It has been 30 years since Ronald Reagan signed the legislation designating today and each third Monday of January Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Today is the anniversary of George Orwell's 1950 death, marked this year by the first-ever George Orwell Day.
Orwell and King are rarely considered together. Their careers as writers and activists barely overlapped; I know of no instance where King referenced Orwell's writing. Orwell's great concern was totalitarianism, King's was racial discrimination. Even their commemoration days point in different directions, King's (at the request of his family, friends, and political allies) indicating his birth, Orwell's (at the wishes of his estate and publisher) marking his death.
But in three areas their work overlapped. First, both Orwell and King identified imperialism as a pursuit that corrupted the globe and the nation. Orwell's term as an imperial policeman in Burma right out of college made him a representative of the British crown and enforcer of British law on the ground. Those years marked his thinking about law and justice, which might seem good in the abstract or the homeland, but which came up wanting when applied in strange places and real settings.
King's attention to imperialism came at the end of his life, not the beginning. But like Orwell, King's recognition of the gap between the abstract good of domestic law, and the injustice of its application overseas, led him to argue that the injustices of a nation's extra-territorial actions corrupts domestic law as well.
Second, both Orwell and King doubted the ability of the state to police itself. Orwell's attention focused on the nation-state as the location of injustice. King's attention focused more intently on state and local government. But both saw that in the 20th century the state both threatened and protected people. The challenge was to determine how to limit the threat by expanding the areas in which people could speak and act freely.
Here is the third overlap between Orwell and King. Though today the guardians of King's memory focus on his leadership of marches and his influence on legislation, and most Americans know Orwell from his fiction, both Orwell and King saw plain non-fiction speech as the indispensable tool of freedom.
Today I re-read Orwell's greatest essay, "Politics and the English Language" (1946) followed by King's greatest essay, "Letter from a Birmingham Jail" (1963). Read one after the other these works make a pair, "Letter" a real-world application of "Politics." In "Politics", for example, Orwell argues that "the great enemy of clear language is insincerity." King opens his letter with an attack on the insincerity of clergymen who called the protests in Birmingham "unwise and untimely" thus blaming protesters for the unjust application of the law in Birmingham. Orwell calls for clear, direct, brief, unflowered language. King obliges: "I am in Birmingham because injustice is here." Or, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." Or this: "Anyone who lives inside the United States cannot be considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds."
Orwell concludes his essay by arguing that "Political language...is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable." King, after a tightly reasoned opening, lets loose with example after example of how the political use of one word, "wait", covers up generations of murder and lies:
" But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six year old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five year old son who is asking: "Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?"; when you take a cross county drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading "white" and "colored"; when your first name becomes "nigger," your middle name becomes "boy" (however old you are) and your last name becomes "John," and your wife and mother are never given the respected title "Mrs."; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness"--then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait."
American political rhetoric, the inaugural address notwithstanding, needs to heed Orwell's advice and King's examples. Today's rhetoric, like that in 1946 and 1963 is detached from reality, so general as to be incomprehensible, so rigid as to be totalitarian. Orwell and King knew that such rhetoric was evidence of a debased society. But they also demonstrated that intent efforts to speak truth, describe reality, and be humble before the challenge of communicating were essential if humans were to live good lives.
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Monday, January 21, 2013
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Compromise and reconciliation, democracy and civic engagement
Whatever you may think about the debt ceiling compromise or the debate leading up to it (and I know most people dislike them), they are less important for the quality of our civic life than what comes next.
This fact seems to have been lost on commentators, who continue to debate the wisdom of the compromise, or the economic impact of the Standard and Poors credit rating downgrade, or what it means for the United States' place in the world. But for our civic life, what we would hope to see after compromise is some sort of reconciliation. In fact, in both religion and civic theory, it is the reconciliation--the ability to recognize changes in oneself, and to work more effectively with others in the future, that is the real benefit of compromise.
Consider this teaching from the Christian tradition:
“You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘You shall not murder,[a] and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ 22 But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister[b][c] will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,’[d] is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.
23 “Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, 24 leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift.
25 “Settle matters quickly with your adversary who is taking you to court. Do it while you are still together on the way, or your adversary may hand you over to the judge, and the judge may hand you over to the officer, and you may be thrown into prison.
