Category: Teaching

  • Reclaiming the academic community: why universities need more than metrics

    Reclaiming the academic community: why universities need more than metrics

    by Sigurður Kristinsson

    For decades, talk of “the academic community” has flowed easily through mission statements, strategy documents, and speeches from university leadership. Yet few stop to consider what this community is or why it matters. As universities increasingly orient themselves toward markets, rankings, and performance metrics, the gap between the ideal of academic community and the lived reality of academic work has widened. But this drift is not merely unfortunate; it threatens the very values that justify the existence of universities in the first place.

    This blog explores why academic community is essential to higher education, how contemporary systems undermine it, and what a renewed vision of academic life might require.

    The word “community” can be used in two different senses. One is descriptive: communities are simply networks of people connected by place, shared interests or regular interaction. From this sociological standpoint, academic communities consist of overlapping groups (faculty, students, administrators, service professionals) brought together by institutional roles, disciplinary identities, or digital networks, perhaps experiencing a sense of belonging, solidarity, and shared purpose.

    But in debates about the purpose and future of universities, “community” is often used in a normative sense: an ideal of how academics ought to relate to one another. In Humboldtian (1810) spirit, contemporary advocates like Fitzpatrick (2021, 2024) and Bennett (1998, 2003) envision academic community as a moral and intellectual culture grounded in shared purpose, generosity, intellectual hospitality, mutual respect, and the collective pursuit of knowledge. From this philosophical perspective, community is not just a cluster of networks to be analyzed empirically but a normative vision of how scholarly life becomes meaningful. This aspirational view stands in stark contrast to the conditions shaping many universities today.

    For several decades, developments in universities around the world have been hostile to academic community. While the precise mechanisms vary, academics report strikingly similar pressures: managerial oversight, performance auditing, intensifying competition, and the steady erosion of collegial structures and shared governance. Five threats to academic community are particularly worrisome:

    Organisational (not occupational) professionalism

    In her analysis of how managerial logic has co-opted the language of professionalism to justify top-down control in public institutions, Julia Evetts (2003, 2009, 2011) introduced a distinction between occupational and organisational professionalism. Occupational professionalism in academia implies membership in a self-governing community of experts committed to serving society through knowledge. Today, however, universities increasingly define professionalism in organisational terms: compliance with targets, performance indicators, and standardised procedures. The result is a hybrid system: academics retain some autonomy, but it is overshadowed by bureaucratic accountability structures that fragment communal relationships and discourage collective responsibility (Siekkinen et al, 2020).

    Managerialism

    Managerialism prizes measurable production outputs, standardized procedures, and vertical decision-making. As Metz (2017) argues, these mechanisms degrade communal relationships among academics as well as between them and managers, students, and wider society: decisions are imposed without consultation; bonus systems reward narrow indicators rather than communal priorities; and bureaucratic layers reduce opportunities for collegial dialogue. Managerialism replaces trust with surveillance and collegial judgment with quantification.

    Individualism

    The rise of competition – over publications, grants, rankings, and prestige – has amplified what Bennett (2003) called “insistent individualism.” Colleagues become rivals or useful instruments. Achievements become personal currency. In such settings, it is easy to see oneself not as part of a community pursuing shared goods but as an isolated producer of measurable outputs. This ethos erodes the solidarity and relationality necessary for any robust academic culture.

    Retreat from academic citizenship

    Academic citizenship refers to the contributions – committee work, mentoring, governance, public engagement – that sustain universities beyond research and teaching. Yet because these activities are difficult to measure and often unrewarded, they are increasingly neglected (Macfarlane, 2005; Feldt et al, 2024). This neglect fragments institutions and weakens the norms of shared responsibility that should hold academic life together.

    Troubled collegiality

    Collegiality includes participatory and collective decision-making, a presumption of shared values, absence of hierarchy, supportiveness, a shared commitment to a common good, trust beyond a typical workplace, and professional autonomy. It has long been central to academic identity but has become contested. Some experience collegial labor as invisible and unevenly distributed; others see managerial attempts to measure collegiality as just another way of disciplining staff. Efforts to quantify collegiality may correct some injustices but also risk instrumentalizing it, turning a relational ideal into a bureaucratic category (Craig et al, 2025; Fleming and Harley, 2024; Gavin et al, 2023).

    Across all these pressures, a common thread emerges: the forces shaping contemporary academia weaken the relationships required for intellectual work to flourish.

    If community is eroding, why should we care? The answer lies in the link between community and the values that higher education claims to serve. A helpful framework comes from value theory, which distinguishes between instrumental, constitutive, and intrinsic goods.

    Community as instrumentally valuable

    Academic community helps produce the outcomes universities care about: research breakthroughs, learning, intellectual development, and democratic engagement. Collaboration makes research stronger. Peer support helps people grow. Shared norms encourage integrity, rigor, and creativity. Without community, academic values become harder to realize.

    Community as constitutive of academic values

    In many cases, community is not merely a helpful means but a necessary constituent. Scientific knowledge, as philosophers of science like Merton (1979) and Longino (1990) have long emphasized, is inherently social: it requires communal critique, peer review, and collective norms to distinguish knowledge from error. Learning, too, is fundamentally relational, as Vygotsky (1978) and Dewey (1916) argued. You cannot have science or education without community.

    Community as intrinsically valuable

    Beyond producing useful outcomes, community enriches human life. Belonging, shared purpose, and intellectual companionship are deeply fulfilling. Academic community offers a sense of identity, meaning, and solidarity that transcends individual achievement (Metz, 2017). In this sense, community contributes directly to human flourishing.

    Several examples show how academic values depend on community in practice:

    Debates about educational values

    The pursuit of academic values requires reflection on their meaning. Interpretive arguments about values like autonomy, virtue, or justice in education contribute to conversations that presuppose the collective norms of academic community (Nussbaum, 2010; Ebels-Duggan, 2015). These debates require shared standards of reasoning, openness to critique, and a shared commitment to better understanding.

    Scientific knowledge and academic freedom

    No individual can produce knowledge alone. Scientific communities ensure that discoveries are evaluated, replicated, and integrated into a larger body of understanding. Likewise, academic freedom is not a personal privilege but a communal norm that protects open inquiry (Calhoun, 2009; Frímannsson et al, 2022). It depends on solidarity among scholars.

    Teaching as communal practice

    Education flourishes in relational settings. Classrooms become communities in which teachers and students jointly pursue understanding. Weithman (2015) describes this as “academic friendship” – a form of companionship that expands imagination, fosters intellectual virtues, and shapes future citizens.

    Across these cases, community is not optional; it is essential to academic values.

    Given its importance, how might universities cultivate stronger academic communities?

    Structural reform

    Universities should try to resist the dominance of market logic. Sector-wide policy changes could help rebalance priorities. Hiring, promotion, and reward systems should value teaching, service, mentorship, and public engagement rather than focusing exclusively on quantifiable research metrics. Without structural support, cultural change will be difficult.

    Cultural renewal

    A healthier academic culture requires a different mindset—one that foregrounds generosity, relationality, and shared purpose. In Generous Thinking, Fitzpatrick (2021) argues that building real community requires humility, conversation, listening, and collaboration. Community cannot be mandated; it must be practised.

    This requires academics to challenge competitive individualism, share work equitably, strengthen trust and dialogue, and reimagine collegiality as a lived practice rather than a managerial tool. Most importantly, it requires us to recognize ourselves as fundamentally relational beings whose professional purpose is intertwined with others.

    A moral case for academic community

    Academic community is not only epistemically valuable; it is morally significant. Relational moral theories argue that human flourishing depends on identity and solidarity. We become the moral human beings we are through our communal relationships (Metz, 2021).

    Applying this to academia reveals that collegiality is grounded in shared identity and shared ends. Since the moral obligations created by academic relationships remain professional, collegial community does not require intrusive intimacy. Far from suppressing dissent or professional autonomy, solidarity requires defending academic freedom and academic values generally.

    A relational understanding of morality thus implies that the ideal of academic community promises not only a more fulfilling and coherent sense of occupational purpose, but also a way of relating to others that is more satisfying morally than the current environment individualistic competition.

    Universities today face an existential challenge. In the rush to satisfy markets, rankings, and managerial demands, they risk undermining the very relationships that make academic life meaningful. Academic community is not a nostalgic ideal; it is the cornerstone of learning, knowledge, virtue, and human flourishing.

    If higher education is to reclaim a sense of purpose, it must begin by cultivating the social and moral conditions in which genuine community can grow. This requires structural reforms, cultural renewal, and a shared commitment to relational values. Without such efforts, universities will continue drifting toward fragmentation, losing sight of the goods they exist to protect.

    Rebuilding academic community is not merely desirable. It is necessary – for the integrity of scholarship, for the flourishing of those who work within universities, and for the public good that higher education is meant to serve.

    Sigurður Kristinsson is a Professor of Philosophy at the University of Akureyri, Iceland. His research applies moral and political philosophy in various contexts of professional practice, increasingly intersecting with the philosophy of higher education with emphasis on the social and democratic role of universities.

    Author: SRHE News Blog

    An international learned society, concerned with supporting research and researchers into Higher Education

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  • Reflective teaching: the “small shifts” that quietly change everything

    Reflective teaching: the “small shifts” that quietly change everything

    by Yetunde Kolajo

    If you’ve ever left a lecture thinking “That didn’t land the way I hoped” (or “That went surprisingly well – why?”), you’ve already stepped into reflective teaching. The question is whether reflection remains a private afterthought … or becomes a deliberate practice that improves teaching in real time and shapes what we do next.

