We in higher education (an according to Richard Tapia in his foreword to Stuck in the Shallow End, we in computer science explicitly) may be playing a role in widening the economic divide. David Brooks wrote about these inequities in 2005, in his NYTimes column, titled “The Education Gap“:
We once had a society stratified by bloodlines, in which the Protestant Establishment was in one class, immigrants were in another and African-Americans were in another. Now we live in a society stratified by education. In many ways this system is more fair, but as the information economy matures, we are learning it comes with its own brutal barriers to opportunity and ascent.
Gladwell has written about higher education before. In David and Goliath: Underdogs, misfits, and the art of battling giants, he told the story of Caroline Sacks who loved science since she was a little girl. When she applied to college, she was accepted into both University of Maryland and Brown University. She chose Brown for its greater prestige. Unfortunately, that prestige came with a much more competitive peer set. Caroline compared herself to them, and found herself wanting. She dropped out of science. Gladwell suggests that, if she’d gone to Maryland, she might have persisted in science because she would have fared better in the relative comparison.
Gladwell’s three podcasts address who gets in to higher education, how we pay for financial aid for poorer students, and how we support institutions that serve poorer students.
In Carlos doesn’t remember, Gladwell considers whether there are poorer students who have the academic ability to succeed but aren’t applying to colleges. Ivy League schools are willing to offer an all-expenses-paid scholarship to qualified students whose family income is below a certain level, but they award few of those scholarships. The claim is that there are just few of those smart-enough-but-poor students. Economists Avery and Hoxby explored that question and found that there are more than 35,000 students in the United States who meet the Ivy League criteria (see paper here). So why aren’t they applying for those prestigious scholarships?
Gladwell presents a case study of Carlos, a bright student who gets picked up by a program aimed at helping students like him get access to high-quality academic opportunities. Gladwell highlights the range of issues that keep students like Carlos from finding, getting into, and attending higher education opportunities. He provides evidence that Avery and Hoxby dramatically underestimate the high-achieving poor student, e.g., Avery and Hoxby identified some students using eighth grade exam scores. Many of the high-achieving poor students drop out before eighth grade.
As an education researcher, I’m recommending this podcast to my graduate students. The podcast exemplifies why it’s so difficult to do interview-based research. The title of the episode comes from Carlos’s frequent memory lapses in the interview. When asked why he didn’t mention the time he and his sister were taken away from their mother and placed in foster care, Carlos says that he doesn’t remember that well. It’s hard to believe that a student this smart forgets something so momentous in his life. Part of this is a resilience strategy — Carlos has to get past the bad times in his life to persist. But part of it is a power relationship. Carlos is a smart, poor kid, and Gladwell is an author of international bestsellers. Carlos realizes that it’s in his best interest to make Gladwell happy with him, so he says what he thinks Gladwell wants to hear. Whenever there is a perceived power gap between an interviewee (like Carlos) and an interviewer (Gladwell), we should expect to hear not-quite-the-truth. The interviewee will try to tell the interviewer what he thinks the world-famous author wants to hear — not necessarily what the interviewee actually thinks.
The episode Food Fight contrasts Bowdoin College in Maine and Vassar College in New York. They are similar schools in terms of size and academics, but Bowdoin serves much better food in its cafeterias than Vassar. Vassar made an explicit decision to cut back in its food budget in order to afford more financial aid to its poorer students. Vassar spends almost twice as much as Bowdoin in financial aid, and has a much higher percentage of low-income students than Bowdoin. Vassar is explicit in the trade-offs that they’re making. Gladwell interviews a student who complains about the food quality, but says that she accepts it as the price for having a more diverse student body.
But there’s a tension here. Vassar can only afford that level of financial aid because there is a significant percentage of affluent students who are playing full fare — and those affluent students are exactly the ones for which both Bowdoin and Vassar compete. Vassar can’t balance their budget without those affluent students. They can’t keep providing for the poorer students unless they keep getting their share of the richer students. Here’s where Gladwell starts the theme he continues into the third episode, when he tells his audience, “Never give to Bowdoin!”
