The faculty and professional staff union at Athabasca University, AUFA (the Athabasca University Faculty Association), has two mailing lists, one used for announcements from its exec committee, and one for discussions between its members. Given that most of us have barely any physical contact with one another at the best of times, and that there are no other technologies that are likely to reach even a fraction of all staff involved in teaching and research (the Landing AUFA group, for instance, has only about 40 out of a few hundred potential members) the latter is the primary vehicle through which we, as a community of practice, communicate, share ideas and news, and engage in discussions that help to establish our collective identity. It’s a classic online learning community using a very low threshold, simple, universally accessible technology.

There had been a debate on the discussion list for a few days over the past week on a contentious issue pitting academic freedom against the needs and rights of transgender people. As too often happens when the rights of disadvantaged minorities are involved, the conversation was getting toxic, culminating in a couple of faculty members directly and very unprofessionally abusing another, telling him to shut up and to stop displaying his ignorance. This is not behaviour worthy of anyone, let alone teachers (of all people), and something had to be done about it. At this point the obvious solution would have been for the managers of the list to discuss these abuses individually with those members, and/or for the individuals themselves to reflect on and apologize for their behaviour, and/or to open up the debate on the list about acceptable norms and approaches to de-escalating situations like this. Sadly, that’s not how the list managers responded. Very suddenly, and without any prior warning or discussion whatsoever, the union executive committee shut the entire discussion list down indefinitely, mercilessly nuking it with the following terse and uninformative message posted to the announcement list:

” Dear AUFA members,

Until further notice, AUFA is suspending the AUFA discussions list serv for review of harmful language and due to a high volume of complaints.”

Shocked by this baldly authoritarian response, I immediately sent a strong message of protest, that I tempered with recommendations about what would have been an appropriate approach to managing the problem, and suggestions about ways to move forward with alternative methods and tools in future. I received no reply. One long day later, however, the following message was posted to the announcement list:

” Dear AUFA members,

I want to update you on the situation with the AUFA discussions list serv.

AUFA is committed to protecting Academic Freedom. AUFA is equally committed to protecting Human Rights. AUFA did not make the decision to suspend the list serv lightly. As the entity legally responsible for the listserv, AUFA has an obligation to ensure the safety of its members.

The AUFA executive had a lengthy discussion about the purpose and usefulness of the AUFA listserv and is actively considering alternative methods and forums by which members might communicate with each other in the near future. “

That’s it. That’s the whole message. Clearly they did not discuss this with the people who were actually affected, or with those who had been abusive, and they certainly didn’t talk about it with the rest of us. The message itself is remarkably uninformative, raising far more questions than it answers. It reads to me as ‘you have been naughty children and we have decided to send you to your room to think about it’. But I think they must have been following a different discussion than the one I saw because, though there was certainly some unprofessional nastiness and some unsubtle arguments expressed (that were becoming far more refined as the discussion progressed – that’s how free and open debate is supposed to work), I did not spot any human rights abuses during the discussion, and the only abuse of academic freedom I could see was the decision to shut down the list itself. Removing the possibility of speech altogether is certainly a non-traditional approach to protecting freedom of speech.

Notice, too, that in both messages there is a synecdochal conflation of ‘AUFA’ and ‘the AUFA executive committee’. I’m pretty sure that, as a member of AUFA, I would know whether I had been part of such a decision. That’s a bit like a teacher shutting down an online course because someone was rude, then claiming that the class shut it down. It’s a subtle way of abnegating responsibility, suggesting that some technological entity did something when, in fact, it was done by very real and fully responsible people. AUFA did not do this, and AUFA did not make these decisions. A small group of actual, real human beings did it, all by themselves.

I sent a strongly worded (but respectful) response to that one too.

Who owns this?

