Tag: Lessons

  • Lessons of the Fountain Pen (opinion)

    Lessons of the Fountain Pen (opinion)

    For the past two years, during the twilight of my academic career, I have become a devotee of the fountain pen, often pondering this seemingly retro act of putting pen to paper.

    Composing again by hand forced me to admit how often I succumb to the internet’s never-ending temptations. In the past, some of my best prose has come forth at 40,000 feet, while I was strapped in for a long flight—with no contact outside the streaking metal tube. But the wily digital devil never rests. Most jets now offer Wi-Fi, enticing you to check your email or the Yankees–Red Sox score as you cross the North Atlantic.

    My longing to write by hand, though, was undermined by largely illegible penmanship, a lifelong consequence of my naturally lefty self having been forced to write right-handed. No pen ever seemed to work for me, and I have tried most. Gel pens are the worst, producing a script that even I cannot decipher. Even so, during a research trip to Europe in fall 2022, where Wi-Fi was often unavailable, I found myself relying on a bound notebook during the day and my computer at night. The illegibility of my notes and journal entries made typing them out especially onerous and time-consuming, all the more so after I had returned home two months later. Then I remembered a fountain pen that my mother had gifted me so long ago—was it for my 50th birthday in 2005?—that its ink cartridges had dried up. A trip to Staples yielded a small pack, and I realized right away that there was enough friction between the nib and page to slow me down—enough for me to be able to decipher what I had written.

    Like most brainstorms, this one proved ephemeral. To write by hand and then enter text into a computer—with my mediocre keyboarding skills—was just too burdensome. Those who started their academic journeys during the typewriter era will remember with a whiff of despair those late-night, hours-long sessions spent typing the final draft. Correction tape, erasable bond, Wite-Out—my heart sinks just listing those essential tools from another era. If you want a taste of those times, just sample the acknowledgments in academic books or dissertations from the decades before computers, in which women, typically wives, are thanked for having typed the manuscript. The acknowledgements from Sacvan Bercovitch’s The American Jeremiad, which I just pulled from a shelf, reflect more rarefied academic circumstances, as the author notes the grant provided by the English Department at Columbia University “for the typing of the manuscript.”

    And then a light went off as I sat in my study, one that has changed my life as a writer. After struggling with incipient carpal tunnel syndrome a few years ago, I purchased voice recognition software. Dragon Naturally Speaking was powerful, especially if you spoke in complete phrases and sentences. My copy of the software is now old—it will not work with Windows 11—but proved a godsend with unexpected benefits. While dictating my notebook pages, I could hear the awkward sentences; I could conjure the better word on the spot, and I could detect those places where the tone needed adjusting. Sometimes inspiration would bless me and a new sentence or two would emerge like Athena.

    I’m no neo-Luddite longing to smash all computers, even when Windows or MS Word betray me, as they so often do. I recognize the realities and benefits of our digital age. But wielding a fountain pen these past two years has prompted me to wonder whether some challenges the humanities face regarding writing and reading might be overcome by heeding the pen’s simple lessons.

    The Importance of Touch

    For millennia the act of writing has been tactile. From Babylonian cuneiform on clay tablets to elaborate Medieval script on vellum and modern calligraphy on heavyweight wedding stationery, writing has always meant touching the surface, with words being physically imprinted as the pen journeys across. When I write well, my hands seldom leave the page. And when I stop to consider the right word or a more felicitous phrase, my pen often poises a mere quarter inch above, ready to strike.

    Compare this to composing on a laptop, where pauses can lead to disaster. Distractions fill your field of vision—apps, task bars, weather forecasts and seemingly never-ending notifications that another email has arrived or another appointment looms. When you grasp for the right combination of words, it’s all too easy to seek them beyond the screen, or, even worse, to succumb to the program suggesting what it believes should come next. And unless you are vigilant about shutting off endless features, the software will insist upon indicating that you just misspelled a word or used a questionable grammatical construction. Most of us then dutifully correct the “mistake,” only to lose the rhythm and even essence of our prose. More and more, the virtual page seems to be doing the writing.

