Grading over learning

I know I complain a lot about Canvas, but I do assume that their discussion boards, however limited, will act like discussion boards.

So I set them up for students to post their primary source each week. These are due Wednesday midnight, so that’s the “due date” I set. On Thursday I grade them in Speedgrader, using a rubric. That’s the end of the assignment.

I just discovered, because a student sent me a screenshot, that when they go back to their post, it shows a large green “Re-submit Assignment” button.

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Apparently that appears because the forum is still available. The due date doesn’t matter – if the discussion can be seen (is available) the green button implies that you can re-submit your post before that “close” date.

But in my class, you can’t, and I can’t set a close date, because these same boards are used throughout the course to post additional, ungraded primary sources for writing. The discussion is actually a collection of primary sources – it’s just that only the first one is graded. I do NOT come back and regrade every weekly board throughout the whole semester.

But the green button implies that I do, that they can just re-submit. And when they do this, it makes it so they cannot see their original submission. The whole idea is so they can see everyone’s, the whole collection.

So the fact that Canvas lets me grade forum posts, which used to seem a boon, is a nasty trap. It considers such posts “assignments”. In classes which actually have a discussion instead of posting boards, the button implies that you can take back what you’ve said, and say something else, even after it’s been graded. It also implies that everything you say is a “submission”, an “assignment”, rather than a contribution to a conversation. I grade the student’s entire contribution to a discussion, not individual posts. I wanted to grade posts, but Canvas wouldn’t let me, so I designed discussion around the technology. And now the technology undermines that by emphasizing grades over conversation.

This is similar to the new red buttons shouting “Late” and “Missing” on student work, even when a student is given options to do things, or was permitted to do something late. Canvas is leaning toward not only grading everything, but forcing the primacy of grades over the activities for learning, which may also happen to be graded. That’s not helpful.

Book reviews in the Journal of British Studies

Having rejoined, after several years hiatus, the North American Conference on British Studies, I am getting caught up with my journal reading. Naturally I am emphasizing the nineteenth century, but haven’t found any pertinent articles in this year’s issues. In the book reviews, however, are several items to make note of.

From April 2017:

Katheleen Frederickson’s The Ploy of Instinct: Victorian Sciences of Nature and Sexuality was reviewed by Kate Holterhoff. Apparently during the Victorian and Edwardian eras, there was an idea that instinct was the opposite of, or could replace, rational thought, and tended to do so in groups that were “less equipped to reflect on their own self-conscious” (animals, women, primitive peoples and, I assume, children). Instinct was a controversial idea, one indispensable to scientists and political thinkers but also hated. The most interesting point to me was from the fourth chapter, which contained the example of suffragette hunger strikers. In refusing to eat, these women negated the idea that they were not rational people, because they were dismissing the instinct of survival for a higher purpose.

Graham Mooney’s Intrusive Interventions: Public Health, Domestic Space, and Infectious Disease was reviewed by Nicola Shelton. The focus was on the intrusive nature of notification systems designed to increase public health. As with other politically forced breakthroughs in hygiene, such as London’s sewer system, there was no national policy and thus local authorities had the freedom to develop plans and schemes. For this reason, it’s a difficult area to study, but apparently Mooney was able to go into much detail. He examined disease surveillance and control as both a need and a risk to making the problem worse, as people resisted the reporting requirements. Landlords would not want to report sick people and lose rent money. Teachers, who were told they must report disease (rather like I am told to report child abuse), were usually not qualified to diagnose anything and, since they were often paid per pupil, weren’t necessarily willing anyway. Wealthy people were both treated differently and had their own self-imposed systems of isolation, staying home and hiring nurses instead of going to hospital. Forced isolation, though, could keep people from visiting the sick and being helpful. But what was most interesting was that even when notification and isolation were employed, there is no evidence they reduced mortality. Also of interest is that Mooney apparently claims a move away from the dependence on government action because of tuberculosis, which couldn’t benefit from disinfection (the latest trend in hygiene) or hospitalization. Thus the market and the household became the centers of medical care. The balance between individualism and collective good has always interested me, and no more so than in Britain, which in the Victorian era rejected both public health measures and a national education system, but would ultimately create the NHS.

From July 2017

Tina Young Choi’s Anonymous Connections: The Body and Narratives of the Social in Victorian Britain was reviewed by Pamela K. Gilbert. The idea here is to replace the usual literary analysis of affective relationships between characters with a focus on the corporal. What Choi adds is apparently the idea that Victorian liberal individualism was countered by an alternative of multiple anonymous connections with others. It is possible to see the elements of disease and psychology in many literary works as related to this tension, and that good things (new friendships) could result from such contacts, but beyond that I had trouble understanding the focus when the reviewer got into posthumanism. I had to look it up. As near as I can tell, posthumanism denies the Renaissance idea of man as the measure of all things, acknowledging humanity as only one element in the world. I’m not sure I’ve ever thought otherwise. The reviewer claimed that one of Choi’s achievements in her book is to offer a view of society that goes beyond “traditional identity categories”. Um…ok.