Or consider the work of truth and reconciliation commissions the world over who have helped countries emerge from periods of tyranny into something like democracy. (For an old but still moving work on these commissions read Lawrence Wechsler's A Miracle, A Universe.)
In both instances the injunction to reconcile is the basis for future relationships. That is, civic life cannot function with citizens who are unable to talk to each other, or who are trying to overlook (ignore) real gaps between them. And both instances demand that some individuals not just agree to the compromise, but reconcile with their enemies.
Now consider the way we talk about compromise in America. It is widely acknowledged that compromise is essential for democracy. It is also assumed that compromise means that both parties fail to get what they want from the agreement. This is usually true in terms of policy. Neither Democrats nor Republicans got what they wanted in the debt ceiling negotiations.
Our discussions of compromise, though, entirely overlook the need for reconciliation. In fact, all of the sides in the debt ceiling compromise told their constituents that the compromise was a short-term solution and that they would still work to reach their big goals. Or, in other words, compromise was but a short detour from winning their long-term battle.
If you know history you know that this view--compromise now until you can win enough public support to avoid compromise--has a long tradition in American politics. And traditionally it has led to some horrible compromises. The Kansas-Nebraska Act, for example, which gave birth to a mini-civil war prior to the real one.
Our civic life needs two things if it is to avoid the sort of poisonous, ineffective compromises that litter our history: First, a civic movement that is committed to reconciliation in public life, that pushes for relationships and repentance before and after compromise. (Imagine, for example, a law that requires party leaders to meet with a mediator (or play golf together) after every law that passes with a party-line vote.) Second, leaders who are publicly committed to reconciliation as a goal of their public service. It is here that the irony lies. With so many legislators who are publicly Christian, why are so few of them publicly committed to Christian behavior?
This fact seems to have been lost on commentators, who continue to debate the wisdom of the compromise, or the economic impact of the Standard and Poors credit rating downgrade, or what it means for the United States' place in the world. But for our civic life, what we would hope to see after compromise is some sort of reconciliation. In fact, in both religion and civic theory, it is the reconciliation--the ability to recognize changes in oneself, and to work more effectively with others in the future, that is the real benefit of compromise.
Consider this teaching from the Christian tradition:
“You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘You shall not murder,[a] and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ 22 But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister[b][c] will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,’[d] is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.
23 “Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, 24 leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift.
25 “Settle matters quickly with your adversary who is taking you to court. Do it while you are still together on the way, or your adversary may hand you over to the judge, and the judge may hand you over to the officer, and you may be thrown into prison.
Or consider the work of truth and reconciliation commissions the world over who have helped countries emerge from periods of tyranny into something like democracy. (For an old but still moving work on these commissions read Lawrence Wechsler's A Miracle, A Universe.)
In both instances the injunction to reconcile is the basis for future relationships. That is, civic life cannot function with citizens who are unable to talk to each other, or who are trying to overlook (ignore) real gaps between them. And both instances demand that some individuals not just agree to the compromise, but reconcile with their enemies.
Now consider the way we talk about compromise in America. It is widely acknowledged that compromise is essential for democracy. It is also assumed that compromise means that both parties fail to get what they want from the agreement. This is usually true in terms of policy. Neither Democrats nor Republicans got what they wanted in the debt ceiling negotiations.
Our discussions of compromise, though, entirely overlook the need for reconciliation. In fact, all of the sides in the debt ceiling compromise told their constituents that the compromise was a short-term solution and that they would still work to reach their big goals. Or, in other words, compromise was but a short detour from winning their long-term battle.
If you know history you know that this view--compromise now until you can win enough public support to avoid compromise--has a long tradition in American politics. And traditionally it has led to some horrible compromises. The Kansas-Nebraska Act, for example, which gave birth to a mini-civil war prior to the real one.
Our civic life needs two things if it is to avoid the sort of poisonous, ineffective compromises that litter our history: First, a civic movement that is committed to reconciliation in public life, that pushes for relationships and repentance before and after compromise. (Imagine, for example, a law that requires party leaders to meet with a mediator (or play golf together) after every law that passes with a party-line vote.) Second, leaders who are publicly committed to reconciliation as a goal of their public service. It is here that the irony lies. With so many legislators who are publicly Christian, why are so few of them publicly committed to Christian behavior?
Sunday, July 31, 2011
How innovative is "The Innovative University"?