I think it is clear that the mailing list is not owned by the union executive committee. They are custodians of it, stewards who run it on the behalf of everyone in the union. Shutting it down denies the members of the union their primary means of connection and debate, including debate about this very issue. The message is quite misleading about the AUFA exec’s responsibilities, too: though they do need to be attentive to illegal behaviours, they are not legally responsible for what other people say on the listserv. In fact, the explicit or implicit legal protections afforded to providers of such services are fundamental to allowing much of the Internet to work at all. This is why there is so much outrage and protest against Trump’s efforts to remove such protections in the US right now. And there are lots of ways of handling the problem, from direct personal communication to public debate to the establishment of rules or a social contract to calling in the police. Going nuclear on the service does not fulfill that responsibility at all; it simply evades it.

It is absolutely fair to claim that list managers do have a responsibility to the union members of helping to maintain a non-abusive, safe, supportive online community. However, shutting down the thing they have an obligation to preserve is not just neglect of that responsibility but the worst and most harmful thing they could possibly do to fulfill it. It is like protecting an endangered animal by shooting it.

Ironically, the final message posted on the now-dead discussion list ended with the line:

“One thing I vowed to myself… is that I would never let anyone stop me from saying what I have to say “

Well, that kept like milk.

I feel incensed, abused, and suddenly incredibly isolated from my university and my colleagues. My sense of loss is tangible and intense. It’s lucky that I do have other channels, like this one, to vent my frustration and to bring this to a broader audience. I hope this message gets to at least a few of those who, like me, are feeling cut off and disempowered and, if they have not done so already, that they loudly voice their concerns to those responsible.

Moving on

Unfortunately, though very low threshold and accessible to all, listservs are not great tools for hosting contentious debates. They are extremely soft technologies which means that, on the positive side, they are extremely flexible and very low threshold, but that therefore a great deal of additional process must be added manually by their participants in order to deal with them: distinguishing threads, choosing which to attend to, tracking conversations, managing archived messages, using appropriate subject lines, to name but a few.

Listservs are poor tools for achieving consensus and poor tools for argument. The push nature of the technology means it can be very intrusive but, equally, the fact that we control our mail filters means that it can be completely shut down and ignored, without other participants having any knowledge that their messages are falling on deaf ears. It’s a technology that allows everyone to shout at the same time so it’s unsurprising that it is fertile ground for misunderstandings, confusion, high emotions, and people who forget that they are talking to other people. The very simplicity that makes them so easy to engage with also makes it easier to forget the humans behind the messages. Unless individuals have taken pains to share things about themselves with their messages, there are not even pictures and profiles to serve as a reminder. Though web archives may be available, they are rarely if ever open for continued dialogue: though, in principle, one could reply to a message from months or years ago, that virtually never happens. This means that people tend rush to get their message across before the list moves on to some other topic, with all the risks that entails. It kind of has to be that way. Because of the push nature of the medium, if conversations were to persist then multiple parallel discussions would rapidly overwhelm everyone’s inbox and attention.

For all these reasons and more, as anyone who has ever tried to do so will be painfully aware, managing a mailing list used for open discussion, especially one (like this) that lacks a clear mandate, contract or terms of engagement, takes a lot of manual effort, a fair bit of ingenuity, and a lot of careful attention. When things get out of hand, those who run the list need to take active, timely, creative measures to defuse them. It’s hard but necessary work, that demands sensitivity, a forgiving nature, a willingness to accept abuse with very little chance of being thanked for your efforts and, often, willingness and availability to work far ouside a normal working day (this, as it happens, is also true of many approaches to online teaching). Unfortunately, no one in our union leadership seems willing or able to take on such management. If that’s the case, the solution is not to shut it down. The solution is to pass it on to someone else who can and will moderate it more caringly, perhaps to put some more resources into managing it and, perhaps, to participatively look into rules, norms, and other tools and procedures that might do the job better.