    In Advancing pedagogical excellence through reflective teaching practice and adaptation I explored reflective teaching practice (RTP) in a first-year chemistry context at a New Zealand university, asking a deceptively simple question: How do lecturers’ teaching philosophies shape what they actually do to reflect and adapt their teaching?

    What the study did

    I interviewed eight chemistry lecturers using semi-structured interviews, then used thematic analysis to examine two connected strands: (1) teaching concepts/philosophy and (2) lecturer-student interaction. The paper distinguishes between:

    • Reflective Teaching (RT): the broader ongoing process of critically examining your teaching.
    • Reflective Teaching Practice (RTP): the day-to-day strategies (journals, feedback loops, peer dialogue, etc) that make reflection actionable.

    Reflection is uneven and often unsystematic

    A striking finding is that not all lecturers consistently engaged in reflective practices, and there wasn’t clear evidence of a shared, structured reflective culture across the teaching team. Some lecturers could articulate a teaching philosophy, but this didn’t always translate into a repeatable reflection cycle (before, during, and after teaching). I  framed this using Dewey and Schön’s well-known reflection stages:

    • Reflection-for-action (before teaching): planning with intention
    • Reflection-in-action (during teaching): adjusting as it happens
    • Reflection-on-action (after teaching): reviewing to improve next time

    Even where lecturers were clearly committed and experienced, reflection could still become fragmented, more like “minor tweaks” than a consistent, evidence-informed practice.

    The real engine of reflection: lecturer-student interaction

    Interaction isn’t just a teaching technique – it’s a reflection tool.

    Student questions, live confusion, moments of silence, a sudden “Ohhh!” – these are data. In the study, the clearest examples of reflection happening during teaching came from lecturers who intentionally built in interaction (eg questioning strategies, pausing for problem-solving).

    One example stands out: Denise’s in-class quiz is described as the only instance that embodied all three reflection components using student responses to gauge understanding, adapting support during the activity, and feeding insights forward into later planning.

    Why this matters right now in UK HE

    UK higher education is navigating increasing diversity in student backgrounds, expectations, and prior learning alongside sharper scrutiny of teaching quality and inclusion. In that context, reflective teaching isn’t “nice-to-have CPD”; it’s a way of ensuring our teaching practices keep pace with learners’ needs, not just disciplinary content.

    The paper doesn’t argue for abandoning lectures. Instead, it shows how reflective practice can help lecturers adapt within lecture-based structures especially through purposeful interaction that shifts students from passive listening toward more active/constructive engagement (drawing on engagement ideas such as ICAP).

    Three “try this tomorrow” reflective moves (small, practical, high impact)

    1. Plan one interaction checkpoint (not ten). Add a single moment where you must learn something from students (a hinge question, poll, mini-problem, or “explain it to a partner”). Use it as reflection-for-action.
    1. Name your in-the-moment adjustment. When you pivot (slow down, re-explain, swap an example), briefly acknowledge it: “I’m noticing this is sticky – let’s try a different route.” That’s reflection-in-action made visible.
    1. End with one evidence-based note to self. Not “Went fine.” Instead: “35% missed X in the quiz – next time: do Y before Z.” That’s reflection-on-action you can actually reuse.

    Questions to spark conversation (for you or your teaching team)

    • Where does your teaching philosophy show up most clearly: content coverage, student confidence, relevance, or interaction?
    • Which “data” do you trust most: NSS/module evaluation, informal comments, in-class responses, attainment patterns and why?

    If your programme is team-taught, what would a shared reflective framework look like in practice (so reflection isn’t isolated and inconsistent)?

    If reflective teaching is the intention, this article is the nudge: make reflection visible, structured, and interaction-led, so adaptation becomes a habit, not a heroic one-off.

    Dr Yetunde Kolajo is a Student Success Research Associate at the University of Kent. Her research examines pedagogical decision-making in higher education, with a focus on students’ learning experiences, critical thinking and decolonising pedagogies. Drawing on reflective teaching practice, she examines how inclusive and reflective teaching frameworks can enhance student success.

    Author: SRHE News Blog

    An international learned society, concerned with supporting research and researchers into Higher Education

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  • 5 tips for educators using video

    5 tips for educators using video

    Key points:

    When you need to fix your sink, learn how to use AI, or cook up a new recipe, chances are you searched on YouTube, TikTok, Instagram, or even Facebook–and found a video, watched it, paused it, rewound it, and successfully accomplished your goal. Why? Videos allow you to get the big picture, and then pause, rewind, and re-watch the instruction as many times as you want, at your own pace.  Video-based instruction offers a hands-free, multichannel (sight and sound) learning experience. Creating educational videos isn’t an “extra” for creating instruction in today’s world; it’s essential.

    As an educator, over the past 30 years, I’ve created thousands of instructional videos. I started creating videos at Bloomsburg University early in my career so I could reinforce key concepts, visually present ideas, and provide step-by-step instruction on software functionality to my students. Since those early beginnings, I’ve had the chance to create video-based courses for Lynda.com (now LinkedIn Learning) and for my YouTube channel.

    Creating instructional videos has saved me time, expanded my reach, and allowed me to have more impact on my students.

    Tips

    Creating educational videos over the years has taught me a number of key lessons that can help you, too, to create impactful and effective instructional videos.

    Be yourself and have fun

    The first rule is to not overthink it. You are not giving a performance; you are connecting with your students. In your instructional video, talk directly to your students and connect with them. The video should be an extension of your personality. If you tell silly jokes in class, tell silly jokes in the video. You want your authentic voice, your expressions, and your energy in the videos you create.

    And don’t worry about mistakes. When I first did Lynda.com courses, any small mistake I made meant we had to redo the take. However, over the years, the feedback I’ve received on the videos across LinkedIn Learning indicated that flawless performances were not the way to go because they didn’t feel “real.” Real people make mistakes, misspeak, and mispronounce words. Students want to connect with you, not with flawless editing. If you stumble over a word, laugh it off and keep going. The authenticity makes the student feel like you’re right there with them. If you watch some of my current LinkedIn Learning courses, you’ll notice some mistakes, and that’s okay–it’s a connection, not a distraction.

    Speak with the students, don’t lecture

    Video gives you the chance to have an authentic connection with the student as if you were sitting across the desk from them, having a friendly but informative chat. When filming, look directly into the camera, but don’t stare–keep it natural. In actual conversations, two people don’t stare at each other, they occasionally look away or look to the side. Keep that in mind as you are recording. Also make sure you smile, are animated, and seem excited to share your knowledge. Keep your tone conversational, not formal. Don’t slip into “lecture mode.” When you look directly into the camera and speak directly to the student, you create a sense of intimacy, presence, and connection. That simple shift from a lecture mindset to conversation will make the video far more impactful and help the learning to stick.

    Record in short bursts

    You don’t have to record a one-hour lecture all at once. In fact, don’t!  A marathon recording session isn’t good for you. It creates fatigue, mistakes, and the dreaded “do-over” spiral where one slip-up makes you want to restart the entire video. Instead, record in short bursts, breaking your content into segments. Usually, I try to record only about four to five minutes at a time.  The beauty of this technique is that if it’s completely a mess and needs a total “do over,” you only need to re-record a few minutes, not the entire lecture. This is a lifesaver. Before I began using this technique, I dreaded trying to get an entire one-hour lecture perfect for the recording, even though I was rarely perfect in delivering it in class. But the pressure, because it was recorded, was almost overwhelming.

    Now, I record in small segments and either put them all together after I’ve recorded them individually or present them to students individually. The advantage of individually recorded videos for students is that it makes the content easier to learn. They can re-watch the exact piece they struggled with instead of hunting through an hour-long video to find just what they need.

    Keep it moving

    A word of caution: We’ve all seen those videos. You know the ones: A tiny talking head hovers in the corner, reading every bullet point like it’s the audiobook version of the slide while the same slide just sits there for 15 minutes with no movement and no animation–not even a text flying in from the left. Ugh. Don’t let your visuals sit there like wallpaper. Instead, strive for movement. About every 30 seconds, give learners something new to look at. That could mean switching to the next slide, drawing live on a whiteboard, cutting to you speaking and then back to the slide, or animating an illustration to show movement. The point is that motion grabs attention. For a video, cut down your wall-of-text slides. Use fewer words and more slides. If you have 50 words crammed on one slide, split it into three slides. Insert an image, a chart, or even a simple sketch. If you’re teaching software, demonstrate it on screen instead of describing it in words. If you’re explaining a process, illustrate the steps as you go. The more movement, the more likely you are to hold the learner’s attention.

    Keep production simple

    The good news about creating educational videos is that you don’t need a big budget or a film crew to get started. All you need is a camera, a good microphone, and a simple video creation tool. Now, I would advise not using your laptop’s built-in camera or microphone. They don’t do the job well. You don’t want a grainy, pixelated picture or muffled audio. They make it too hard for students to focus and even harder for them to stay engaged. For video, I recommend using an external webcam. Even a modest one is a huge step up from what’s baked into most PCs. For audio, go with an external microphone, or even a good-quality headset. For the video tool, I have not found a simpler or easier-to-use tool than Camtasia’s free online, cloud-based tool. The free version lets you record your screen, capture your voice, do slight edits, and add backgrounds.  It is more than enough to create clear, useful videos that your students can actually learn from. Remember, the goal isn’t Hollywood production. You want clear, effective, and authentic instructional videos.