Clayton Christensen and Henry Eyring's new book, The Innovative University is garnering significant attention right now, as one would expect from a book penned by Christensen and a book that is organized around a comparison of BYU-Idaho and Harvard University. (Full disclosure--Westminster College is mentioned in several sidebars; I was part of the Westminster group who made suggestions about those sidebars.) Christensen and Eyring's recent Chronicle of Higher Education op-ed, "How to Save the Traditional University, from the Inside Out" has elicited 62 written comments as of 31 July, and several webinars devoted to the book and its argument are pending.
Their argument--that in order to innovate and succeed, colleges and universities need to do more with technology, reduce costs to students, and focus themselves in order to provide to students what they desire while giving society what it needs, is unexceptional. In fact, it happens all the time, as colleges and universities make decisions about starting new programs, discontinuing old ones, and recruiting students who will succeed on their campuses. (And, it should be noted, it is small, focused institutions that, if they don't find a market, are more likely to die.) I would suggest that the authors' central trope, that Harvard's DNA has been grafted into nearly all of American higher ed causing a sort of arms race that prices students out of the market and fails to deliver good learning, is a bit of a stretch. It may be the case that Research I universities, and top-tier (and top-tier wannabe) liberal arts colleges have adopted Harvard-like mission and faculty roles, but the vast majority of public and private universities have not.
But setting this aside, the real question is this--How innovative is "The Innovative University"? At least in their op-ed piece, Christensen and Eyring look towards a future where more specialized institutions (ones that have focused their offerings and their student profile) produce knowledge that meets the needs of their learners, using technology in discovery, dissemination, and learning. (For a great example of this sort of school, plus one that really innovates in its focus on learning, take a look at Roseman University of Health Sciences.) But presumably, students would still take classes, work towards degrees, and engage with the institution over a brief but focused period of time. That is, college education would still look largely the same to students once they matriculate. The main difference would be in the options available to students, and the role of cost and specialization in helping students choose those options.
Such an approach, for all of its virtues, fails to respond to some of the major issues facing education in the US. It does not, for example, do anything to ensure that college-going students are prepared to go to college. It does little to reach the millions of adults who need more education but cannot enroll in college to get it. It doesn't put the interests and passions of students at the center of the learning experience. It assumes that much knowledge exists largely in universities. And it maintains (or perhaps exacerbates) the assumption that learning and knowledge exist in disciplinary boxes, rather than being integrated with each other.
One might imagine an entirely different model of education--call it the Education Maintenance Organization (EMO). An EMO would look like an HMO. Its job would be to provide regular check-ups on the learning and academic growth of young people and adults. EMOs would be made up of generalists--educators who could diagnose needs and provide guidance on behavior. They would develop relationships with their clients. They could prescribe--a focused set of sessions on math for the 10-year old, learning experiences that would develop competency in history for the college-age student, job re-training for adults wanting to shift careers-- and they could provide treatment. Costs would be paid like health insurance--on an on-going basis throughout the lifetime of their members. The goal would be well-being--ongoing learning that serves the needs of individuals, and y so doing, of the broader community as well.
For some an EMO would sit on top of a traditional education--filling gaps, helping parents raise student achievement, providing focus during the summer, helping relate learning to student's passions. For others it might replace some aspects of formal education. But EMOs, whatever their role, would look little like colleges and universities.
I am not suggesting that colleges and universities should disappear. In fact, I think that the reason so few of them are disappearing is that, by and large, they do meet the needs and desires of their students. But if it is innovation we are looking for--not just in content but in structure, role, and location in society, it will take more than focus to get us there.
Their argument--that in order to innovate and succeed, colleges and universities need to do more with technology, reduce costs to students, and focus themselves in order to provide to students what they desire while giving society what it needs, is unexceptional. In fact, it happens all the time, as colleges and universities make decisions about starting new programs, discontinuing old ones, and recruiting students who will succeed on their campuses. (And, it should be noted, it is small, focused institutions that, if they don't find a market, are more likely to die.) I would suggest that the authors' central trope, that Harvard's DNA has been grafted into nearly all of American higher ed causing a sort of arms race that prices students out of the market and fails to deliver good learning, is a bit of a stretch. It may be the case that Research I universities, and top-tier (and top-tier wannabe) liberal arts colleges have adopted Harvard-like mission and faculty roles, but the vast majority of public and private universities have not.