Moving further on

There are hundreds and maybe thousands of tools and methods that can better (or at least differently) support this kind of debate than a listserv. Even the humble threaded forum at least allows such discussions to be segmented and, for those upset by them, ignored. Some allow for threads or people to be (from an individual’s perspective) muted, and many allow forum owners to close discussions in a particular thread without killing the whole thing. Some go beyond crude threads, allowing richer cross-linking between messages and discussions. Some offer authoring help, like in-line searching of previous messages and direct linking to sources or, simple AI to warn when sentiments appear to run high. Many tools allow for simple tricks like karma points, thumbs up, and other low threshold ways of signalling agreement or disagreement, in a manner that shows collective sentiment without a high commitment or fear of reprisal, and that also signals whether a topic is interesting to the crowd without relying on a deluge of messages to show it. Some offer means to reach decisions, from simple votes to computer supported collaborative argumentation tools. Many allow for profiles and other signals of social presence that make the humans behind the messages more visible and salient. Some (blogs, say, like this one) allow for more focused subscribable discussions on specific themes that are managed and owned by the creator of the original post, and that are not as ephemeral as mailing lists. Some offer other tools like persistent shared bookmarks or filesharing that help to organize resources related to themes of debate. Some have recommender systems that show related posts and thus help to situate discussions, and to support connections back to previous discussions. Many have persistence so that learning is reified and searchable, not lost in a stream of thousands of other emails. Some allow for scheduling and time-limited discussions.

Equally, there are lots of process models for reaching consensus on social norms and acceptable behaviours, as well as ways of dealing with issues when they arise. Skills can be developed in stewardship and moderation so that problems are defused before they become severe, or not arise in the first place thanks to careful specification of ground rules or structuring of the process. There are plenty of books and papers on the subject (this is my favourite, especially now that it is free) that delve into great detail. There are ways of taking an holistic approach that takes into account the larger social ecosystem to (for instance) help to build social capital, use different tools for different functions, and so on.

All of these technologies, including process models, methods, and procedures, come with plentiful gotchas – Faustian bargains and monkeys’ paws that can easily cause more problems than they solve and that will never be ideal for all – so this is not a set of decisions that should be entered into lightly or without extensive consultation, participation, and analysis, and it should always be thought of as an ongoing process, never a finished solution. Clearly, it eventually needs to be done. In the meantime, if a listserv is all we have, then we should at least manage it properly. It is not acceptable to simply nuke the only tool we have, even if it is a weak one.

I do realize that union leadership is an extremely hard and often thankless job and, though I frequently feel very critical of things they do on my behalf,  especially when they adopt an archaic ‘us vs them’ vocabulary, I am thankful they do it. I very seldom voice my adverse opinions because I know they are trying to do their best for everyone, I am certainly not willing to take on the enormous commitments involved myself and, without their hard work and principled actions (regardless of occasions when they actively make things worse) we would, on average, be in a far worse place than we are today. However, the union leadership’s response to this has been outrageously authoritarian, disproportionate, insensitive, and deeply harmful, in direct opposition to everything a union should stand for. If this is a reflection of their values then they do not have either my trust or my support.

Postscript

Eventually, after nearly two days, I received a one-line personal reply to my original complaint telling me that the suspension of the list is temporary (this may be news to others in the union who have not been told this: you heard it here first, folks!) and that they will, at some unspecified point, be seeking input from members on communication preferences (not consultation, note, or participation, just input). No timelines were given. I am not satisfied with this.

There have been (at least) tens of thousands of comparative studies on the effects of ‘technology’ on learning performed over the past hundred years or so. Though some have been slightly more specific (the effects of computers, online learning, whiteboards, eportfolios, etc) and some more sensible authors use the term ‘tech’ to distinguish things with flashing lights from technologies in general, nowadays it is pretty common to just use the term ‘technology’ as though we all know what the authors mean. We don’t. And neither do they.

It makes no more sense to ask whether (say) computers have a positive or negative effect on learning than to ask whether (say) pedagogies have a positive or negative effect on learning. Pedagogies (methods and principles of learning and teaching) are at least as much technologies as computers and their uses and forms are similarly diverse. Some work better than others, sometimes, in some contexts, for some people. All are soft technologies that demand we act as coparticipants in their orchestration, not just users of them. This means that we have to add stuff to them in order that they work. None do anything of interest by themselves – they must be orchestrated with (usually many) other tools, methods, structures, and so on in order to do anything at all. All can be orchestrated well (assuming we know what ‘well’ really means, and we seldom really do) or badly.