The third episode, My Little Hundred Million, starts from Hank Rowan giving $100 million to Glassboro State University in New Jersey. At the time, it was the largest philanthropic gift ever to a higher education institution. Since then there have been others, but all to elite schools. Rowan’s gift made a difference, saving a nearly-bankrupt university that serves students who would never be accepted at the elites. It made a difference in providing access and closing the “Education Gap,” in exactly the way that David Brooks was talking about in 2005. So why are such large gifts going instead to schools like Stanford and Harvard, who don’t play a role in closing that gap? And why do the rich keep giving to the elite institutions? Gladwell continues the refrain from the last episode. Stop giving to Harvard! Stop giving to Stanford!
The most amazing part of the third episode is an interview with Stanford President, John Hennessy. Gladwell prods him to defend why Stanford should get such large gifts. Hennessy talks about the inability of smaller, less elite schools to use the money well. Do they know how to do truly important things with these gifts? It’s as if Hennessy doesn’t understand that simply providing access to poor students is important and not happening. Hennessy is painted by Gladwell as blind to the inequities in the economy and to who gets access to higher education.
I highly recommend all of Revisionist History. In particular, I recommend this three-part mini-series for readers who care about the role that higher education can play in making our world better. Gladwell tells us that higher education has a critical role to play, in terms of accepting a more diverse range of students through our doors. We won’t do much to address the problems by only focusing on the “best and brightest.” As Richard Tapia writes in his foreword to Stuck in the Shallow End, that phrase describes much of what we get wrong in higher education.
“Over the years, I have developed an extreme dislike for the expression ‘the best and the brightest,’ so the authors’ discussion of it in the concluding chapter particularly resonated with me. I have seen extremely talented and creative underrepresented minority undergraduate students aggressively excluded from this distinction. While serving on a National Science review panel years back, I learned that to be included in this category you had to have been doing science by the age of ten. Of course, because of lack of opportunities, few underrepresented minorities qualified.”
Closing the Education Gap requires us to think differently about who we accept into higher education, who we most need to be teaching, and how we pay for it.
At first blush, the Harvard Crimson‘s call seems a stark contrast to the Berkeley student’s call for more access to CS (see previous post here). I hear both student articles asking for the same thing — computing as a literacy to which everyone gets access.
CS50 is a phenomenon. Set aside the “CS50 paraphernalia” described below. CS50 has pizza parties and all night hackathons, sponsored by Facebook. Events are held at the Microsoft New England Research and Development Center. It’s probably the richest and most privileged CS class in the world. If you got into Harvard, and were excited to learn to code, CS50 is absolutely the class you want to be in — and you’re going to get an experience that matches your expectations.
Check out the syllabus for CS50 (linked here). This is a hard-core, intense computer science class for computer science students. It runs on the CS50 appliance in Ubuntu Linux. The course covers C, PHP, and SQL.
When I visited Harvard’s Graduate School of Education last year, I met students who really wanted to learn computer science. They wanted to learn CS in order to teach it. They wanted to learn about Scratch and Blockly, Greenfoot and BlueJ, Media Computation and CS Principles. That’s not the goal of CS50, but the CS50 size and culture sucks all the air out of the room. There’s not going to be another introductory CS course taught when Harvard has CS50 on its hands and in its checkbook.
The Harvard Crimson is saying that they want classes, liberal arts style classes, not phenomena. If it was just a normal class, maybe you could offer more than one of them? Maybe some aimed at other kinds of introductory CS needs?
Outside of the classroom, however, CS50 is anything but the liberal arts course its creators proclaim. Its unprecedented corporate sponsorship ensures that the course has an unmatched visibility on campus.No other course gives away and sells merchandise en masse to its students and fan base. T-shirts, umbrellas, aprons, stress balls, M&Ms, and other CS50 paraphernalia are ubiquitous on Harvard’s campus. No other course makes the first five weeks—that is, the add-drop period—significantly easier than the proceeding eight weeks of the semester, luring less confident students until it’s too late to turn back. In no other course on Harvard’s campus are students allowed to simultaneously register for conflicting courses, even if they too are filmed. No other course has disciplinary procedures that bypass the Ad Board. No other course has seen reports that TFs are instructed to decline to give comment on the course to The Crimson before conferring first with the professor.