But setting this aside, the real question is this--How innovative is "The Innovative University"? At least in their op-ed piece, Christensen and Eyring look towards a future where more specialized institutions (ones that have focused their offerings and their student profile) produce knowledge that meets the needs of their learners, using technology in discovery, dissemination, and learning. (For a great example of this sort of school, plus one that really innovates in its focus on learning, take a look at Roseman University of Health Sciences.) But presumably, students would still take classes, work towards degrees, and engage with the institution over a brief but focused period of time. That is, college education would still look largely the same to students once they matriculate. The main difference would be in the options available to students, and the role of cost and specialization in helping students choose those options.
Such an approach, for all of its virtues, fails to respond to some of the major issues facing education in the US. It does not, for example, do anything to ensure that college-going students are prepared to go to college. It does little to reach the millions of adults who need more education but cannot enroll in college to get it. It doesn't put the interests and passions of students at the center of the learning experience. It assumes that much knowledge exists largely in universities. And it maintains (or perhaps exacerbates) the assumption that learning and knowledge exist in disciplinary boxes, rather than being integrated with each other.
One might imagine an entirely different model of education--call it the Education Maintenance Organization (EMO). An EMO would look like an HMO. Its job would be to provide regular check-ups on the learning and academic growth of young people and adults. EMOs would be made up of generalists--educators who could diagnose needs and provide guidance on behavior. They would develop relationships with their clients. They could prescribe--a focused set of sessions on math for the 10-year old, learning experiences that would develop competency in history for the college-age student, job re-training for adults wanting to shift careers-- and they could provide treatment. Costs would be paid like health insurance--on an on-going basis throughout the lifetime of their members. The goal would be well-being--ongoing learning that serves the needs of individuals, and y so doing, of the broader community as well.
For some an EMO would sit on top of a traditional education--filling gaps, helping parents raise student achievement, providing focus during the summer, helping relate learning to student's passions. For others it might replace some aspects of formal education. But EMOs, whatever their role, would look little like colleges and universities.
I am not suggesting that colleges and universities should disappear. In fact, I think that the reason so few of them are disappearing is that, by and large, they do meet the needs and desires of their students. But if it is innovation we are looking for--not just in content but in structure, role, and location in society, it will take more than focus to get us there.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Is there any hope for public anything?
Both at the federal and the state levels, the same questions I raised about the future of public higher education can be asked about the future of the entire public sphere. With the need for significant budget cuts and the anti-government views of most leading elected Republicans, it is not at all certain that the organizations we see as stalwarts of public life--schools, cultural organizations, arts organizations, social service providers--will continue to be vigorous. And if they do not, it is an open question whether our common lives will diminish with them.
There is a history here, one that we ought to attend to. As recently as the 1960s government played a relatively small role in supporting third places and non-governmental organizations. The public sphere was populated with some non-profits, but even more with a wide range of fraternal organizations, public houses, civic organizations, parks, etc. that received almost no federal funding and very limited state funding.
Most of those organizations have been in decline in the past 40 years. And they have been replaced by a new breed of non-profits, distinguished both by their focus on a single issue, and by their receipt, in one way or another, of tax funds. Those same non-profits have benefited from a more generous class of donors, some of whose gifts are driven by tax breaks. The receipt of tax funds, the specialization in particular issues, and the increased need to cultivate donors has led to a professionalized non-profit sector, one that employs a large number of people, and that relies on continually growing budgets to move its work forward.
The economic downturn and now, the thirst to cut government budgets, thus hurt the public sphere in three ways. They undermine government funding for non-profits even while donors are less able to give, they endanger the jobs of a large number of professionals, and because the public sphere and the non-profit sector have become almost synonymous, they threaten the infrastructure of public life.
Of course many non-profits will survive, but those that do will rely ever more heavily either on a dedicated tax funding stream (as, for example, providers of drug treatment who contract with governments), or upon the largesse of a small group of rich donors.
This is not entirely a bad thing in the long run. I expect that entrepreneurs will step in and find ways to run arts and culture organizations on a fee-for-service, not a donation basis. The internet will replace the work of many employees in the non-profit sector (it is noteworthy, for example, that civil society organizations have played almost no role in the recent rebellions on Tunisia and Egypt. Their organizational roles have been taken over by twitter and by ad-hoc on-the-ground decision-making). And small-scale volunteer work will return to churches and evanescent neighborhood organizations. But between now and the long run, the public sphere is in decline.