    The Value of Tangibility

    We have all had the experience of composing and revising a document on a computer only to lose the effort because of a crash, a software freeze or a moment of forgetfulness in which we clicked “no” instead of “yes.” What might have seemed so real to us for an hour or more vanishes like a genie who returns to his bottle without granting our wish.

    When I compose by hand, my efforts are right in front of me. The crossed-out word—which turns out to be the right one—can still be recovered. The history of moving paragraphs, those arrows and circles that sometimes fill the page, are not lost as they would be in computer drafting. Even more satisfyingly tangible for me, however, is the physical evidence of my labors: the blue ink stains on my right hand, the ritual of refilling my pen from the bottle when I have gushed out a pool of words, the celebratory occasion when I empty a bottle of ink and need to open a new one. A similar mood of celebration arises when I fill the last page of my wide-ruled notebook and place it on the shelf next to its predecessors. Scrolling through thousands of documents and folders on my computer is certainly a humbling experience, as they represent the literal steps in a multidecade academic journey, but I regret not having found my fountain pen niche many years before. What a collection those notebooks would’ve been.

    The Pleasures of Portability

    Coinciding with my return to compositional roots has been my regular presence at a place where my words seem to flow so easily, the Hall Street Bakery in Grand Rapids. During my sabbatical, I was there at least five days a week and now continue to show up on nonteaching days. All I need is my notebook, a folder with ideas or drafts, a full pen and my regular—a large house coffee and a cranberry-almond scone—to set me up for a solid hour of writing. Conversations bubble from nearby tables, kids run around hopped up on sugar, drivers retrieve DoorDash orders—all set against the occasional counterpoint of the hissing espresso machine—and I am in my element. No need for Wi-Fi passwords or the elusive table next to an electrical outlet. I can walk across the room to speak with someone, order a refill, visit the men’s room—all without fearing that my laptop will disappear. And spilling coffee on my notebook or dropping it onto the floor is a minor inconvenience, not an expensive technological catastrophe. Traveling light, I can sweep up my possessions in an instant and head out the door.

    The Relevance to Reading

    In thinking about writing as a physical act that produces something you can hold, I recognized anew how relevant these same qualities are to reading. We seem today to be awash in words, yet paradoxically find ourselves in the midst of a reading crisis that extends from the youngest learners to those at America’s universities.

    An article by Rose Horowitch in The Atlantic, “The Elite College Students Who Can’t Read Books,” convinced me that my experience with the fountain pen might be relevant to the challenges she describes.

    Horowitch reports that students at elite colleges, who have already proven their ability to read complex texts, seem less and less able (or willing) to read long literary works. She mostly ascribes this to high schools emphasizing standardized tests, to teens distracted by smartphones and to college students who view their educations in strictly transactional terms, as means to specific, often exceedingly specific, ends—which seldom include pushing through Middlemarch.

    She may be right, but the teachers and faculty she interviewed offer little beyond assigning shorter texts: Kate Chopin’s The Awakening instead of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye instead of Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man. A book or two at most from The Iliad or Paradise Lost.

    Let me argue, though, that the very elements I associate with composing by hand—its tactile and tangible nature, its simple conveniences—should be drawn upon when encountering long, complex and sometimes life-changing texts. And that the cool distance of the digital interface works against these very qualities.

    Yes, I know it is possible to put all your books on a single device where you can search and annotate the texts. Even if you lose your Kindle, your digital library can be retrieved from the cloud. Yet the experience of reading on the screen tends to flatten all writing, making each screen much like any other, so that the unique feel and heft of Moby-Dick, for example, is lost, making Melville’s incandescent prose indistinguishable from any Substacker’s, and probably less visually enticing.

    Even if you can resist distraction on your laptop, you never get the sensory experience unique to each book: how it feels in your hands, how its page design pulls you in or pushes you away, how its very smell when brand-new or decades old can evoke its distinctive qualities, how the satisfying sound of turning pages reaches a crescendo when you get to the end and close the cover with a resonant thump. Like the angry slam of a telephone receiver, it’s a sound beyond our digital age. And it all leads to a final moment when you place the book on a shelf to stand as a tangible reminder of your ever-changing reading life—no internet connection required.