My Blog@CACM post this month makes a concrete proposal (quoted and linked below). We (all academic computing programs) should incentivize faculty to use active learning methods by evaluating teaching statements for hiring, tenure, and promotion more highly that reference active learning and avoid lecture.
On my Facebook page, I linked to the article and tagged our Dean of Engineering, the Vice-Provost for Undergraduate Education, and the RPT Chair for our College, and asked, “Can we do this at Georgia Tech?” The pushback on my Facebook page was the longest thread I’ve ever been part of on Facebook.
The issues raised were interesting and worth discussing:
- Would implementing this put at a disadvantage new PhD’s who have no teaching experience and don’t learn about active teaching? Yes, but that incentivizes those PhD programs to change.
- My blog post title is “Be It Resolved: Teaching Statements must embrace Active Learning and eschew Lecture.” I chose the word “eschew” deliberately. It doesn’t mean “ban.” It means “deliberately avoid using” which is what I meant. Lecture has its place — I wrote a blog post defending lecture which still gets viewed pretty regularly. The empirical evidence suggests that we should use active learning more than lecture for undergraduate STEM education.
- Should such a requirement for teaching statements emerge from faculty talking about it, or should it be done by administrative fiat? I lean toward the latter. As I’ve pointed out, CS faculty tend to respond to authority more than evidence. The administration should do the right thing, and deal with educating teachers (e.g., what are active learning methods first? how do we use them? even in large classes?) later. Faculty will learn the active learning methods in order to create those teaching statements. The incentive comes first.
- Lots of respondents thought I was saying that we should require all teaching to be active learning. I wasn’t, and I don’t know how to enforce that anyway. By evaluating teaching statements more heavily that emphasize active learning, we create an incentive, not a requirement.
- Some faculty pushed back, “How about students that like lecture? Tough luck for them?” Since we know that active learning is better, even for students who like lecture — yes.
- Several respondents suggested that active learning is just too hard, that faculty are over-stressed as it is. Faculty are over-stressed, but active learning isn’t that hard. In fact, it’s hard for faculty because they have to be quiet and listen in class more. It is hard to make change, but that’s the point of incentives. We start somewhere.
- The biggest theme in the thread is that we should first aim to get faculty to care about teaching and to take active steps to improve their teaching. I don’t think that’s enough. Libertarian paternalism (see Wikipedia page) suggests that we set the incentive at the minimal acceptable level (use of active learning) then encourage choice above that (choosing among the wide variety of active learning methods). We don’t want people to choose options that won’t be in the best interests of the largest number of people.
The discussion went on for four days (and hasn’t quite petered out yet). I do wonder if active learning methods will be forced upon faculty if we don’t willingly pick them up. The research evidence is overwhelming, with articles in Nature and hundreds of studies reviewed in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. How long before we get sued for teaching but not using the best teaching methods? One of the quotes in the blog post says, “At this point it is unethical to teach any other way.” We should take concrete steps towards doing the right thing, because it’s the right thing to do.
Here is something concrete that we in academia can do. We can change the way we select teachers for computer science and how we reward faculty.
All teaching statements for faculty hiring, promotion, and tenure should include a description of how the candidate uses active learning methods and explicitly reduces lecture.
We create the incentive to teach better. We might simply add a phrase to our job ads and promotion and tenure policies like, “Teaching statements will be more valued that describe how the candidate uses active learning methods and seeks to reduce lecture.”
My daughter is enrolled in Georgia’s “Governor’s Honor Program” which started this week. The program is highly competitive — my daughter filled out multiple applications, wrote essays, and went through two rounds of interviews. Over 700 high school students from across Georgia attend for four weeks of residential classes on a university campus for free.