There is a history here, one that we ought to attend to. As recently as the 1960s government played a relatively small role in supporting third places and non-governmental organizations. The public sphere was populated with some non-profits, but even more with a wide range of fraternal organizations, public houses, civic organizations, parks, etc. that received almost no federal funding and very limited state funding.
Most of those organizations have been in decline in the past 40 years. And they have been replaced by a new breed of non-profits, distinguished both by their focus on a single issue, and by their receipt, in one way or another, of tax funds. Those same non-profits have benefited from a more generous class of donors, some of whose gifts are driven by tax breaks. The receipt of tax funds, the specialization in particular issues, and the increased need to cultivate donors has led to a professionalized non-profit sector, one that employs a large number of people, and that relies on continually growing budgets to move its work forward.
The economic downturn and now, the thirst to cut government budgets, thus hurt the public sphere in three ways. They undermine government funding for non-profits even while donors are less able to give, they endanger the jobs of a large number of professionals, and because the public sphere and the non-profit sector have become almost synonymous, they threaten the infrastructure of public life.
Of course many non-profits will survive, but those that do will rely ever more heavily either on a dedicated tax funding stream (as, for example, providers of drug treatment who contract with governments), or upon the largesse of a small group of rich donors.
This is not entirely a bad thing in the long run. I expect that entrepreneurs will step in and find ways to run arts and culture organizations on a fee-for-service, not a donation basis. The internet will replace the work of many employees in the non-profit sector (it is noteworthy, for example, that civil society organizations have played almost no role in the recent rebellions on Tunisia and Egypt. Their organizational roles have been taken over by twitter and by ad-hoc on-the-ground decision-making). And small-scale volunteer work will return to churches and evanescent neighborhood organizations. But between now and the long run, the public sphere is in decline.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Learning about cost and quality from health care and agriculture
Atul Gawande has a great piece in the 14 December 09 New Yorker. "Testing, Testing" contains hints at two ideas that would help higher ed move ahead on the cost/quality issue.
First, he reminds us that for health care reform to succeed government has to mandate that nearly every American get health insurance. Or, put another way--the best way to ensure access to health care is to require that people get access to health care. Mandated access is important because it is only by expanding the market that the pool of the insured is large enough to make insurance a viable business.
Access to higher education is the sometimes forgotten key to cost and quality in higher ed as well. Millions of new potential university students aren't attending college. And millions more who have dipped their toes into higher ed are no longer pursuing it. Why? Cost is a big factor, along with cultural challenges, and the indifference of much of HE to their plight. So, if we want movement on cost, perhaps we need to move on requiring access. (I know the objections--not every job requires higher ed, many, many people can't afford it, it extends the power of the state well-beyond its current already-impressive reach, etc.)
And who knows--millions more adults, required to get higher education, might be a powerful force for reform of higher education. (Right now students and potential students have a very limited role in pushing reform--they act largely by choosing another campus, dropping our, or never joining up.)
Gawande then explains why access should be a requirement, but there should be no standardized approach to insurance and treatment. To make this point he turns to another mandatory practice--eating. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries food was expensive and access was limited. Farming was outdated, soils depleted, public health poor, life expectancy relatively low, farm work brutal.
Government did not mandate a particular approach to growing food, though. Instead it catalyzed changes through extension agents. One particularly influential agent, Seaman Knapp, traveled to Terrell Texas to try to get farmers to try out some new techniques. Not every farmer adopted them at first. Instead, community leaders (most of them farmers) encouraged one farmer, Walter Porter, to try the new techniques. Terrell's leaders provided support for Porter. In some ways they helped reduce his exposure to risk (of embarrassment, failure, financial ruin) while he experimented. When his changes made a difference, most of the farmers in the area adopted them. Food costs began to decline, access to food improved, as did quality and public health. Based on this success the US government created an army of extension agents, dedicated to doing what Walter Porter did.
Now the history of agriculture since then hasn't been all good. Small farms have died, natural growing techniques have disappeared, agribusiness rules the day.
But in that story there is an important suggestion for higher ed. Experiments on cost are risky when gone alone. But a consortium of schools can help spread risk. The consortium agrees that a particular approach looks promising. One school agrees to try it out. The other schools indemnify the experimental school. If things go poorly the consortium helps fix the problem ( by providing money, support etc.) But if they go well the consortium shares in the benefit and they all adopt the changes. The consortium comes to look something like a mutual aid society--a group of people or organizations committed to the well-being of their members by sharing risk and success.