    The physical book, that container that our society, try as it might, cannot cast into the electronic darkness, will live on. At least I hope so. A recent visit to my university’s beautiful library leaves much room for doubt. In the popular Mary Idema Pew Library Learning and Information Commons—sorry, but that’s its official name, sans commas—hundreds of students gather at any given time. But to stroll through its busy floors soon makes this book lover feel like Diogenes in search of an honest man. My lamp has seldom shined upon a student with a physical book in hand; instead, they tap and scroll their way through reading assignments in much the same way they engage daily life.

    I see them as we share the bus that travels between our university’s two campuses, filling each moment with the small screens they find far more interesting than the passing world—the season’s first snowflakes, the glow cast upon the road as dusk approaches, the deer in a harvested cornfield who look up with more curiosity than my fellow travelers.

    With a sigh—and nod to the deer—I open my copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, touching its familiar pages with my ink-stained hands, and try to remember to text my wife that I’m on my way.

    After 37 years as a professor of English at Grand Valley State University, Rob Franciosi recently retired to devote his time to writing.

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  • Lessons from innovating in our student support model

    Lessons from innovating in our student support model

    Over the last ten years – and particularly since the pandemic – the complexity of student wellbeing issues in higher education has increased significantly. It became clear to us at the University of Exeter that the traditional model of academic tutoring alone was no longer sufficient to meet the needs of our students.

    Like many other higher education institutions, we had long utilised an academic support model where most academic staff were allocated groups of tutees to provide both academic and pastoral support alongside a range of professional services in areas such as welfare, wellbeing, accessibility and financial support. Our review and research into higher education institutions best practice – both in the UK and internationally, and drawing on approaches from schools and further education providers, identified a clear need for dedicated expertise to provide pastoral support at Exeter.

    This led to the development of our Pastoral Mentor model, which we began piloting in autumn 2023. By 1 August 2025, we will have rolled out Pastoral Mentors to every department. Our model was described briefly in Wonkhe last year but you can also read more about it in the Journal of Learning Development in Higher Education. In summary, Pastoral Mentors are dedicated, non-teaching student support staff embedded in departments, serving as a friendly first point of contact for students facing challenges affecting their studies. They proactively reach out to students based on engagement and attainment data, offer a non-judgmental space for conversations, and connect students with specialist support services as needed. Our pastoral mentors work closely with discipline based staff and wider support services to identify the best way to assist students and ensure that the help they need is connected and timely.

    Lessons from transformation

    While institutions will adopt different approaches to student support, in this piece we reflect on what we’ve learned from implementing institutional change at Exeter, and share the key principles which underpin our model – offering insights we hope will be useful for others working in this space.

    Early identification is key. The earlier students identify they are struggling the easier it is to provide support and put remedies in place. Often, the causes of student failure and drop out begin as relatively low-level challenges, but these can escalate over time – non-attendance leads to missed submissions, which in turn result in failed modules, referrals and potentially withdrawal. If we can identify students whose attendance pattern drops early and support them to get back into the classroom, we can mitigate against many of these larger issues.

    Data is key to this. All institutions now hold large amounts of data on our students; attendance, engagement with the VLE, submissions, grades. We need to use this to support students and at Exeter we developed a bespoke engagement dashboard to enable us to identify students who might be struggling.

    Clear lines of responsibility are vital. It’s no good having access to data if it’s not clear who is going to act on it. Our Pastoral Mentors are responsible for using the engagement dashboard to identify students of concern and do the initial reach out. They then are responsible for linking students who require more specialist support with the correct service, not just telling the student who to contact but in some cases making that contact for them or following up with the student later to ensure they have accessed the support they need. It’s vital that students don’t slip through the net – whether because no one acts on the data or because they fall unnoticed between services.

    Clear escalation processes need to be established. It’s critical to have a clear understanding of where one person’s responsibility ends and when a student should be confidently referred to a specialist. We’ve developed well-defined escalation processes so that our Pastoral Mentors don’t feel pressured to take on issues beyond their expertise and remit, and to ensure we make full use of the specialist staff elsewhere in the institution – helping to maintain the integrity of the overall support ecosystem.