It is instructive to wonder why it is that, as far as I know, no one has yet tried to investigate the effects of transistors, or screws, or words, or cables on learning, even though they are an essential part of most technologies that we do see fit to research and are certainly prerequisite parts of many educational interventions. The answer is, I hope, obvious: we would be looking at the wrong level of detail. We would be examining a part of the assembly that is probably not materially significant to learning success, albeit that, without them, we would not have other technologies that interest us more. Transistors enable computers, but they do not entail them.

Likewise computers and pedagogies enable learning, but do not entail it (for more on enablement vs entailment, see Longo et al, 2012 or, for a fuller treatment, Kauffman, 2019). True, pedagogies and computers may orchestrate many more phenomena for us, and some of those orchestrations may have more consistent and partly causal effects on whether an intervention works than screws and cables but, without considering the entire specific assembly of which they are a part, those effects are no more generalizably relevant to whether learning is effective or not than the effects of words or transistors.

Technologies enable (or sometimes disable) a range of phenomena, but only rarely do they generalizably entail a fixed set of outcomes and, if they do, there are almost always ways that we can assemble them with other technologies that alter those outcomes. In the case of something as complex as education, which always involves thousands and usually millions of technological components assembled with one another by a vast number of people, not just the teacher, every part affects every other. It is irreducibly complex, not just complicated. There are butterfly’s wing effects to consider – a single injudicious expletive, say, or a even a smile can transform the effectiveness or otherwise of teaching. There’s emergence, too. A story is not just a collection of words, a lesson is not just a bunch of pedagogical methods, a learning community is not just a collection of people. And all of these things – parts and emergent or designed combinations of parts – interact with one another to lead to deterministic but unprestatable consequences (Kauffman, 2019).

Of course, any specific technology applied in a specific context can and will entail specific and (if hard enough) potentially repeatable outcomes. Hard technologies will do the same thing every time, as long as they work. I press the switch, the light comes on. But even for such a simple, hard technology, you cannot from that generalize that every time any switch is pressed a light will come on, even if you, without warrant, assume that the technology works as intended, because it can always be assembled with other phenomena, including those provided by other technologies, that alter its effects. I press many switches every day that do not turn on lights and, sometimes, even when I press a light switch the light does not come on (those that are assembled with smart switches, for instance). Soft technologies like computers, pedagogies, words, cables, and transistors are always assembled with other phenomena. They are incomplete, and do not do anything of interest at all without an indefinitely large number of things and processes that we add to them, or to which we add them, each subtly or less subtly different from the rest. Here’s an example using the soft technology of language:

• There are countless ways I could say this.
• There are infinitely many ways to make this point.
• Wow, what a lot of ways to say the same thing!
• I could say this in a vast number of ways.
• There are indefinitely many ways to communicate the meaning of what I wish to express.
• I could state this in a shitload of ways.
• And so on, ad infinitum.

This is one tiny part of one tiny technology (this post). Imagine this variability multiplied by the very many people, tools, methods, techniques, content, and structures that go into even a typical lesson, let alone a course. And that is disregarding the countless other factors and technologies that affect learning, from institutional regulations to interesting news stories or conversations on a bus.

Reductive scientific methods like randomized controlled tests and null hypothesis significance testing can tell us things that might be useful to us as designers and enactors of teaching. We can, say, find out some fairly consistent things about how people learn (as natural phenomena), and we can find out useful things about how well different specific parts compare with one another in a particular kind of assembly when they are supposed to do the same job (nails vs screws, for instance). But these are just phenomena that we can use as part of an assembly, not prescriptions for successful learning. The question of whether any given type of technology affects learning is meaningless. Of course it does, in the specific, because we are using it to help enable learning. But it only does so in an orchestrated assembly with countless others, and that orchestration is and must always be substantially different from any other. So, please, let’s all stop pretending that educational technologies (including pedagogical methods) can be researched in the same reductive ways as natural phenomena, as generalizable laws of entailment. They cannot.