    By using these five tips, educators can create instructional videos to save time, expand their reach, and create greater impacts on their students. Grab a good camera, a decent headset, and free video software, and create your first instructional video. Just simply start. You’ll wonder why you waited so long.

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  • A new approach to driving STEM workforce readiness

    A new approach to driving STEM workforce readiness

    Key points:

    STEM workforce shortages are a well-known global issue. With demand set to rise by nearly 11 percent in the next decade, today’s students are the solution. They will be the ones to make the next big discoveries, solve the next great challenges, and make the world a better place.

    Unfortunately, many students don’t see themselves as part of that picture.

    When students struggle in math and science, many come to believe they simply aren’t “STEM people.” While it’s common to hear this phrase in the classroom, a perceived inability in STEM can become a gatekeeper that stops students from pursuing STEM careers and alters the entire trajectory of their lives. Because of this, educators must confront negative STEM identities head on.

    One promising approach is to teach decision-making and critical thinking directly within STEM classrooms, equipping students with the durable skills essential for future careers and the mindset that they can decide on a STEM career for themselves.

    Teaching decision-making

    Many educators assume this strategy requires a full curriculum overhaul. Rather, decision-making can be taught by weaving decision science theories and concepts into existing lesson plans. This teaching and learning of skillful judgment formation and decision-making is called Decision Education. 

    There are four main learning domains of Decision Education as outlined in the Decision Education K-12 Learning Standards: thinking probabilistically, valuing and applying rationality, recognizing and resisting cognitive biases, and structuring decisions. Taken together, these skills, among other things, help students gather and assess information, consider different perspectives, evaluate risks and apply knowledge in real-world scenarios. 

    The intersection of Decision Education and STEM

    Decision Education touches on many of the core skills that STEM requires, such as applying a scientific mindset, collaboration, problem-solving, and critical thinking. This approach opens new pathways for students to engage with STEM in ways that align with their interests, strengths, and learning styles.

    Decision Education hones the durable skills students need to succeed both in and out of the STEM classroom. For example, “weight-and-rate” tables can help high school students evaluate college decisions by comparing elements like tuition, academic programs, and distance from home. While the content in this exercise is personalized and practical for each student, it’s grounded in analytical thinking, helping them learn to follow a structured decision process, think probabilistically, recognize cognitive biases, and apply rational reasoning.

    These same decision-making skills mirror the core practices of STEM. Math, science, and engineering require students to weigh variables, assess risk, and model potential outcomes. While those concepts may feel abstract within the context of STEM, applying them to real-life choices helps students see these skills as powerful tools for navigating uncertainty in their daily lives.

    Decision Education also strengthens cognitive flexibility, helping students recognize biases, question assumptions, and consider different perspectives. Building these habits is crucial for scientific thinking, where testing hypotheses, evaluating evidence objectively, and revising conclusions based on new data are all part of the process. The scientific method itself applies several core Decision Education concepts.

    As students build critical thinking and collaboration skills, they also deepen their self-awareness, which can be transformative for those who do not see themselves as “STEM people.” For example, a student drawn to literacy might find it helpful to reimagine math and science as languages built on patterns, symbols, and structured communication. By connecting STEM to existing strengths, educators can help reshape perceptions and unlock potential.

    Adopting new strategies

    As educators seek to develop or enhance STEM education and cultures in their schools, districts and administrators must consider teacher training and support.

    High-quality professional development programs are an effective way to help teachers hone the durable skills they aim to cultivate in their students. Effective training also creates space for educators to reflect on how unconscious biases might shape their perceptions of who belongs in advanced STEM coursework. Addressing these patterns allows teachers to see students more clearly, strengthen empathy, and create deeper connections in the classroom.

    When educators come together to make STEM more engaging and accessible, they do more than teach content: they rewrite the narrative about who can succeed in STEM. By integrating Decision Education as a skill-building bridge between STEM and students’ everyday lives, educators can foster confidence, curiosity, and a sense of belonging, which helps learners build their own STEM identity, keeping them invested and motivated to learn. While not every student will ultimately pursue a career in STEM, they can leave the classroom with stronger critical thinking, problem-solving, and decision-making skills that will serve them for life.

    Creating that kind of learning environment takes intention, shared commitment, and a belief that every student deserves meaningful access to and engagement with STEM. But when the opportunity arises, the right decision is clear–and every school has the power to make it.

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  • Teaching, AI, and the Longing to Connect

    Teaching, AI, and the Longing to Connect

    Late yesterday, I logged into LinkedIn and saw that I had been mentioned in a post about AI. This person was vocal in his ongoing resistance to AI and vented a bit at those who seem to be not thinking critically in their adoption of it. I was listed among those who he said that he respected, in terms of how we were approaching it, despite his disagreement. I felt honored to have been thought of in his mind as someone who is carefully considering how to use or not use it, depending on the circumstances.

    That any part of my cognitive dissonance was showing up in anything that made the slightest bit of sense or left a positive impression had me go to bed feeling optimistic last night. When I woke up, his post was gone. He said he had regretted the tone of it and that his harshness wasn’t representative of how he wanted to go into the new year. While I took his mention of my “learning out loud” as an enormous compliment, I recognize that I wasn’t reading his message from the perspective of those not specifically named as among those he had respect for, but rather from the paradigm of those he was criticizing. His desire to consider how he hoped to frame the new year resonated, even if I did wish I had grabbed a screenshot of it to store in my encouragement folder.

    As I consider what messages keep rising up in seemingly random places, perhaps as a clue to what to take into the new year, one theme emerges more than any other. I keep seeing references to the word ‘return’ in podcasts I’ve been listening to, as well as in some reading I’ve been doing. On Episode 551, Peter Felten recommended the book Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow: A Novel, by Gabrielle Zevin. The book sounded intriguing at the time, though I’m only just getting to it now, more than a year after our conversation. Such is the life of someone who has the privilege of hearing about wonderful books at least a few times each week. I don’t want to give too much away, but I think the words from a New York Times review (gift link) give you a flavor without me spoiling anything:

    Gabrielle Zevin’s novel “Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow” is a love letter to the literary gamer… This is a story about brilliant young game designers — and Zevin burns precisely zero calories arguing that game designers are creative artists of the highest order. Instead, she accepts that as a given, and wisely so, for the best of them plainly are. “There is no artist,” one of her characters says, “more empathetic than the game designer.”

    At one point, the book references a game that lets you skip back and forth between worlds via a code word. There are also some plot points in which the characters wonder what would have happened if they had made a different choice in their life, or even turned a few seconds earlier (giving me Sliding Doors vibes), or said how they really felt. I’m more than halfway through and keep wishing that they could return to themselves and to each other in ways they are ill equipped to do at this point. The song, Return to Me, has been playing in the soundtrack of my mind, throughout these micro-meditations I’ve been experiencing on the idea of returning.

    The lyrics keep returning, as I consider those yearnings many of us have around our teaching and our life long learning.

    Return to me
    Oh, my dear, I’m so lonely
    Hurry back, hurry back, oh my love
    Hurry back, I’m yours

    In Voltaire on Working the Gardens of Our Classrooms, James Lang invites us to return to the familiar cultivating and harvesting we have been doing in our teaching for longer than most of us have known about something called general artificial intelligence. He describes the anxiety and anger felt by many, at the invasion of our classrooms by this technology which threatens to circumvent the very core skills and wisdom we seek to develop through our teaching. One of the older family members in the Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow describes her disappointment at the shortcuts that too many people take, when it comes to producing fabric using technology.

    The character complains:

    “Computers make everything too easy,” she said with a sigh. “People design very quickly on a monitor, and they print on some enormous industrial printer in a warehouse in a distant country, and the designer hasn’t touched a piece of fabric at any point in the process or gotten her hands dirty with ink. Computers are great for experimentation, but they’re bad for deep thinking.”

    I’m never sure if I’m experiencing the recency effect, or if it really is more difficult to reach students than it used to be… GenAI make it simple to extrude text that meets explicitly stated criteria across many contexts and the idea of spending this one, precious life focused on the fight against that feels meaningless. Loneliness can sneak in, particularly when teaching primarily asynchronous courses, which I do about half the time.

    Return to me
    For my heart wants you only
    Hurry home, hurry home, won’t you please
    Hurry home to my heart

    Our son (L) got his first mobile phone for Christmas. This morning, we walked to the nearest Starbucks, which is just under two miles from our house. On the way, both kids participated in the augmented reality experience that is Pokemon. They used to play a little when the game first entered the scene on mobile phones, but there’s something all together different about having your own phone, I fully realize. Our daughter used my phone and kept asking as we walked if I wanted her to catch Pokemon or do battle at some Pokestop. Lest you worry that we’ve lost our children forever to these digital worlds and that they will never return to us, last night gave me a hint that it is far more complicated than that.

    L had been asking me to go for walks four or five times a day, as each time offered a new way to level up, or otherwise collect various types of Pokemon characters. When we got home from dinner at our favorite Japanese restaurant, he asked if I would walk and I reluctantly obliged. It was close to 9 PM and I was exhausted, especially after having gone to Jazzercise with my Mom that morning. However, I decided to go and packed the handwarmers he bought Dave and I for Christmas in my pockets. When we reached the point halfway down the steep hill near our house, I pulled out my phone to spin the “thingy” that lets you collect items such as berries and pokeballs (not sure that’s their official name). It surprised me that L’s phone remained in his pocket and I reminded him not to forget the loot off to his right.