Today there are plenty of consortia of colleges and university. But few of them collaborate in this way. Instead they gather for meetings, swap stories, produce papers, but when the chips are down members of the consortium are on their own. Perhaps it is time to look to the past when these cooperative organizations were the basis of our social safety net and civic innovation. Couldn't hurt.
or if the historical allusion doesn't work, consider a modern one--venture capital. Imagine 20 college presidents, each serious about cost/quality. They each pitch in $100K to a fund. They fund experiments, and get equity in the results. Something works, all benefit, something fails, no one faces a total crisis.
First, he reminds us that for health care reform to succeed government has to mandate that nearly every American get health insurance. Or, put another way--the best way to ensure access to health care is to require that people get access to health care. Mandated access is important because it is only by expanding the market that the pool of the insured is large enough to make insurance a viable business.
Access to higher education is the sometimes forgotten key to cost and quality in higher ed as well. Millions of new potential university students aren't attending college. And millions more who have dipped their toes into higher ed are no longer pursuing it. Why? Cost is a big factor, along with cultural challenges, and the indifference of much of HE to their plight. So, if we want movement on cost, perhaps we need to move on requiring access. (I know the objections--not every job requires higher ed, many, many people can't afford it, it extends the power of the state well-beyond its current already-impressive reach, etc.)
And who knows--millions more adults, required to get higher education, might be a powerful force for reform of higher education. (Right now students and potential students have a very limited role in pushing reform--they act largely by choosing another campus, dropping our, or never joining up.)
Gawande then explains why access should be a requirement, but there should be no standardized approach to insurance and treatment. To make this point he turns to another mandatory practice--eating. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries food was expensive and access was limited. Farming was outdated, soils depleted, public health poor, life expectancy relatively low, farm work brutal.
Government did not mandate a particular approach to growing food, though. Instead it catalyzed changes through extension agents. One particularly influential agent, Seaman Knapp, traveled to Terrell Texas to try to get farmers to try out some new techniques. Not every farmer adopted them at first. Instead, community leaders (most of them farmers) encouraged one farmer, Walter Porter, to try the new techniques. Terrell's leaders provided support for Porter. In some ways they helped reduce his exposure to risk (of embarrassment, failure, financial ruin) while he experimented. When his changes made a difference, most of the farmers in the area adopted them. Food costs began to decline, access to food improved, as did quality and public health. Based on this success the US government created an army of extension agents, dedicated to doing what Walter Porter did.
Now the history of agriculture since then hasn't been all good. Small farms have died, natural growing techniques have disappeared, agribusiness rules the day.
But in that story there is an important suggestion for higher ed. Experiments on cost are risky when gone alone. But a consortium of schools can help spread risk. The consortium agrees that a particular approach looks promising. One school agrees to try it out. The other schools indemnify the experimental school. If things go poorly the consortium helps fix the problem ( by providing money, support etc.) But if they go well the consortium shares in the benefit and they all adopt the changes. The consortium comes to look something like a mutual aid society--a group of people or organizations committed to the well-being of their members by sharing risk and success.
Today there are plenty of consortia of colleges and university. But few of them collaborate in this way. Instead they gather for meetings, swap stories, produce papers, but when the chips are down members of the consortium are on their own. Perhaps it is time to look to the past when these cooperative organizations were the basis of our social safety net and civic innovation. Couldn't hurt.
or if the historical allusion doesn't work, consider a modern one--venture capital. Imagine 20 college presidents, each serious about cost/quality. They each pitch in $100K to a fund. They fund experiments, and get equity in the results. Something works, all benefit, something fails, no one faces a total crisis.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Self-reliance
Over the weekend I had to teach a lesson at church about self-reliance and care for the needy. To prepare (for truth be told all preparation is putting off the performance) I spent a bit of time re-reading Emerson's Self-Reliance.
Emerson is one of those writers to whom I keep returning because his work annoys me. (Thoreau is another.) And Self-Reliance is full of annoying ideas, many about education in one way or another.
Take this line: "There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide..." Now Emerson isn't talking specifically about formal education. But this notion, that education is about finding the ways that one is a unique individual, is one that leads to all sorts of selfish, relativist pap. (Perhaps best exemplified by the oft-repeated schoolhouse fib: "You can become anything you want.")