References

Arthur, W. B. (2009). The Nature of Technology: what it is and how it evolves (Kindle ed.). New York, USA: Free Press. (Arthur’s definition of technology as the orchestration of phenomena for some purpose, and his insights into how technologies evolve through assembly, underpins the above)

Kauffman, S. A. (2019). A World Beyond Physics: The Emergence and Evolution of Life. Oxford University Press.

Longo, G., Montévil, M., & Kauffman, S. (2012). No entailing laws, but enablement in the evolution of the biosphere. Proceedings from 14th annual conference companion on Genetic and evolutionary computation, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. Full text available at https://dl.acm.org/doi/pdf/10.1145/2330784.2330946

  One of my most memorable learning experiences that has served me well for decades, and that I actually recall most days of my life, occurred during a teacher training session early in my teaching career. We had been set the task of giving a two-minute lecture on something central to our discipline. Most of us did what we could with a slide or two and a narrative to match in a predictably pedestrian way. I remember none of them, not even my own, apart from one. One teacher (his name was Philippe) who taught sports nutrition, just drew a picture of a banana. My memory is hazy on whether he also used an actual banana as a prop: I’d like to think he did. For the next two minutes, he then repeated ‘have a banana’ many times, interspersed with some useful facts about its nutritional value and the contexts in which we might do so. I forget most of those useful facts, though I do recall that it has a lot of good nutrients and is easy to digest. My main takeaway was that, if we are in a hurry in the morning, not to skip breakfast but to eat a banana, because it will keep us going well enough to function for some time, and is superior to coffee as a means of making you alert. His delivery was wonderful: he was enthusiastic, he smiled, we laughed, and he repeated the motif ‘have a banana!’ in many different and entertaining ways, with many interesting and varied emphases. I have had (at least) a banana for breakfast most days of my life since then and, almost every time I reach for one, I rememember Philippe’s presentation. How’s that for teaching effectiveness?

But what has this got to do with educational technologies? Well, just about everything.

As far as I know, up until now, no one has ever written an article about bananas as educational technologies. This is probably because, apart from instances like the one above where bananas are the topic, or a part of the topic being taught, bananas are not particularly useful educational technologies. You could, at a stretch, use one to point at something on a whiteboard, as a prop to encourage creative thinking, or as an anchor for a discussion. You could ask students to write a poem on it, or calculate its volume, or design a bag for it. There may in fact be hundreds of distinct ways to use bananas as an educational technology if you really set your mind to it. Try it – it’s fun! Notice what you are doing when you do this, though. The banana does provide some phenomena that you can make use of, so there are some affordances and constraints on what you can do, but what makes it an educational technology is what you add to it yourself. Notwithstanding its many possible uses in education, on balance, I think we can all agree that the banana is not a significant educational technology.

Parts and pieces

Here are some other things that are more obviously technological in themselves, but that are not normally seen as educational technologies either:

• screws
• nails
• nuts and bolts
• glue

Like bananas, there are probably many ways to use them in your teaching but, unless they are either the subject of the teaching or necessary components of a skill that is being learned (e.g. some crafts, engineering, arts, etc) I think we can all agree that none of these is a significant educational technology in itself. However, there is one important difference. Unlike bananas, these technologies can and do play very significant roles in almost all education, whether online or in-person. Without them and their ilk, all of our educational systems would, quite literally, fall apart. However, to call them educational technologies would make little sense because we are putting the boundaries around the wrong parts of the assembly. It is not the nuts and bolts but what we do with them, and all the other things with which they are assembled, that matters most. This is exactly like the case of the banana.

Bigger pieces

This is interesting because there are other things that some people do consider to be sufficiently important educational technologies that they get large amounts of funding to perform large-scale educational research on them, about which exactly the same things could be said: computers, say. There is really a lot of research about computers in classrooms. And yet metastudies tend to conclude that, on average, computers have little effect on learning. This is not surprising. It is for exactly the same reason that nuts and glue, on average, have little effect on learning. The researchers are choosing the wrong boundaries for their investigations.