    “I didn’t bring my phone,” he said, indicating that he just wanted to enjoy the walk with me. It was later in the walk that he lamented that his screentime limits don’t let him use apps after the 9 PM cutoff. I had tried to give him the app-specific permission the other night on a walk and it hadn’t worked. I’ll never know if he really was looking forward to walking with me, or if this was some subversive plot to gain greater autonomy over his screen limits. Either way, it was a wonderful walk. I left with the familiar nuanced feelings of being a parent to two curious, kind, and smart kids.

    My darling
    If I hurt you I’m sorry
    Forgive me
    And please say you are mine

    This semester, I was treated to some of the most unique writing I’ve read in a long while from any of the students taking classes with me. I teach a class called Personal Leadership and Productivity in which students set up a GTD (Getting Things Done) system during the semester and make use of the GTD Workflow Processing and Organizing Diagram quite a bit. I even used Canva’s AI code generating feature to create this game to help support their learning about the GTD workflow diagram, since this is an often-confused concept from the course. One exercise from David Allen is the mind sweep, in which you use trigger lists to empty your mind. Allen tells us:

    Your mind is for having ideas, not holding them.

    Freeing our mind up for having ideas involves the mind sweep, so students go through the process about five times during the semester. Thus far, this seems an assignment that is likely not worth trying to get AI to complete it for them, so I rarely see what appears to be AI-generated text. However, I would describe much of what I see as varying in levels of transparency and detail. One student this semester had the most unique and delightful responses I’ve ever read. This is when I let you down easy, as I won’t be sharing what she wrote here. I didn’t ask her permission and doing so would have felt like I was taking advantage of all these treasures she shared with me.

    Return to me
    Please come back bella mia
    Hurry back, hurry home to my arms
    To my lips and my heart

    This semester, I also added some times in which students had to sign up to meet with me and a small group of others from the class for what I referred to as the Personal Leadership Learning Labs. I later heard Meghan Donnelly on the Think UDL podcast call these assessments Conversational Quizzes and I like that name quite a bit. When I met with the student who brought me so much joy with what she shared in her mind sweeps, she told me how edifying my words had been to her, as she read my feedback on these assignments. She just happened to be the only student who had signed up for that particular time slot, so I was able to speak freely with her about some of the things she had shared.

    I didn’t want to scare her with my exuberance over her being so authentic in her writing and sharing with me in real time. It had just been so long since I had experienced in such a visceral way the highs and lows of college life. I missed the unpredictability and messiness of the writing I would see prior to the vast emergence of chat-based large language models. However, I also recall being frustrated in my younger days of teaching at what seemed to be careless grammatical errors and rushing through assignments. Now, I more enjoy seeing typos, though have to remind myself that most students are well aware that they can add in these clues of humanness in writing through their prompts to avoid being identified as having used AI in ways that don’t live up to the expectations outlined in the assignment.

    Ritorna me
    Cara mia ti amo
    Solo tu, solo tu, solo tu
    Solo tu, mi amor

    The more I reflect on these desires to return to another time when it was easier to connect with students, the more I’m convinced that it has always been incredibly challenging. Dave Cormier describes the longer arc of these challenges, which are just that much more visible through the rapid expansion of chat-based large language models in his post In Search of Quality Points of Contact with Students. He writes:

    I think the crisis is 25 years in the making and AI is the lens through which can finally see the problem for what it is. We have spent 250 years (give or take) trying to find ways to scale up our education system to try and teach more people, often with fewer resources.

    Cormier goes on to describe how important letting students know why we are asking them to learn things and also how vital engagement is… That’s probably one of the reasons I felt so connected to the student whose mind sweep was rich with stresses, ideas, and celebrations of her own, unique life. And to why I understand the need to vent on social media, sometimes, even if we ultimately decide it isn’t quite what we want to bring into the new year, after all.

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  • What College Leaders Learned About Change, Culture, and Strategic Partnerships – Edu Alliance Journal

    What College Leaders Learned About Change, Culture, and Strategic Partnerships – Edu Alliance Journal

    December 29, 2025 Editor’s Note by Dean Hoke: This fall, Small College America convened two significant webinars bringing together college presidents, merger experts, and strategic advisors to discuss the challenges and opportunities facing small institutions. What emerged were not just conversations, but frameworks, insights, and patterns that deserve close attention. This article synthesizes what seven leaders shared across both sessions.

    Insights from Small College America’s Fall 2025 Webinar Series

    Featuring conversations with seven leaders navigating the most critical decisions facing small colleges today

    When Tarek Sobh arrived at Lawrence Technological University as provost in September 2020, he had a plan. He was going to transform the institution. He had ideas, energy, and expertise from his previous roles.

    And then he did something counterintuitive: he stopped.

    “The tendency of leaders, in any kind of position, to effect changes immediately is, in my opinion, the wrong decision,” Sobh told participants in Small College America’s “Guiding Through Change” webinar this past August. Instead, he spent his first semester meeting with every single colleague on campus—literally hundreds of people. “Learning the culture of the institution was immensely important and crucial.”

    Eighteen months later—not three months, not six, but eighteen—Sobh became president of Lawrence Tech. And because he had listened first, he knew exactly what needed to change and what needed to stay the same.

    This isn’t just one leader’s story. It’s a pattern—and a warning—for every college president, provost, and trustee navigating today’s enrollment pressures, financial constraints, and partnership decisions. The institutions that will survive aren’t the ones making the fastest decisions. They’re the ones making the most informed ones. And that takes time, most colleges think they don’t have.

    That eighteen-month timeline wasn’t just personal wisdom. It’s a pattern that emerged across two webinars hosted by Small College America this fall—one featuring college presidents navigating uncertainty, the other bringing together experts who’ve guided dozens of institutions through mergers and partnerships.

    What they revealed is that small colleges aren’t just facing challenges; they’re facing them in a way that’s unique to them. They’re learning to navigate them with a sophistication and strategic clarity that larger institutions might envy.

    The State of Play: No Surprises Allowed

    “There should be no surprises. Not in this business, there should be no surprises.”

    Dr. Chet Haskell has seen enough college budgets to know when an institution is headed for trouble. As a former two-time president and provost directly involved in three significant mergers or acquisitions, he’s learned to read the warning signs.

    During Small College America’s December webinar on mergers and partnerships, Haskell laid out the early indicators with the precision of a surgeon: enrollment declines, graduation rate declines, multiple years of unbalanced budgets, the need to dip into unrestricted endowments to make budgets work, declining net tuition revenue, and expenses increasing faster than revenue.

    All well-known data points. The problem? Too often, leaders avoid confronting their implications.

    “At the end of the day, no matter what you’re trying to do, the financials do matter,” Haskell explained. “Too often, I would argue, a balanced budget—revenue equals expense—is defined as success.”

    But that’s not success. That’s survival. Barely.

    “You don’t have a margin, you don’t have a mission,” Haskell continued. “You need resources for investment in new initiatives. You need resiliency in the face of external factors like COVID or recessions.”

    He offered a sobering example: two well-regarded Midwest colleges, each with endowments exceeding $1 billion. One has had eight successive years of operating deficits in the order of $8 to $10 million annually. The other has consistently generated surpluses.

    “A billion dollars can last a long time,” Haskell noted. “It’s still a finite number.”

    Which would you rather lead?

    The Composite Score Deception

    Stephanie Gold, head of the higher education practice at Hogan Lovells and a veteran of nearly three decades guiding colleges through transformative transactions, added a critical warning about regulatory metrics.

    The U.S. Department of Education calculates a composite score (between 1.5 and 3.0) that’s supposed to measure financial viability, liquidity, capital resources, borrowing capacity, and profitability.

    “I have seen institutions with passing scores that ultimately are not financially sustainable and are in a place where they will soon be unable to make payroll,” Gold said flatly.

    The real indicator? Cash flow problems. When an institution is struggling to pay its operating expenses, that’s the red flag that matters.

    The lesson is clear: constant vigilance, not wishful thinking. Know your numbers. All of them. And don’t wait for regulatory metrics to tell you there’s a problem.

    The Four R’s: A Framework for Strategic Thinking

    While financial vigilance is essential, it’s not sufficient. The August webinar featuring three college presidents—all of whom started their roles post-COVID—revealed how successful institutions are thinking holistically about their challenges.

    Dr. Andrea Talentino, president of Augustana College in Illinois, described her institution’s strategic planning process as driven by what they call “the Four R’s”: Recruitment, Retention, Revenue, and Results.

    Talentino explained how they use this framework across campus: “We try to kind of preach that around campus to get everybody thinking about the Four R’s and really use them to drive strategic planning and enrollment goals.”

    It’s a deceptively simple framework. But its power lies in integration. Recruitment isn’t just the admissions office’s problem. Retention isn’t just student affairs’ responsibility. Revenue isn’t just the CFO’s concern. Results aren’t just the provost’s metric.

    Everyone owns all four R’s.

    This matters because, as Talentino discovered to her surprise, institutional thinking doesn’t happen naturally.

    “I think I really overestimated the extent to which people have awareness and appreciation for institutional needs,” she admitted. “Focus on self and focus on own department rather than institutional-wide awareness was a little bit of a surprise to me.”