But the rest of the sentence turns the sentiment around: "...that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till."
All of the sudden Emerson is calling for education to do something much more significant--to help people discover their uniqueness by working to uncover connections to their surroundings. Looked at this way, Emerson is describing how much can be learned by rejecting generalities in favor of specifics, even if those are specifics about a place that may not seem important. Studying abroad may be important; but studying home certainly is.
And then, later in the essay, this: "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines." What might we learn, how might our public culture be better, if we didn't derive our thoughts and actions from what we have always done? (And how much harder would it be to grade papers without being able to write "you contradict yourself" in the margins?)
Emerson is one of those writers to whom I keep returning because his work annoys me. (Thoreau is another.) And Self-Reliance is full of annoying ideas, many about education in one way or another.
Take this line: "There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide..." Now Emerson isn't talking specifically about formal education. But this notion, that education is about finding the ways that one is a unique individual, is one that leads to all sorts of selfish, relativist pap. (Perhaps best exemplified by the oft-repeated schoolhouse fib: "You can become anything you want.")
But the rest of the sentence turns the sentiment around: "...that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till."
All of the sudden Emerson is calling for education to do something much more significant--to help people discover their uniqueness by working to uncover connections to their surroundings. Looked at this way, Emerson is describing how much can be learned by rejecting generalities in favor of specifics, even if those are specifics about a place that may not seem important. Studying abroad may be important; but studying home certainly is.
And then, later in the essay, this: "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines." What might we learn, how might our public culture be better, if we didn't derive our thoughts and actions from what we have always done? (And how much harder would it be to grade papers without being able to write "you contradict yourself" in the margins?)
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Is it possible to "pay tuition"?
I was reading an op-ed last night about a new compulsory education law in India. The author wrote that students from middle-class families would do better in this system than would the poor because, "they get private tuition in the evening," whereas the poor do not.
This certainly isn't the way we use the word "tuition" in American higher ed, where it simply means "the money you pay to go to school." It turns out that the common usage of the word is historically new--dating only to the 19th century. Before that, tuition more commonly meant, "instruction or teaching" and at its origins in the 13th century it meant "guardianship." (For the etymology visit this site.)
You can trace the history of education through the history of the word "tuition." Today's usage suggests that at some point a word that described a key facet of learning--guardianship linked with instruction--came to mean simply the money we pay to get into school. And given the difficulty that many face in paying tuition, it also points out the risen centrality of money in the work of education.
I'm not a linguistic purist. But as a reminder to myself of the deeper meaning of tuition, I'll try from now on to speak of "paying for tuition," not just "paying tuition."
This certainly isn't the way we use the word "tuition" in American higher ed, where it simply means "the money you pay to go to school." It turns out that the common usage of the word is historically new--dating only to the 19th century. Before that, tuition more commonly meant, "instruction or teaching" and at its origins in the 13th century it meant "guardianship." (For the etymology visit this site.)
You can trace the history of education through the history of the word "tuition." Today's usage suggests that at some point a word that described a key facet of learning--guardianship linked with instruction--came to mean simply the money we pay to get into school. And given the difficulty that many face in paying tuition, it also points out the risen centrality of money in the work of education.
I'm not a linguistic purist. But as a reminder to myself of the deeper meaning of tuition, I'll try from now on to speak of "paying for tuition," not just "paying tuition."
Friday, August 21, 2009
Co-ops, citizen action, and lifelong learning
A few Senate Democrats, hoping for a compromise on health care reform, have floated the idea of health care co-ops instead of a "public option" as a counter-balance to for-profit health insurance. The notion has received a good deal of mockery, from scions of the right and the left.
Skepticism from Mike Leavitt (right) and Paul Krugman (left) is a sure sign that there is something worth paying attention to in the proposal. Timothy Egan's op-ed on successful co-ops past and present suggests why. It turns out that co-ops can bridge the right and the left in a way that other options can't.
The appeal of co-ops is three-fold: 1. co-ops are democratic in purpose and function, relying as they do on joint ownership by their members, a notion that appeals to the left; 2. co-ops are essentially businesses. They aim to buy from and sell to people who often become part-owners of the organization. Ownership is an idea the gets most traction from the right today. 3. historically they have been created to resist the power of big businesses and/or big government, especially when the "bigs" work together. Here is a notion that appeals to both right and left.
