by Stephen Cummings, MSW, ACSW, LSW
Online Library
Allow me to reflect on a scene from the 2003 Mike Newell-directed movie Mona Lisa Smile. I saw the movie when it was in theaters, and 15 years on, I confess I have forgotten most of it. A quick visit to the Internet Movie Database, and I learn that the movie starred Julia Roberts as a free-thinking art teacher teaching in 1950s Wellesley College, who teaches her students to question their traditional roles. (I remember now.)
However, one key scene sticks in my mind to this day. Roberts is teaching a classroom of art students for the first time, and she operates a fantastic piece of period technology—an enormous slide projector—to best present the examples she plans to discuss on the classroom screen. It’s a loud, heavy piece of equipment, and Roberts has to stand next to it and physically exchange the slides one at a time. The scene stays with me not just because I love all forms of historical classroom hardware; it’s that, despite this tool, her students demonstrate a level of preparation that defeats the lesson. As Roberts switches to a new slide of historical artifacts, she starts to describe it, only to be cut off by her students, who clearly have come prepared. They do the work: each slide is identified and explained in turn, the students stay on point, and the instructor is flummoxed to distraction.
This one scene sticks with me because, well, I empathize with the instructor. She may have underestimated her students. I remember thinking that, at least, she could leave one of the projected slides up and do a critique, or ask students how the painting made them feel. Something! Now, as a social work professor, I can see why this remains in my memory. This is one of my nightmares. I fear I accentuate the technological tools over the essence of the learning experience. This fear of misplacing values pops up a lot in my worst dreams.
The scene is fiction, but the truth of the moment is undeniable. I underestimate my students’ readiness and curiosity at my peril. Rather than make the presumption that students seek my sage wisdom, students come to my classroom with experience and knowledge, and a desire to focus on and enhance this knowledge and connect it to the wider profession of social work. If I cannot engage adequately, students find a way, and technology is the tool at their constant disposal. To cite one example: last year, a student met with me after a class. She informed me she struggled with one element of my presentation. I proceeded to attempt a brief review session with her. “I got it covered,” she said, “I went online and found another presentation on YouTube. I’m good.” My initial reaction was of concern—who knows what the quality of that YouTube video was—but I also acknowledged her effort. Motivated students find a way.
The current technologies that students use aren’t simply a result of commercial availability of hardware, or the rise of a tech-savvy generation entering higher education. These are easy assumptions, of course. A classic fallacy is the assumption that anyone under 25 can fix your computer. In the environment of higher education, the institution itself may be fostering the environment that encourages constant use of technology.
A case in point: In 2005, I accepted my first classroom teaching role in social work. This was in a so-called “traditional” classroom environment—the learning environment included a physical classroom where students arrived at a certain time and left several hours later. I seem to remember a chalkboard. During class, my lead instructor and I would lecture and engage with the group. We had access to a stand with a large, heavy television on which we could present videos via VHS or via the web. We’d talk about the content and ask for some participation from the group. This was our approach, and we followed this model fairly consistently. However, over the years, the underlying technology available in the classroom changed.
Our institution led the way with some of these major changes. A unified, web-based course management system was instituted, and instructors had the option to use it. The heavy computer carts and VHS decks were removed, having been replaced with updated podiums with internet access. Campus-wide open Wi-Fi access, unheard of in the late 1990s, became ubiquitous. Fifteen years after I’d started teaching, my campus provided free Wi-Fi access to students and campus guests (the whole campus is essentially a free Wi-Fi zone).
These institutional, top-down changes inevitably led to changes in student behavior. Laptops in the classroom were rare in 2005; they were still large, and other than taking notes on them, students seemed not to need them. By 2015, laptops and other portable devices (including the candy-bar smartphone) were the norm, with students accessing my posted PowerPoint slides via our course management system and following along during class.
A key take-away here is evident but bears repeating: classrooms can no longer be divided into two static categories, face-to-face and online. This isn’t a new concept; however, I continue to encounter all manner of perceptions and opinions about the quality of online education, about the assumption that only a live classroom can provide a true educational experience, and that all other learning environments are inferior. To illustrate, let’s consider some of the terms most often encountered when talking about these learning environments.
Synchronous
Your learning environment is happening now, and interactions are “live.” Note that this is not the same as “in the physical classroom.” I’ve had chat sessions between students open up during an online presentation. For some class designs, this is appropriate and encouraged.
Asynchronous
The learning environment is built around an experience that isn’t live. An online discussion board can be very dynamic—I’ve read through some very dynamic, insightful posts by students who actively engage in great discussions—but they aren’t, strictly speaking, “live.”
The Physical Classroom
Chairs. Desks. A dry-erase board, or maybe even a chalkboard! This is the In Real Life classroom experience. The IRL experience is, by default, synchronous.
Online
This is a loaded term. Some programs are entirely online. You can log in from your home, and your entire learning environment (sans practicum) can be completed there. Other programs feature this method, but may be more akin to a hybrid program.
Hybrid
This term tends to encompass all forms of learning environments that aren’t specifically IRL learning environments. That leaves a wide variety of design options: an almost entirely online learning environment with occasional formal IRL events, or a more balanced, 50/50 split of online and IRL experiences. For example, the online program I’m helping to develop is almost entirely online, with yearly three-day institutes that are held on our mother campus.
Moving Toward a Kind of Shared Experience
A technological “singularity” is often discussed in our Siri/Alexa-enabled world. This refers to a time when artificial intelligence becomes smart enough to surpass the human intellect. The theory posits that, when the singularity arrives, we won’t be able to distinguish between AI and humans. I’m borrowing this term to describe how, as students and instructors adapt more to the use of technology in the learning environment, we become more adapted to a “singular” learning environment, whether it be live, asynchronous, or completely online. In other words, we become accustomed to using a form of technology (such as course management systems) to enhance our learning environments, regardless of whether they are entirely online, entirely in the physical classroom, or some form of a hybrid design.
For example, I teach a Human Behavior in the Social Environment course completely online in the summer and in an IRL classroom environment during the fall. Particularly in the last year, I noted that, with just some minor adaptations, the overall course experiences in the summer and fall were incredibly similar.
Along the way, the student’s personal technology is more prevalent. In my experience, I’ve adapted to this prevalence in some of my learning environments. For example, instead of an outright ban of portable technology in a physical classroom, I allow students to use technology to enhance the learning experience during the live class, much like what they can do in courses taught entirely online. During classroom discussions, students are encouraged to search the web for current information on a topic or event. This requires even more emphasis on critical thinking and digital literacy, which should be a part of the curriculum, regardless. Rather than relenting to the onslaught of glowing laptops in my classes, I welcome their use with the qualifying expectation that students use them for the good of the class and the overall learning environment, rather than multitasking.
As of this spring, I’m spending more time reviewing student feedback and revising my courses. In the meantime, maybe I’ll stream Mona Lisa Smile. I do recall enjoying it.
Stephen Cummings, MSW, ACSW, LSW, is a clinical assistant professor at the University of Iowa School of Social Work, where he is the administrator for distance education.