    She’d come from “pretty open departments that were quite supportive.” The reality at many institutions? People are siloed, focused on their immediate concerns rather than the big picture.

    Building that institutional awareness—getting everyone to think about the Four R’s—is leadership work. It doesn’t happen by accident.

    COVID’s Long Tail and the Transfer Opportunity

    The presidents also spoke candidly about enrollment realities that data alone doesn’t fully capture.

    Dr. Anita Gustafson, the first female president in Presbyterian College’s 144-year history, described what she calls “COVID’s long tail.”

    “Our class of 2025 was a very small class,” she explained. “They were seniors in high school when we had a full year of COVID, and hence we never recruited well, or maybe they didn’t even attend college in large numbers.”

    That class just graduated. And Presbyterian is finally seeing enrollment growth—about 8 to 10 percent—as that COVID cohort cycles through.

    But the recovery isn’t automatic. It requires strategic adaptation.

    For Presbyterian, located in growing South Carolina, that’s meant focusing on a population they’d historically neglected: transfer students.

    “That’s a population we have not really targeted in the past,” Gustafson said. “A lot of that is hard with the traditional liberal arts education program, because we have very robust general education requirements.”

    So they’re working with faculty to be “more transfer friendly”—adjusting requirements, smoothing pathways, removing unnecessary barriers.

    It’s the kind of strategic adaptation that requires both data and cultural sensitivity. You can’t just mandate that faculty change requirements. You have to build an understanding of why it matters and bring them along.

    Which brings us back to culture, and to the eighteen-month rule.

    Eighteen Months to Know an Institution

    The December webinar on mergers and partnerships brought together an unusual panel: Chet Haskell, the consultant and former president; Dr. Barry Ryan, an attorney who’s served as president and provost at multiple universities and most recently led Woodbury University through its merger with the University of Redlands; AJ Prager, Managing Director at Hilltop Securities and an investment banker focused on higher education M&A; and Stephanie Gold, the regulatory attorney.

    Together, they’ve seen hundreds of institutions consider partnerships, dozens pursue them, and enough fail to know what separates success from disaster.

    And they kept returning to the same timeline: eighteen months.

    Haskell emphasized that meaningful partnerships require substantial time—typically around eighteen months—to really understand another institution’s culture, operations, and true compatibility.

    Not six months. Not a year. Eighteen months minimum.

    Why so long?

    Because culture can’t be rushed. Because trust takes time. Because what institutions say about themselves and what they actually are can be very different things.

    “Building that trust between the people, the leadership in both institutions—it takes some time to get to know each other,” Barry Ryan explained. “And then you find out, maybe you find out that you have a lot more in common, and this becomes a much easier process to take.”

    Ryan has seen it work both ways. He’s been involved in mergers between faith-based institutions that seemed very different on the surface but discovered deep commonalities. He’s also seen deals fail because “they just couldn’t get over the fact that, I’m sorry, you are different than we are. We have our 39 points, and you have your 16, and it’s just not going to work.”

    The difference? Time spent building relationships and understanding culture before committing to a deal.

    AJ Prager, an investment banker who helps institutions find and evaluate potential partners, emphasized that this isn’t just about mission alignment—it’s about cultural fit.

    “We always look at transactions through the lens of mission and accelerating mission execution,” Prager said. “And so oftentimes there is mission alignment between faith-based institutions and non-faith-based institutions.”

    The real question is how cultures align. And that takes eighteen months of conversations, campus visits, joint meetings, shared meals, and honest dialogue to discover.

    The Hidden Costs Nobody Talks About

    When institutions consider mergers or major partnerships, they typically calculate direct costs, including legal fees, consulting expenses, system integration, and facility modifications.

    What they don’t budget for—and what can sink even well-planned partnerships—are the hidden costs.

    “Management time, in our experience, is the biggest hidden cost of a transaction,” Prager said. “These types of transactions are all-encompassing. They require significant, significant employee time.”

    Management time is the most valuable resource an institution has. And mergers consume it voraciously—pulling presidents, provosts, CFOs, deans, and senior staff into endless meetings, planning sessions, due diligence reviews, and stakeholder communications.

    “Whether to pursue or not to pursue a transaction is a really critical decision,” Prager continued, “because you’re tying up, if you are going to be pursuing, you’re going to be tying up your most valuable resource for a considerable amount of time.”

    And here’s the paradox: passing on opportunities can also be risky. Which is why Prager recommends that institutions prepare before opportunities arise—assessing their position, understanding their options, educating their boards with hypothetical scenarios.

    One liberal arts institution on the West Coast recently conducted an exercise with its board: it presented three hypothetical partner institutions and asked, “Would you merge with these institutions?”

    “It was very fascinating to see how the board responded,” Prager said. “But it was, I would say, an innocuous exercise to help educate the board to say, here’s what’s happening in the sector, and these are the types of transactions that might be coming your way, and how would you respond to it?”

    That kind of preparation —doing strategic thinking before you’re in crisis mode—can make all the difference.

    But there’s another hidden cost that’s even harder to quantify.

    “Despite being the lawyer, I think there’s a lot of emotional cost associated with these matters,” Stephanie Gold said. “These are very stressful situations for students, for faculty.”

    Students worry they won’t graduate from the institution they expected. Faculty wonder about job security. Staff fear restructuring. Alumni mourn the loss of identity.

    “I think I am constantly needing to remind myself as the lawyer who’s just working on the deal documents to get the deal done that there are a lot of humans behind this,” Gold continued. “And it is a cost on them.”

    Managing those emotional costs requires something lawyers and investment bankers can’t provide: exceptional, continuous, transparent communication.

    The Communication Imperative

    Early in the December webinar, the panel addressed a question that haunts every institution considering a partnership: when do you tell people?

    The instinct is often to wait—to avoid creating anxiety until you have something definite to announce.

    That’s wrong.

    Gold emphasized the critical importance of managing stakeholder expectations through clear, consistent communication—distinguishing between exploratory discussions and finalized agreements, and being transparent about timelines and potential outcomes throughout the process.

    Tell people early. Tell them you’re “having discussions.” Tell them the timeline will be long. Tell them nothing is decided. Tell them what you know and what you don’t know.

    And keep telling them, consistently, throughout the process.

    The alternative—trying to keep major strategic discussions secret until announcing a deal—creates exactly the kind of anxiety and distrust that makes the emotional costs unbearable.

    This communication imperative extends beyond potential mergers. It’s central to the daily work of leading change.

    Back at the August webinar, Tarek Sobh—who became president of Lawrence Tech after just eighteen months as provost—spoke about the importance of helping every employee understand their role.

    “What is most important, I think, is having all of our leaders ensure that every employee on campus understands her or his role in how the campus runs and how important what they do is to the well-being of the whole campus and its students and its budget and its reputation, and so on and so forth.”

    This isn’t feel-good rhetoric. It’s strategic communication.

    “The whole concept of somebody coming in at any level to an educational institution to get a paycheck is not what is going to make eminent institutions of higher education thrive or survive,” Sobh said bluntly.

    Every custodian, every admissions counselor, every IT specialist, every faculty member needs to understand how their work connects to institutional success. And leaders at every level—not just the president—need to articulate that connection.

    Proving Value With Data

    Communication isn’t just about process and connection. It’s also about demonstrating value, to prospective students, current students, alumni, donors, legislators, and the community.

    And in 2025, that means data.

    Sobh has learned to articulate Lawrence Tech’s value proposition with precision: “97% of my students continue on and are employed at this level, and they are guaranteed a job, and 85% live locally.”

    That’s not abstract mission language. That’s quantifiable impact.

    “Articulating your student outcomes, articulating your impact on the community from an economic impact point and social impact point of view, keeping all of your channels open and continuing to clearly articulate your value proposition is the balancing argument or statement that is desperately needed for institutions in this time and day to prove their worth,” Sobh said.

    Economic impact. Social impact. Student outcomes. Employment rates. Local retention. These are the metrics that matter to legislators deciding on state funding, to donors considering major gifts, to families evaluating whether tuition is worth it.

    The Partnership Spectrum

    One of the most valuable contributions from the December webinar was Chet Haskell’s articulation of the partnership spectrum.

    Not every collaboration needs to be a merger. In fact, most shouldn’t be.

    Haskell outlined four levels:

    1. Consortium Arrangements: Shared services like libraries, bookstores, and food services. These reduce costs without requiring deep integration. They’re relatively easy to implement and maintain.

    2. Alliances: Academic program sharing, cross-registration, joint research initiatives. These require more coordination but preserve institutional independence.

    3. Affiliations: Closer integration around specific strategic goals. More commitment than alliances, but still stopping short of a merger.

    4. Full Mergers/Acquisitions: Complete integration, with one institution typically absorbing another or creating an entirely new entity.

    The key is matching the level of partnership to institutional needs and readiness.

    Haskell distinguished between crisis-driven partnerships—where institutions wait until they’re running out of money—and strategic partnerships, where institutions proactively explore collaborations that could benefit both parties. The latter, he argued, is far preferable.

    But strategic partnerships require something crisis-driven ones don’t have: resources in reserve. You can’t negotiate from desperation. You need time, financial capacity, and leadership bandwidth to explore options thoughtfully.

    Which means the best time to start building partnership relationships is before you need them.

    Remember the eighteen-month rule? If you wait until a crisis to start talking to potential partners, you won’t have eighteen months. You’ll have eighteen weeks, maybe eighteen days.