    Presence is a must. Early feedback from our students’ union and students’ guild highlighted the importance of face-to-face, named support, with students finding it easier to seek help from someone they already know. Our Pastoral Mentors are present in departments, they attend welcome and transition events, informal department gatherings and department social events for students. Students should know who the Pastoral Mentor is before they need help to facilitate that first conversation. As a core part of the education team, Pastoral Mentors also become specialists in the rhythm and challenges of the discipline and can thus provide contextualised support and advice relevant to the students’ programme.

    Clarity of message for students is essential. Students are often put off seeking support because they fear disciplinary or fitness to study processes, in particular international students sometimes do not seek support from traditional academic tutors because they do not want to disclose problems to those teaching them or marking their work. Our Pastoral Mentors aim to decouple support from formalised processes around unsatisfactory progress or visa compliance and rather focus on reaching out compassionately, emphasising the importance of a students’ wellbeing and success. Students have reported that this enhanced their sense of belonging and mattering, making it easier to seek support early.

    Supporting colleagues through change

    Institutional change is never easy and while many staff recognise the need to enhance our student support offer to students, it remains an emotive issue. Some departments embraced the new model from the outset, while others found the transition more difficult. There’s never “enough” evidence, particularly when the change you are implementing is both transformative and innovative.

    As academics we often spend a lot of time seeking and compiling evidence to support a theory, but sometimes we have to be brave enough to enact change because it’s the right thing to do and have confidence that we can bring people along over time. If everyone waits for the evidence from others, innovation will never happen. We have found that co-creation is powerful; in order to address the “evidence” challenge, we had to deploy compassion and communication rather than additional data.

    We have to meet colleagues where their concerns lie, not t diminish those concerns but to listen to and recognise both the opportunities and risks associated with change. At Exeter, we adopted a phased co-creation model for our Pastoral Mentor approach, being open with departments that we didn’t have all the answers upfront and that we needed to work together to meet students’ needs. Through this iterative approach we were able to take all our departments with us at a pace that suited them and subsequent feedback on the roll out has been overwhelmingly positive.

    Student support is an emotive area, and it’s important to recognise existing best practice alongside the benefits of change. While we should acknowledge the great work many have done and continue to do, it is also important to recognise the pressure providing pastoral support can put on colleagues. We were keen to ensure that specialising support wasn’t seen as a criticism but a way to relieve pressure on colleagues and ensure more sustainable support for our whole community.

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  • The National Audit Office’s review of UKRI has lessons for the government

    The National Audit Office’s review of UKRI has lessons for the government

    It should come as little surprise – given the scale and complexity of the challenge – that the government sees investing in research and innovation (R&I), and the accompanying promise of new technologies and ideas, as key to achieving its complex policy goals of growing the economy, transitioning to clean power, and modernising the NHS.

    After all, history shows that state backing of R&I to overcome a range of problems – particularly in times of crisis – is hardly a novel idea. If the rapid technological advances witnessed in the 1940s to support the war effort are receding further into the past, then memories of the mass Covid-19 vaccine rollout at least remain fresh.

    With this in mind, the government’s commitment “to promote innovation and harness the full potential of the UK’s science base” through “protecting record funding for research and development” is merely the latest example of those in power acknowledging the vast capacity of R&I to transform society.

    This tradition at least partly explains the strong international reputation the UK has accumulated over the years in the field of R&I, with UK Research and Innovation (UKRI) – the country’s largest single public funder of R&I – at the forefront.

    In 2023–24, UKRI assessed 28,866 applications for competitive grant funding, ultimately spending £6 billion on R&I grants. Its recently approved projects have included funding for very early-stage research in microbial fuel cells and hydrogen purification, and the development of bone stem cell and biomaterial technology to reduce infection rates and the cost of hip repairs.

    In short, UKRI plays a critical role in the country’s R&I ecosystem, supporting cutting-edge work that feeds not only into the government’s environmental and health policy ambitions, but in other areas too.