And last the most interesting:

Kate Hill’s Women and Museums, 1850-1914: Modernity and the Gendering of Knowledge was reviewed by Barbara Black. Now, I get annoyed immediately with words like “gendering”, even though I am fine acknowledging that such work (history from feminist, racial, or other perspectives) is necessary until such time as everyone is fully integrated into the traditional narratives. I also had to read the review itself with a dictionary in hand, the word usage was so complex. But I happen to have a particular interest in museums as places where history is interpreted, and those interpretations shared with laypeople, very much like in my job as a community college professor. We may unnecessarily point out that women were a factor in museum culture, as visitors, donors, curators, volunteers. But beyond that, the “porous” nature of the museum in daily life, the way people of all walks of life go in and out, makes them uniquely influential in ordinary society. Museums in many ways put women on the “outside”, but they also afforded them opportunities. Although careful not to pinpoint the affective domain as “female”, the book seems to have implied that an emphasis on affect (as opposed to straightforward factuality) is somehow attributed to women’s influence. Women were at the forefront of popular Victorian enthusiasms like Egyptology (and presumably Chinoiserie), and the implication here is that they shaped museums as cultural institutions. It reminds me of the educated women in the 18th century who forced Latin-writing male philosophers to have their work translated and discuss it in salons so more people could have access.

An argument for the isolated classroom

Over the last several years, there have been many efforts to open up the classroom, through open resources, connections across schools and countries, and open teaching. Much openness has been enabled by web technologies. There is also a push, particularly among educators whose work I respect the most,  to try to create more inclusive spaces, by acknowledging and even adopting alternative perspectives. A laudable effort to make both pedagogy and content more inclusive, the fervor with which such programs are adopted is beginning to unnerve me. Empowering students to learn does not necessarily mean active engagement with the trends of the day.

studyingI would like to instead argue for the classroom as a place apart from the world and its angst, its frenzy, its push for social justice or conservative tradition. All of those, and much more, should be discussed, of course, in an academic way. There’s a reason the word “academic” sometimes means “not directly applicable”. Whether it’s one-on-one tutorials at university, or monks studying in cloisters, or Virginia Woolf’s own room, there has always been a necessity to isolate oneself somewhat in order to think. I would like the classroom to be a place where one can think.

In the learning environments we create, whether in a classroom or online, we should strive for neutral space, not full expression of multiple levels of identity politics, social agendas, and group think. Despite the enthusiasm for crowd-sourcing knowledge, for the belief that people in groups are smarter than individuals, the experience of learning through exposure to ideas remains deeply personal. We all bring to that experience our own dreams, ambitions, personality, socio-economic status, career challenges, social inequalities and identity. If they dominate our thought process instead of inform our learning, then what’s taken in cannot change the mind, or change the person. And the point of education should be to create an educated person, not just stuff that person’s mind with facts nor affirm his/her pre-existing perspective or prejudices.

We cannot expect people to take their griefs, fears, and resentments and “check them at the door”. But we can create environments where the focus is on the work, whatever the academic discipline. We can best ensure that all students, regardless of their politic views, social resentments, or economic challenges, can speak by pushing no other agenda than free speech and respect. We can question material, question biases of all kinds within the outpourings of the human mind, only through establishing a neutral ground on which to examine them.

Drawing by Radio

First in what I hope will be a series on distance education before 1990.

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Originally from Dr Chris Mullen’s website, this is undated. WIBO was in Indiana from 1927 to 1933, broadcasting for Chicago, when it was renamed, so this could be quite early.

[Update: And it was. After contacting Dr Mullen, who told me it was probably a feature from Popular Mechanics (which later became the foundation of an artwork by one of his colleagues), I found it in Google Books. I’m always telling my students citation is important: Popular Mechanics, December 1932, p. 918.]

The Anesthesia Heritage Center (yes, really)

Like I’ve said, I love small museums, and this one is very special.

I showed up unannounced at The Association of Anesthetists of Great Britain and Ireland, and was buzzed in. The young man at the desk asked me to wait in the lobby for the expert to come tour me around the museum, but then apologized a few minutes later, explaining she was on holiday and he didn’t know. He led me down the stairs and left me in a brilliant little museum.