    Start the conversations now. Build the relationships. Understand the cultures. Then, when opportunity or necessity arises, you’re ready.

    State Demographics and Local Adaptation

    The August webinar also surfaced an important reality: national enrollment trends matter less than state demographics.

    Presbyterian College, in growing South Carolina, is seeing enrollment growth. Augustana College, in declining Illinois, faces different challenges.

    “South Carolina is a state that’s growing, and so that does help us,” Gustafson noted. About 60% of Presbyterian’s students come from South Carolina. “But we have to be very vigilant because we can’t guarantee that that will happen another year.”

    Meanwhile, Talentino at Augustana is adapting to Illinois realities by adding multilingual enrollment counselors, working with community-based organizations in urban areas, and creating summer bridge programs to support student success.

    Lawrence Tech, in Michigan, focused on developing three new graduate programs in high-demand areas—strategic program development based on market analysis rather than faculty interests.

    Each institution is adapting to its local context. There’s no one-size-fits-all solution.

    But there are common principles: know your market, track your data, be willing to change, and move before crisis forces your hand.

    The Board Challenge: Governance in Crisis

    Throughout both webinars, a consistent theme emerged that none of the panelists explicitly stated, but all of them circled back to: boards aren’t prepared for the strategic decisions facing small colleges today.

    This surfaced most starkly in the December Q&A session, when one participant observed that “colleges and universities cultivate irrational loyalty to the institution, which runs counter to the thought of mergers and partnerships and alliances.”

    Read that again: irrational loyalty.

    It’s the same emotional attachment that makes alumni generous donors and passionate advocates. But when an institution faces existential decisions—whether to merge, how to restructure, which programs to cut—that loyalty can become a liability.

    Another participant noted that “board members oftentimes don’t know how to act or ask the right questions, given the way that higher education oftentimes designs and recruits their board of trustees.”

    This is the structural problem: most small college boards are composed primarily of alumni who love their institution. They’re selected for their capacity to give and their willingness to advocate. They’re rarely selected for their expertise in finance, operations, technology, strategic restructuring, or M&A.

    Which means that when a president brings forward a partnership proposal or a CFO presents financial projections, the board often lacks the framework to evaluate what they’re hearing.

    They ask questions like, “Will we keep our name?” What about our traditions? How will this affect our identity?

    These are reasonable emotional questions. But they’re not the strategic questions that determine whether a partnership will work: What are the combined revenue projections? How will academic programs integrate? What’s the governance structure? What happens to debt obligations? Where are the synergies and where are the conflicts?

    The panel’s recommendation was consistent: board education before a crisis.

    Run hypothetical merger scenarios when there’s no actual deal on the table. Present three possible partner profiles and ask: Would we consider this? Why or why not? What questions would we need answered?

    Help boards understand financial metrics that matter beyond the composite score. Teach them to ask hard questions about cash flow, operating margins, and strategic positioning.

    And consider diversifying board composition—not to diminish alumni representation, but to complement it with specific expertise the institution needs: finance professionals who can read balance sheets, technology executives who understand digital transformation, healthcare or corporate leaders who’ve navigated mergers.

    Because when crisis arrives—and for many small colleges, it will—you need a board that can think strategically, ask sophisticated questions, and make difficult decisions based on institutional sustainability rather than emotional attachment alone.

    The eighteen-month rule applies here too: you can’t educate a board in six weeks when a partnership opportunity appears. You need to start now.

    The Bottom Line

    When Tarek Sobh arrived at Lawrence Technological University in September 2020, he could have started changing things immediately. He had the expertise. He had the mandate. He had ideas.

    Instead, he spent eighteen months listening.

    And when he finally became president and began implementing changes, he did so from a position of deep cultural understanding. He knew which changes would be embraced and which would face resistance. He knew whose support he needed and how to earn it. He knew what the institution was and what it could become.

    That’s not just one president’s wisdom. It’s the pattern that emerged across both webinars—from college presidents navigating daily challenges to experts guiding institutions through transformative partnerships.

    Know your numbers. Build your relationships. Understand your culture. Communicate transparently. Prove your value with data. Give yourself time.

    And remember: there should be no surprises.

    The challenges facing small colleges are real. The demographic cliff is arriving. Financial pressures are mounting. Political scrutiny is intensifying.

    But the leaders in these webinars aren’t panicking. They’re planning. They’re adapting. They’re building partnerships. They’re preparing their boards. They’re quantifying their value. They’re listening to their cultures before trying to change them.

    They’re giving themselves eighteen months to get it right.

    That’s not paralysis. That’s wisdom.

    And it might be exactly what saves small college America.

    Looking Forward: Proactive, Not Reactive: Three Conversations to Start This Week

    If you’re a president, provost, CFO, or trustee, here are three conversations you can start right now—before crisis forces them:

    1. With your board: Schedule a working session on hypothetical partnerships. Present three different institutional profiles (a larger regional university, a peer liberal arts college, a specialized technical institution) and ask: “If each approached us about a partnership, what questions would we need answered? What would make us say yes? What would be dealbreakers?” Don’t wait for an actual proposal to discover your board can’t evaluate one.

    2. With your leadership team: Review your financial indicators beyond the composite score. Do you know your real cash flow position? What is your operating margin trend over five years? Your net tuition revenue per student? If a crisis emerged in twelve months, what partnerships or changes would you need to have been building toward now? Move before you have to.

    3. With peer institutions: Identify 2-3 colleges (whether potential partners or not) and start building authentic relationships with their leadership. Not transactional networking—genuine understanding of their challenges, culture, and strategic direction. The eighteen-month rule means those relationships need to start today.

    These conversations won’t solve every problem. But they’ll position you to make better decisions when opportunity or necessity arrives.

    And they’ll help you build the institutional muscle memory for strategic thinking—the kind of thinking that distinguishes colleges that thrive from colleges that merely survive.

    Small College America’s webinar series is moderated by Dean Hoke of Edu Alliance Group, Kent Barnds of Augustana College and featured Dr. Anita Gustafson (Presbyterian College), Dr. Andrea Talentino (Augustana College), Dr. Tarek Sobh (Lawrence Technological University), Dr. Chet Haskell (higher education consultant), Dr. Barry Ryan (university leader and attorney), AJ Prager (Hilltop Securities), and Stephanie Gold (Hogan Lovells). For more information about Small College America, visit http://www.smallcollegeamerica.net.

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  • An educator’s top tips to integrate AI into the classroom

    An educator’s top tips to integrate AI into the classroom

    eSchool News is counting down the 10 most-read stories of 2025. Story #10 focuses on teaching strategies around AI.

    Key points:

    In the last year, we’ve seen an extraordinary push toward integrating artificial intelligence in classrooms. Among educators, that trend has evoked responses from optimism to opposition. “Will AI replace educators?” “Can it really help kids?” “Is it safe?” Just a few years ago, these questions were unthinkable, and now they’re in every K-12 school, hanging in the air.

    Given the pace at which AI technologies are changing, there’s a lot still to be determined, and I won’t pretend to have all the answers. But as a school counselor in Kansas who has been using SchoolAI to support students for years, I’ve seen that AI absolutely can help kids and is safe when supervised. At this point, I think it’s much more likely to help us do our jobs better than to produce any other outcome. I’ve discovered that if you implement AI thoughtfully, it empowers students to explore their futures, stay on track for graduation, learn new skills, and even improve their mental health.

    Full disclosure: I have something adjacent to a tech background. I worked for a web development marketing firm before moving into education. However, I want to emphasize that you don’t have to be an expert to use AI effectively. Success is rooted in curiosity, trial and error, and commitment to student well-being. Above all, I would urge educators to remember that AI isn’t about replacing us. It allows us to extend our reach to students and our capacity to cater to individual needs, especially when shorthanded.

    Let me show you what that looks like.

    Building emotional resilience

    Students today face enormous emotional pressures. And with national student-to-counselor ratios at nearly double the recommended 250-to-1, school staff can’t always be there right when students need us.

    That’s why I created a chatbot named Pickles (based on my dog at home, whom the kids love but who is too rambunctious to come to school with me). This emotional support bot gives my students a way to process small problems like feeling left out at recess or arguing with a friend. It doesn’t replace my role, but it does help triage students so I can give immediate attention to those facing the most urgent challenges.

    Speaking of which, AI has revealed some issues I might’ve otherwise missed. One fourth grader, who didn’t want to talk to me directly, opened up to the chatbot about her parents’ divorce. Because I was able to review her conversation, I knew to follow up with her. In another case, a shy fifth grader who struggled to maintain conversations learned to initiate dialogue with her peers using chatbot-guided social scripts. After practicing over spring break, she returned more confident and socially fluent.

    Aside from giving students real-time assistance, these tools offer me critical visibility and failsafes while I’m running around trying to do 10 things at once.

    Personalized career exploration and academic support

    One of my core responsibilities as a counselor is helping students think about their futures. Often, the goals they bring to me are undeveloped (as you would expect—they’re in elementary school, after all): They say, “I’m going to be a lawyer,” or “I’m going to be a doctor.” In the past, I would point them toward resources I thought would help, and that was usually the end of it. But I always wanted them to reflect more deeply about their options.

    So, I started using an AI chatbot to open up that conversation. Instead of jumping to a job title, students are prompted to answer what they’re interested in and why. The results have been fascinating—and inspiring. In a discussion with one student recently, I was trying to help her find careers that would suit her love of travel. After we plugged in her strengths and interests, the chatbot suggested cultural journalism, which she was instantly excited about. She started journaling and blogging that same night. She’s in sixth grade.