At the parent’s orientation, we heard from two former GHP students, the Dean of Student Life, the Dean of Residence Halls, the GHP Program Manager, and the Dean of Instruction. It’s that last one who really got me.
“You heard from these students, and many other students. GHP changes lives. There is magic in our program.“
The program sounds remarkable. No grades, no tests. The Dean of Instruction said she told the teachers to “give these students learning opportunities beyond what’s in any high school classroom.” Students are only there to learn for learning’s sake.
I was thrilled for my daughter, that she was going to have this experience. I was also thrilled as a teacher.
I want to teach in a program whose leadership says, “There is magic in our program. Our program changes lives.” Last week, I took my daughter to tour three universities. Our daughter is the youngest of three, so I’ve attended other prospective student tours at other universities. I’ve never heard anybody at any of these universities make that kind of claim.
I don’t mean to critique my leadership at Georgia Tech in particular. When I was the Undergraduate Program Director, I never said anything like that to my teachers or to prospective parents. I am critical of higher education more broadly. Higher education in America sets goals like preparing students for careers, giving them experiences abroad and in research, giving them options so that they can tailor their program to meet their particular desires, and surrounding them with great fellow students — I’ve heard all of those claims many times on many tours. I’ve never heard anyone say, “We change lives.”
Rich DeMillo argued in his book Apple to Abelard that higher education institutions need to differentiate from one another. Offering the same thing in the same way makes it hard to compete with the on-line and for-profit options. At Georgia Tech, the faculty are frequently told, “We get amazingly smart students.” We’re told to think about how to tune our education for these super-smart students. I’ve never been told, “Give these students experiences beyond what they will get in any other program. Create magic. Change their lives.”
What I gained at GHP is a new definition for what higher education should be about. We need to step up our game.
I don’t think that MOOCs are a good solution for required classes. I agree with the idea that MOOCs are for people who want to learn something because they’re interested in it, and that completion rates don’t matter there.
That suggests that we shouldn’t use MOOCs where (a) the students don’t know what they need to know and (b) completion rates matter.
- Thus, don’t use MOOCs for intro courses (as we learned at GT with English composition and physics) where students don’t know that they really need this knowledge to go on, and the completion rates are even worse than in other MOOCs. The combination hurts the students who want to go on to subsequent courses. Using MOOCs to provide adults with content that might be covered in an intro course isn’t the same thing. For example, an intro to programming course for adults who want to understand something about coding, but not necessarily continue in CS studies, makes sense for a MOOC. If they’re not trying to prepare for a follow-on course, then the completion rate doesn’t really matter. If the MOOC learners are adults who are foraging for certain information, then the even-lower completion rate in intro-content MOOCs makes sense. There may only be a small part of that content that someone doesn’t already know.
- Thus, don’t use MOOCs to teach high school teachers about CS, where they don’t know what CS they need to know, they’re uncertain about becoming CS teachers, and a lack of completion means that the teachers who don’t complete (90-95% of enrollees) don’t know the curriculum that they’re supposed to teach. Using MOOCs to provide existing CS teachers with new opportunities to learn is a good match for the student audience to the affordances of the medium. Trying to draw in new CS teachers (when they are so hard to recruit) via MOOCs makes little sense to me.
Setting aside my concerns about MOOCs, it’s not exactly clear what’s going on in the below article. I get that it’s not good that California had to just forgive the loan of $7M USD, and that they will likely to continue to lose money. I get that the quote below says, “we got extremely little in return.” I don’t see what was the return. I don’t see how many students actually participated (e.g., we’re told that there was only 250 non-UC students, but not how many UC students participated), and if the courses they created could continue to be used for years after, and so on. It doesn’t look good, but there’s not enough information here to know that it was bad.
“We spent a lot of money and got extremely little in return,” said Jose Wudka, a physics professor at UC-Riverside who previously chaired the Systemwide Committee on Educational Policy of the Academic Senate, which represents faculty in the UC System.
The project, which cost $7 million to set up at a time when the state was cutting higher-education funding, aspired to let students take courses across campuses.