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Turns out these are rescusitation bags, for fresh air. All those movies are wrong.
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Among my varied interests in history, I am fascinated by the history of medicine, in particular herbal remedies/pharmaceuticals and anesthesia. My father is a retired anesthesiologist, and I grew up with a picture on the wall of John Snow giving Queen Victoria anesthesia for childbirth. I am also toying with the idea of writing an anesthesia murder mystery (I even bought an old copy of Green for Danger in Cecil Court near Trafalgar Square), but that’s just an excuse.

I spent so long in the museum that I came up later and the first young man had been replaced by another who had no idea I was down there.

In addition to inhalation masks and devices, they had laryngoscopes and tongue holders and jaw clamps and tracheotomy tubes and intubation devices. Although the numbered tags were a bit confusing (you couldn’t see them all and each half cabinet started the numbering over again), the arrangement by type of instrument made it easy to see development. Plus they had a small research library, and many more instruments and machines one could see by appointment.

I knew a little already about the history: the riveting and attractive Humphry Davy and his nitrous oxide shows, and the pioneering use of  ether anesthesia at Massachusetts General by William Morton (or Horace Wells – no relation to H.G. – according to the play Ether Dome). But there was so much more: machines with valves to balance out the chloroform with fresh air to prevent overdose, a clever substitute for a mask that wrapped around the larynx, the different substances for local anesthesia, like cocaine (if you find that shocking, as I tell my students: go look at the ingredients on toothache gels and sore throat pain treatments — lidocaine and benzocaine are related to cocaine). I think I took photos of every information sign, they were all so interesting.

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They have even made a pamphlet, I discovered afterward (unfortunately), with an Anesthesia History Walk. I recently acquired a reprint of Joseph Lister’s papers and am looking forward to putting all this information together to get a clearer view of surgery in the Victorian era.

Not interested in anesthesia yet? Try to imagine a world without it.

The City Police Museum and the Museum of London

It was on a list somewhere, but not a priority. But I was sort of in the neighborhood. My five pound notes from last year are no longer legal currency. And here I thought I’d been thinking ahead. Walking into a bank early in the trip, I asked to exchange them, but, as in America, if you don’t have an account, they won’t even talk to you. Even when it’s cash.

So I made a trip to the Bank of England, because I’ve never been there and I’m too cheap to just throw away £15. There was a queue just for that. In fact there was no other queue. If you don’t work there, you can’t go in.

But there I was in the heart of British banking land, so I started walking to get out. Deciding to head toward the Museum of London (maybe they have something on Wells there?), I saw a sign that said City Police Museum.

I wondered whether this was the Met, but it seemed not. The City Police only patrol the City of London (now the financial district). They were part of the Jack the Ripper murders for about five minutes before the Met took it over. But they have their own history and their own museum inside their own building, staffed by men who do not smile and tell you there is no toilet even when you’ve come to see their museum.

But I’m a big fan of little museums (more on that soon).

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And it was little, but professional and interesting. They dwelt a bit on the murder of Catherine Eddowes, the Ripper’s first victim, and on some other grisly murders. The balance of emphasis on police versus criminals was about 50/50.

Particularly interesting was the clothing worn by police. Although I didn’t take a picture, there was a helmet worn by a policeman in the 1973 London bombing, blown apart but saving the policeman’s life. I now look at those helmets much differently.

I did photograph the gallery of murder weapons, or part of it (there were rather a lot of them).

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Right, enough of that. Onward to the Museum of London, obvious from the street but tricky to get to, as you have to go up above the street to access their walkway.

But the Museum was a revelation, and overwhelming in how much they packed in. It looked designed for a whirlwind tour, and indeed there were whirlwinds of children there in packs, branded with little uniform vests.

Here’s what I wrote sitting next to a machine that read aloud text in different languages of early England:

There are not many places to sit in the galleries of the Museum of London – I made it to the Reformation before I had to stop for a minute, and went back to the 14th century to take a rest. This museum puts in sharp relief that so much of what I know of English history is really London’s history.

I skipped the Roman era (sorry, classicists), since to me things start with the Anglo-Saxons (sorry, Celtophiles). Then I sought out the objects of daily life, discovering lead labels for cloth bales, tools, shoes, lots of potter. I know now I teach the History of England because I love so many of the events, almost something in each era. The medieval cloth industry, of course. The Henrican Reformation, which I used to consider esoteric but this trip I see more vividly the destruction it caused. Next room: The Civil War and the Great Fire. Slow down! This place seems meant for children, zipping through the rooms. The wall behind the Annunciation boasts the first copperplate map, from the 16th century, on its opposite side.

There is, however, a bench in the Victorian street, small compared to Vancouver or York Castle, but with many wonderful objects on display, and the requisite soundtrack of horse-pulled carriages and drays and sounds of the city.

Well worth a visit.