    What makes this process especially powerful is that it challenges biases. By the end of elementary school, many kids have already internalized what careers they think they can or can’t pursue–often based on race, gender, or socioeconomic status. AI can disrupt that. It doesn’t know what a student looks like or where they’re from. It just responds to their curiosity. These tools surface career options for kids–like esports management or environmental engineering–that I might not be able to come up with in the moment. It’s making me a better counselor and keeping me apprised of workforce trends, all while encouraging my students to dream bigger and in more detail.

    Along with career decisions, AI helps students make better academic decisions, especially in virtual school environments where requirements vary district to district. I recently worked with a virtual school to create an AI-powered tool that helps students identify which classes they need for graduation. It even links them to district-specific resources and state education departments to guide their planning. These kinds of tools lighten the load of general advising questions for school counselors and allow us to spend more time supporting students one on one.

    My advice to educators: Try it

    We tell our students that failure is part of learning. So why should we be afraid to try something new? When I started using AI, I made mistakes. But AI doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful. Around the globe, AI school assistants are already springing up and serving an ever-wider range of use cases.

    I recommend educators start small. Use a trusted platform. And most importantly, stay human. AI should never replace the relationships at the heart of education. But if used wisely, it can extend your reach, personalize your impact, and unlock your students’ potential.

    We have to prepare our students for a world that’s changing fast–maybe faster than ever. I, for one, am glad I have AI by my side to help them get there.

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  • How an AI-generated song transformed my ELL classroom

    How an AI-generated song transformed my ELL classroom

    Key points:

    A trending AI song went viral, but in my classroom, it did something even more powerful: it unlocked student voice.

    When teachers discuss AI in education, the conversation often focuses on risk: plagiarism, misinformation, or over-reliance on tools. But in my English Language Learners (ELL) classroom, a simple AI-generated song unexpectedly became the catalyst for one of the most joyful, culturally rich, and academically productive lessons of the year.

    It began with a trending headline about an AI-created song that topped a music chart metric. The story was interesting, but what truly captured my attention was its potential as a learning moment: music, identity, language, culture, creativity, and critical thinking–all wrapped in one accessible trend.

    What followed was a powerful reminder that when we honor students’ voices and languages, motivation flourishes, confidence grows, and even the shyest learners can find their space to shine.

    Why music works for ELLs

    Music has always been a powerful tool for language development. Research consistently shows that rhythm, repetition, and melody support vocabulary acquisition, pronunciation, and memory (Schön et al., 2008). For multilingual learners, songs are more than entertainment–they are cultural artifacts and linguistic resources.

    But AI-generated songs add a new dimension. According to UNESCO’s Guidance for Generative AI in Education and Research (2023), AI trends can serve as “entry points for student-centered learning” when used as prompts for analysis, creativity, and discussion rather than passive consumption.

    In this lesson, AI wasn’t the final product; it was the spark. It was neutral, playful, and contemporary–a topic students were naturally curious about. This lowered the affective filter (Krashen, 1982), making students more willing to take risks with language and participate actively.

    From AI trend to multilingual dialogue

    Phase 1: Listening and critical analysis

    We listened to the AI-generated song as a group. Students were immediately intrigued, posing questions such as:

    “How does the computer make a song?”

    “Does it copy another singer?”

    “Why does it sound real?”

    These sparked critical thinking naturally aligned with Bloom’s Taxonomy:

    • Understanding: What is the song about?
    • Analyzing: How does it compare to a human-written song?
    • Evaluating: Is AI music truly ‘creative’?

    Students analyzed the lyrics, identifying figurative language, tone, and structure. Even lower-proficiency learners contributed by highlighting repeated phrases or simple vocabulary.

    Phase 2: The power of translanguaging

    The turning point came when I invited students to choose a song from their home language and bring a short excerpt to share. The classroom transformed instantly.

    Students became cultural guides and storytellers. They explained why a song mattered, translated its meaning into English, discussed metaphors from their cultures, or described musical traditions from home.

    This is translanguaging–using the full linguistic repertoire to make meaning, an approach strongly supported by García & Li (2014) and widely encouraged in TESOL practice.

    Phase 3: Shy learners found their voices

    What surprised me most was the participation of my shyest learners.

    A student who had not spoken aloud all week read translated lyrics from a Kurdish lullaby. Two Yemeni students, usually quiet, collaborated to explain a line of poetry.

    This aligns with research showing that culturally familiar content reduces performance anxiety and increases willingness to communicate (MacIntyre, 2007). When students feel emotionally connected to the material, participation becomes safer and joyful.

    One student said, “This feels like home.”

    By the end of the lesson, every student participated, whether by sharing a song, translating a line, or contributing to analysis.

    Embedding digital and ethical literacy

    Beyond cultural sharing, students engaged in deeper reflection essential for digital literacy (OECD, 2021):

    • Who owns creativity if AI can produce songs?
    • Should AI songs compete with human artists?
    • Does language lose meaning when generated artificially?

    Students debated respectfully, used sentence starters, and justified their opinions, developing both critical reasoning and AI literacy.

    Exit tickets: Evidence of deeper learning

    Students completed exit tickets:

    • One thing I learned about AI-generated music
    • One thing I learned from someone else’s culture
    • One question I still have

    Their responses showed genuine depth:

    • “AI makes us think about what creativity means.”
    • “My friend’s song made me understand his country better.”
    • “I didn’t know Kurdish has words that don’t translate, you need feeling to explain it.”

    The research behind the impact

    This lesson’s success is grounded in research:

    • Translanguaging Enhances Cognition (García & Li, 2014): allowing all languages improves comprehension and expression.
    • Self-Determination Theory (Deci & Ryan, 2000): the lesson fostered autonomy, competence, and relatedness.
    • Lowering the Affective Filter (Krashen, 1982): familiar music reduced anxiety.
    • Digital Literacy Matters (UNESCO, 2023; OECD, 2021): students must analyze AI, not just use it.

    Conclusion: A small trend with big impact

    An AI-generated song might seem trivial, but when transformed thoughtfully, it became a bridge, between languages, cultures, abilities, and levels of confidence.

    In a time when schools are still asking how to use AI meaningfully, this lesson showed that the true power of AI lies not in replacing learning, but in opening doors for every learner to express who they are.

    I encourage educators to try this activity–not to teach AI, but rather to teach humanity.

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  • More teens are using summer for college and career prep

    More teens are using summer for college and career prep

    Key points:

    The academic landscape has evolved dramatically, especially when it comes to summers. More students are embracing year-round learning to build strong study habits and develop the critical thinking, application, and retention skills they need for success in higher education and the workplace. They’re treating AP®, SAT®, and ACT® practice and preparation as long-term investments rather than temporary obligations where they are last-minute cramming for these high-stakes exams.

    Trends and research support this approach. The Pew Research Center found that 36.6 percent of U.S. teens had a paying job during the summer of 2021–the highest rate since 2008. According to their research, 86 percent of U.S. teens say having a job or career they enjoy is extremely or very important, and 58 percent say having a lot of money is highly important. Their drive for meaningful, financially secure careers is reshaping how they spend their time, especially during the summer.

    Beyond earning money, today’s teens are using their summers for skill development through jobs, internships, and academic prep. This dual focus on work and learning shows maturity and foresight. Students are preparing not just for the next school year but for the professional expectations they’ll face later in life.

    What the Surge Says About Student Ambition

    This rising engagement in AP coursework aligns with a broader cultural shift toward early academic specialization. Students see AP coursework as more than a way to earn college credit. It’s the first step into their intended career path.

    • Future healthcare professionals are diving into AP Biology, AP Chemistry, AP Physics 1, and AP Psychology as early tests of their aptitude for the MCAT® and various medical fields.
    • Aspiring attorneys and policymakers turn to AP Government and AP U.S. History to build knowledge of our legislative and judicial foundations, as well as analytical and writing skills.
    • Future accountants, entrepreneurs, and business people gravitate toward AP Calculus, AP Macroeconomics, and AP Statistics to develop quantitative fluency and business reasoning.

    The Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research found that six in 10 teens say graduating from college is extremely or very important to getting a good job. Many recognize that advanced coursework in high school can make college more manageable and scholarships to their dream schools more attainable.

    The rise in AP participation isn’t just academic enthusiasm. It’s strategic planning. Students are approaching high school as a career laboratory where they can test their interests, gauge their strengths, and start aligning their goals with future opportunities.

    Summer as the new launchpad

    For this generation, the summer is a launchpad, not a pause. Teens are blending part-time work with academic enrichment, community involvement, and skill-building activities that align with their future ambitions. Many see the summer as the perfect window to study at their own pace, without the pressure of a full course load or extracurricular overload. 

    More students are using summer break strategically to strengthen their understanding and prepare for challenging AP and SAT content. This behavior echoes findings from Pew’s 2025 survey: Teens are more focused on professional and financial success than on traditional milestones such as marriage and family life. They’re motivated by the pursuit of independence, stability, and purpose, values that translate directly into how they approach school and learning.

    When I talk to students, what stands out is how intentional they are. They want to be prepared, and they want options. They see every AP class and every practice question as one step closer to a career that excites them, and a future they can control.