The purpose of a computer is to compute. Very few people find this of much value as an end in itself, and I think it would be less useful than a banana to most teachers. In fact, with the exception of some heavily math-oriented and/or computer science subjects, it is of virtually no interest to anyone.

The ends to which the computing they perform are put are another matter altogether. But those are no more the effect of the computer than the computer is the effect of the nuts and bolts that hold it together. Sure, these (or something like them) are necessary components, but they are not causes of whatever it is we do with them. What makes computers useful as educational technologies is, exactly like the case of the banana, what we add to them.

It is not the computer itself, but other things with which it is assembled such as interface hardware, software and (above all) other surrounding processes – notably the pedagogical methods – that can (but on average won’t) turn it into an educational technology. There are potentially infinite numbers of these, or there would be if we had infinite time and energy to enact them. Computers have the edge on bananas and, for that matter, nuts and bolts because they can and usually must embody processes, structures, and behaviours. They allow us to create and use far more diverse and far more complex phenomena than nuts, bolts, and bananas. Some – in fact, many – of those processes and structures may be pedagogically interesting in themselves. That’s what makes them interesting, but it does not make them educational technologies. What can make them educational technologies are the things we add, not the machines in themselves.

This is generalizable to all technologies used for educational purposes. There are hierarchies of importance, of course. Desks, classrooms, chairs, whiteboards and (yes) computers are more interesting than screws, nails, nuts, bolts, and glue because they orchestrate more phenomena to more specific uses: they create different constraints and affordances, some of which can significantly affect the ways that learning happens. A lecture theatre, say, tends to encourage the use of lectures. It is orchestrating quite a few phenomena that have a distinct pedagogical purpose, making it a quite significant participant in the learning and teaching process. But it and all these things, in turn, are utterly useless as educational technologies until they are assembled with a great many other technologies, such as (very non exhaustively and rather arbitrarily):

• pedagogical methods,
• language,
• drawing,
• timetables,
• curricula,
• terms,
• classes,
• courses,
• classroom rules,
• pencils and paper,
• software,
• textbooks,
• whiteboard markers,
• and so on.

None of these parts have much educational value on their own. Even something as unequivocally identifiable as an educational technology as a pedagogical method is useless without all the rest, and changes to any of the parts may have substantial impacts on the whole. Furthermore, without the participation of learners who are applying their own pedagogical methods, it would be utterly useless, even in assembly with everything else. Every educational event – even those we apparently perform alone – involves the coparticipation of countless others, whether directly or not.

The point of all this is that, if you are an educational researcher or a teacher investigating your own teaching, it makes no sense at all to consider any generic technology in isolation from all the rest of the assembly. You can and usually should consider specific instances of most if not all those technologies when designing and performing an educational intervention, but they are interesting only insofar as they contribute, in relationship to one another, to the whole.

And this is not the end of it. Just as you must assemble many pieces in order to create an educational technology, what you have assembled must in turn be assembled by learners – along with plenty of other things like what they know already, other inputs from the environment, from one another, the effects of things they do, their own pedagogical methods, and so on – in order to achieve the goals they seek. Your own teaching is as much a component of that assembly as any other. You, the learners, the makers of tools, inventors of methods, and a cast of thousands are coparticipants in a gestalt process of education.

This is one of the main reasons that reductive approaches to educational research that attempt to isolate the effects of a single technology – be it a method of teaching, a device, a piece of software, an assessment technique, or whatever – with the intent of generalizing some statement about it cannot ever work. The only times they have any value at all are when all the technologies in question are so hard, inflexible, and replicable, and the uses to which they are put are so completely fixed, well defined, and measurable that you are, in effect, considering a single specific technology in a single specific context. But, if you can specify the processes and purposes with that level of exactitude then you are simply checking that a particular machine works as it is designed to work. That’s interesting if you want to use that precise machine in an almost identical context, or you want to develop the machine itself further. But it is not generalizable, and you should never claim that it is. It is just part of a particular story. If you want to tell a story then other methods, from narrative descriptions to rich case studies to grounded theory, are usually much more useful.