    And by looking at the effectiveness of UKRI’s grant support, the National Audit Office (NAO) has identified some lessons for government that can serve a very useful, and much broader, purpose when it comes to tackling the major challenges facing the country.

    Lessons learned

    First is the importance of taking a planned and coordinated approach to R&I, which involves using good quality information on funding and knowing how to build a base to innovate in each research area. Government departments should be aware of other organisations with related objectives, determine whether they are also putting funds or resources into trying to innovate in that area, and identify potential linkages with their own workstreams.

    This “portfolio” approach to innovation is a key component in well-managed risk taking, which brings us to our second lesson: the need to establish a clear and effective risk appetite, and put in place the organisational cultures and processes that can support bold decision-making. Innovation – the act or process of doing something that has not been done before – goes hand-in-hand with risk. Embracing it requires the knowledge and the confidence in accepting that things may not turn out quite as intended, or may even fail together.

    The head of the NAO said as much in his recent address in Parliament, where he called on the government to unlock the vast opportunities for boosting productivity and strengthening resilience in the public sector by adopting a fast-learning approach when investing in innovation: in other words, learning quickly what works and what does not, so that failed projects can be promptly scrapped in favour of redirecting energy and resources to more promising ideas.

    Ultimately, a coherent, comprehensive and clearly communicated risk appetite can help organisations reap substantial rewards, more than offsetting the disappointment of unsuccessful ventures.

    Third is the caveat that while a clear plan, coordination and risk appetite can lead to successes, the full benefits of innovation cannot be realised without effective monitoring and evaluation. As well as evaluating programmes on a macro level, organisations should regularly draw together learning by theme (such as in a specific research area), with the support of strong data systems. Doing so can ensure that they effectively capture cumulative learning and develop a well-rounded understanding of which innovations are working well, which ones are not, and why.

    Across the whole of government

    Arguably the most important lesson of all, however, is remembering that these insights cut across the whole of government and need not be strictly applied to the domain of R&I. The projects funded by UKRI may be operating on the frontier of scientific and technological research, but this does not mean that what we learn about their approaches to innovation cannot be applied to other government contexts.

    If government is to achieve its long-term policy goals, it must do more to identify the public spaces where innovation is lacking, and take measures to reverse this trend. This includes breaking down the barriers that are preventing some organisations from adopting the right culture to allow innovation to flourish. It would do well to start with taking on board some of the lessons learned from UKRI’s approach.

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  • Labour is learning the wrong lessons from Reform on immigration

    Labour is learning the wrong lessons from Reform on immigration

    The working classes are an easy foil for the dreams of conservative politicians. They are the salt of the earth, proper people who do real stuff, unlike the woke metropolitan elite who sit around and think things but are removed from the real world.

    As Joel Budd points out in his new book Underdogs The Truth About Britain’s White Working Class, they are to the conservative imagination “sensible truth-tellers and bulwarks against left-wing nonsense.” Even more so they are the consensus position on immigration “The mass immigration that the elite has tolerated is crushing their wages, burdening the public services they rely on and filling their neighbourhood with strangers.” As Budd also points out this, well, isn’t true. In 2024 they voted for Starmer’s Labour Party who campaigned on public finances, NHS, and inflation.

    New Labour old problems

    It is with this in mind that Labour’s response to Reform’s election performance is as wrong as it is entirely predictable. Its wrongness could have significant consequences for universities.

    Let’s start with the big results. In May’s local elections in England Reform gained 677 councillors,ten councils, two mayors, and an MP. The votes are spread across the country but as John Curtice points out for the BBC there is an education faultline.

    Reform did best in places that most overwhelmingly voted for Brexit. University graduates overwhelmingly did not vote for Brexit. Reform received less than 20 per cent of the vote in wards where more than two in five people have a degree compared to 43 per cent in wards where over half of adults have few qualifications. As Curtice states

    In summary, Reform did best in what has sometimes been characterised in the wake of the Brexit referendum as ‘left-behind’ Britain – places that have profited less from globalisation and university expansion and where a more conservative outlook on immigration is more common.