    From short-term learning to lifelong skills

    This trend toward early preparation also reflects a shift in how students define success. They understand that knowledge alone isn’t enough; the ability to apply, adapt, and persist will carry them through college and into their careers.

    With the research in mind, educators and edtech tools must prioritize active learning over memorization. By helping students understand the why behind each step, not just the correct answer, we build the problem-solving and analytical reasoning skills that mirror the expectations in fields more students are pursuing, including medicine, law, engineering, and business.

    The Future Belongs to the Prepared

    The surge in AP course engagement this summer isn’t an anomaly. It’s a glimpse into the future of learning, and we see that as a positive sign. Students are no longer waiting for senior year or college to take their goals seriously. They’re taking ownership of their learning, developing study skills that extend far beyond exams, and connecting their academic effort to real-world ambition. They’re not just preparing for tests; they’re preparing for life.

    High school may be where lifelong learning begins, but for this generation, it’s also where futures are built.

    Laura Ascione
    Latest posts by Laura Ascione (see all)

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  • The Relationship Between the Fundamentals and the Emergent – Teaching in Higher Ed

    The Relationship Between the Fundamentals and the Emergent – Teaching in Higher Ed

    Last night was our daughter’s dance recital. She is 11 and in middle school now, and the performance combined the middle school and the upper school. It was such a delight to see all these performers come together, and I kept being reminded of so much of what I’ve learned about learning and teaching through the experience of watching them.

    The Practice

    In James Lang’s book Small Teaching, he tells a story about small ball. I don’t know a lot about baseball, and I probably know more about baseball from reading the description Jim has of something called small ball than I know about anything else in the sport. That may not be true, but that’s how it feels, often. Perhaps that’s because his book has meant so much to me and this idea of small ball, where you focus on the basics.

    I may get some of this wrong because I am not picking up the book and going back and referencing it at this exact moment. Sometimes I feel like I know the book by heart. But Jim talks about just this idea of: now we’re going to run the bases, or now we’re going to hit the ball, and all the things. Those fundamental skills—those things we want to cultivate. James Lang doesn’t say this, but as a set of Lego pieces so that we can achieve enormous heights and something beyond perhaps what even the teacher might have imagined possible. That’s possible when we first start with the basics: those fundamental building blocks.

    And while I don’t know a lot about baseball, I do know a fair amount about dance. I spent 11 years of my life, for example, taking ballet lessons. Our version of small ball in a ballet class was the warm-up. I still can vividly picture the barres that would be brought out. Some were affixed to the walls permanently in the studio, but others would be placed out in the middle of the room. They were in varying heights, and you would come in and select where you wanted to stand. Where you chose had to do with your place in the room as well as the height of the barre appropriate for you.

    Dancers of all levels would come together—whether this was something they did professionally or as a hobby—and we would begin with pliés and relevés in first position, second position, third position, and so on. This became a culture. A practice. It was a small ball experience. It was necessary to warm up our bodies together and move in unison like that, with the music guiding our pace and tempo.

    Then we would move the barres out and get ready for the floor routines. As I reflected on these memories of ballet class, I am reminded that each time I smell a cigar while walking in our neighborhood, I think there must be someone nearby who smokes one occasionally. Our ballet teacher used to smoke cigars, and I’m always reminded of him—which, the juxtaposition of smoking and ballet always cracks me up to this day. Certainly a lot has changed about smoking as I share these words with you in the year 2025, thank goodness.

    The Rehearsal

    As I reflect back on our daughter’s concert, I think about the ways in which rehearsals help shape us. It’s the process of getting ready for that performance. And as we’re getting ready, we do different kinds of rehearsals. Sometimes they’re in costumes, sometimes not. Sometimes we wear makeup, sometimes not. Sometimes the lights are there, changing the dynamics of what the performers can and can’t see and where the visual emphasis gets placed for those watching.

    Some early rehearsals are more what are called blocking—just getting familiar with the space. When we move our bodies to one part of the space, what will that experience be like? Some of this I’m drawing from my background in theater, where you do dry run-throughs that are blocked and you learn how you’re going to move about the stage. Anytime I do a speaking engagement, I try my best to get some time in the space where I’ll be sharing, doing some blocking of my own. I try never to be a high maintenance person, so I seek to build upon the strengths of the existing space and how I might draw on it to engage people during the time we’ll have together.

    Another aspect of their performance last night was the student and faculty collaboration. I reveled in the differing levels that came together. Some of the faculty have been professional dancers and choreographed many of the routines. But you also had middle school and high school performers who choreographed their own pieces. That was so delightful to see.

    Even in the group performances, you would have standout performers—those who do this seven days a week. Our daughter’s friend goes to lessons and rehearsals and performances seven days a week. It is a huge focal point of her life and their family. Our daughter’s dancing is solely reliant on what they do during the school day at this point. But in the group performances, they are able to pull together the unique strengths of each performer and create something that is invisible to the audience—because they all reach a certain level of high-quality expectations.

    Then those who can do, in some cases, acrobatic flips or pirouettes with four rotations, as opposed to the beginners who can do just one—what a delight it is to see differing levels come together in synergistic ways. Their differences become assets rather than flaws, thanks to talented choreography, commitment to rehearsing, and the drawing out of one’s unique strengths.

    The Emergent

    This morning, while reflecting on all of this, I came across a video of a couple of dancers I’m not familiar with. The Instagram algorithm “knows” me well and will feed me videos I enjoy. These performers are dancing the Lindy Hop.

    I did the Lindy Hop in my 20s and loved it so much that I would go to multiple group lessons—usually three or four each week. I would take at least one private lesson each week, and then I would go out dancing one or two nights a week. I had an annual pass to Disneyland and would go there by myself, take the tram in by myself, not knowing whether I would see anyone I knew—just to be around the dancers and to hope I would get a chance to dance with others. It was such a special time in my life. I would go to sleep at night and dream. That’s how much the Lindy Hop meant to me.

    I don’t come across it as much these days. It seems West Coast Swing has taken over more of the dance world I used to be part of. So anytime Lindy Hop comes across my screen, I will definitely want to watch what’s happening.

    Many of these dances—including the Lindy Hop—have a basic eight count. As you become more practiced, you’re able to let the music change things up. Much swing music has what are called breaks, where a measure shifts and varies the pattern. The dancers and the music create such amazing playfulness and interaction. It is so fun to watch.

    A song with lots of breaks in it is Shiny Stockings, sung here by the great Ella Fitzgerald:

    In the U.S., as well as many other countries, there are swing dance competitions. I don’t see many Lindy Hop competitions anymore, but I still enjoy Jack and Jill competitions. A lead’s and a follow’s names get drawn from a hat, and a DJ plays a song they’ve never heard. I love watching Jack and Jill competitions because of the improvisational nature of them.

    The Lindy Hop dance I saw this morning looked similar—though these dancers clearly dance together regularly and this wasn’t a competition but a demo. It didn’t appear to be fully choreographed. I could see subtle moments where the follower responded to the lead in real time. To an untrained eye, these steps would look 100% planned. But because I know the context—likely a camp or workshop in Spain—I can pick up on the improvisational clues.

    I’ve started following Nils and Bianca on YouTube and look forward to watching many more of their dances in their back catalog. Their demo of Hey Baby from Rock That Swing 2018 is a delight and I’m confident that there’s so much good dancing coming my way in the future, via Nils and Bianca’s channel. In case you didn’t believe me earlier when I said that they weren’t performing, here’s another example of what it looks like when they are: Good Rockin’ Daddy – Etta James – Stuttgart 2022.

    As I think back on last night’s very planned dances at our daughter’s recital and this morning’s emergent dance, I’m struck by how emblematic all of this is of teaching. The rehearsals, the planning, the choreography—and finally the performance—enable us as educators to respond to the emergent, the uncertain.

    Teaching as Planned Structure and Emergent Possibility

    Mia Zamora on Episode 475 talked about planning for that—how to create structure such that we have equipped ourselves for all of the unexpected. She says on that episode:

    Intentionality and listening are important qualities for facilitation.

    I love how Mia and so many others help us consider the ways in which our intentionality, our planning, our putting structure around teaching and learning can help create communities ready to come together and navigate the unknown. Way back on Episode 218 Alan Levine shared about courses as stories. He and Mia co-taught the Net Narratives class together and used ‘spines’ as a metaphor for how they structured that class for the emergent.

    Randomly (or perhaps not), Alan writes about fractals in a recent post, as it relates to the emergent. He quotes an OEGGlobal colleague in a Slack post as writing:

    In everyday language, especially in adrienne maree brown’s Emergent Strategy, fractal refers to the idea that:

    “How we are at the small scale is how we are at the large scale.”

    If you want organizations, communities, or movements to be compassionate, equitable, and connected, those qualities need to show up in the small day-to-day interactions, too.

    So: small patterns = big impact.

    Alan goes on to describe how fractals inspired the structure of ds106, a course (and ongoing community) designed from its roots to be open, center on digital storytelling, and creating community.

    I’ll let you go read Alan’s post to discover more of his thoughts on the emergent, but for now, all I can help but think of is wondering if Alan saw this video clip of Hasan Minhaj talking to a 13-year-old math genius (Suborno Isaac Bari) about fractals.

    Ever since initially viewing the clip, I have had a growing curiosity about fractals, knowing practically nothing about them before that moment. I am also reminded of how difficult (impossible?) it is to measure learning, just like trying to accurately measure a coastline.

    Or measure just how good a dance recital was…



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