What does this have to do with education? A couple of things. In the first flowering of co-ops (during the populist era), co-ops were part of a broader movement that included a powerful effort to extend education to people of all ages. The grange movement built halls throughout rural America. There, traveling speakers taught residents about agriculture, politics, and advocacy. Much the same ethos drove reformers like Jane Addams whose settlement houses extended the idea of educational co-ops to include college students and early forms of service-learning and community-based research.
Second, educational co-ops exist all over the place today. They are mostly hidden from discussions about education, but pre-schools across the country use this model to meet the needs of families and ensure some input from parents. Meanwhile, community education efforts maintain much of the same educational focus as early educational efforts among grangers and settlement houses did.
Given the routine complaints about how public schools and higher ed fail to serve the needs and wishes of parents and communities; and the widespread skepticism of government's role in improving education, perhaps educational co-ops ought to get another look. Their focus on life-long learning and governance by stakeholders, coupled with their place in-between government power and the power of big business might add much to our effort to improve not just schooling but education.
Skepticism from Mike Leavitt (right) and Paul Krugman (left) is a sure sign that there is something worth paying attention to in the proposal. Timothy Egan's op-ed on successful co-ops past and present suggests why. It turns out that co-ops can bridge the right and the left in a way that other options can't.
The appeal of co-ops is three-fold: 1. co-ops are democratic in purpose and function, relying as they do on joint ownership by their members, a notion that appeals to the left; 2. co-ops are essentially businesses. They aim to buy from and sell to people who often become part-owners of the organization. Ownership is an idea the gets most traction from the right today. 3. historically they have been created to resist the power of big businesses and/or big government, especially when the "bigs" work together. Here is a notion that appeals to both right and left.
What does this have to do with education? A couple of things. In the first flowering of co-ops (during the populist era), co-ops were part of a broader movement that included a powerful effort to extend education to people of all ages. The grange movement built halls throughout rural America. There, traveling speakers taught residents about agriculture, politics, and advocacy. Much the same ethos drove reformers like Jane Addams whose settlement houses extended the idea of educational co-ops to include college students and early forms of service-learning and community-based research.
Second, educational co-ops exist all over the place today. They are mostly hidden from discussions about education, but pre-schools across the country use this model to meet the needs of families and ensure some input from parents. Meanwhile, community education efforts maintain much of the same educational focus as early educational efforts among grangers and settlement houses did.
Given the routine complaints about how public schools and higher ed fail to serve the needs and wishes of parents and communities; and the widespread skepticism of government's role in improving education, perhaps educational co-ops ought to get another look. Their focus on life-long learning and governance by stakeholders, coupled with their place in-between government power and the power of big business might add much to our effort to improve not just schooling but education.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Change over time
Folks working on reforming higher ed today rarely look to the past, except to deride it as something to escape by means of technology, pedagogy, etc. But there are some interesting implications in the broad history of American higher education for the effort to improve learning, lower cost, and reform institutions, if not the entire system. At the risk of betraying my roots as a historian, here are a few historical trends worth paying attention to:
- Very few institutions have moved from high cost (to students) to low cost (to students). It seems instead that once an institution or sector of higher ed locks into a price model, it stays there. So you don't see private institutions cutting their tuitions hugely. Nor, interestingly, do you see many institutions based on low tuition moving to a higher tuition model (beyond adjustments for the cost of doing business as they see it). (This article, which encourages caution in cost-cutting, is evidence of the difficulty in reducing costs.)
- Some institutions have been able to move from lower quality to higher quality. Elon University, for example, has received a lot of attention for raising its quality over the past 30 years (though truth be told it made that move in part by raising status). Earlier in the history of the US, several state institutions jumped into the highest echelons of higher ed--midwestern state universities, for example. Their move came at a flush moment for higher ed though, and depended in large measure on the ability to spend on the same things that Ivy League schools did.
- Moves out of higher education have tended to be due to financial problems or obsolete missions, not diretly to cost or quality. The main example in this area is the recently secularized independent private schools who, in the 1970s, having severed their ties to denominations, found themselves too small, too poor, and too isolated to stay in business.
- Moves into higher education have tended to be based on structure or approach, (or occasionally on mission), but not on cost or quality. So, for example community colleges emerged to meet demographic changes (though here low cost did matter to the mission) in post-WWII America, the University of Phoenix found a niche in providing education to working adults, and online universities followed in the same area.
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