    The policy solution alighted on by outriders in the Labour Party has so far been to say that Reform has done well therefore Labour should do things that appeal to the kind of people that vote for Reform. Or, at least, the kind of things Labour assumes appeal to the people that vote for Reform. And one of the key assumptions is that getting immigration down, whoever those immigrants might be, including students, is necessary for their electoral survival.

    Blue Labour redux

    University of Oxford graduate, and Blue Labour standard bearer, Jonathan Hinder MP has said he would not be “that disappointed” if universities went bust because of reducing international student immigration. Presumably he does not mean his own alma mater. Jo White, of the Red Wall Caucus, has urged Labour to “take a leaf out of President Trump’s book” when it comes to immigration. The end of the Labour Party which purports to be closer to its working class roots is moving rapidly and decisively against immigration. Tightening restrictions on graduates, and by extension making the UK a less attractive place to study, has been reported as an idea winning favour at the Home Office.

    The issue with the general public is that it is complicated. On its own, reducing student immigration will not win Labour a single vote in Runcorn in Helsby where Reform most recently won an MP. For a start Runcorn does not have a university so it will certainly not address immigration issues brought up during the election. Runcorn does however have several organisations that benefit from a vibrant university sector. SME net-zero collaboration with Lancaster. INEOS which benefits from the proximity of a university workforce and industrial collaborations. And Riverside College, amongst other examples, as a franchise partner of the University of Staffordshire.

    It is also worth making entirely clear that people in Runcorn also go to university. It’s a particular fault of both an understanding of class and an understanding of universities that this conflation is often made.

    Immigration, immigration, immigration

    If reducing student immigration will not make a material difference perhaps it will signal a vibes shift that will bring places like Runcorn on side. Again, here is where the working class will let you down. Analysis of the British Election Study collated by Joel Budd demonstrates that “Young white working-class people are not as liberal as young white middle-class people. But when it comes to immigration and race, they resemble them more closely than they resemble old white working-class people.” Again, there is just not a long term winning strategy in discouraging student and graduate migration.

    For universities this might be comforting but it isn’t the point.

    The extent to which anyone is willing to defend student immigration is the question of the extent to which they are willing to defend the value of universities. The value of universities is felt in exports and jobs but it is most directly felt on the extent to which the effects of a university make a place feel better. The thing that Boris Johnson, or at least his advisors, understood that higher education consistently has not is that people see politics through their places. Crime. Clean high streets. Local shops. Good jobs. Green spaces. Feeling safe to go out at night. And the myriad of tangible things that make up a place.

    In policy terms the absolute antithesis of levelling up are reforms which will depress international student numbers. The last thing Runcorn needs is a poorer Liverpool and weaker universities. The challenge for universities is to tilt the scale toward being popular not just being valuable. So popular as to make decisions on cutting student immigration culturally and electorally harder not just economically wrongheaded.

    The question then is how can universities do things in places that feel like they are doing good as well as actually doing good.

    A day like today is not for soundbites

    A key question is how infrastructure can be use toward a broad and good civic end. For example, of all of the things that the University of Liverpool did during Covid (of which there were many I have direct experience of, having worked there), the one that looms largest in my memory is when it gave up its car parks for NHS staff. Not the vaccines it helped develop or the PPE it manufactured but a low cost, high kindness gesture that resonated with people at the time. The other part of this is how largely universities loom in local communities. The extent to which their infrastructure, offices, shops, cafes, and other buildings and amenities are dispersed across the towns, cities, and localities so their presence has a resonance with the lives of people from day to day. People will often be aware of a university where it precedes the word hospital. There are opportunities for other collaborative infrastructures.

    Universities tend to be pretty good at turning their research into lectures, experiments, and days out for young people in an education setting. They are less good at making their research experiential for adults. Light Years by the University of Durham (full disclosure: I volunteer in supporting this work) has taken research to places people actually gather, places of worship, highstreets, and places of local interest across Durham county, as opposed to just the city.

    And it’s harder to articulate or even work out, but the extent to which local people feel universities are on their side matters. The cultural closeness universities build to their populations is not always about what they do but whether local people feeling it’s “their” or “the” university. There is no magic bullet for this beyond the slow grind of knowing a local place and acting with it.

    The political vibes risk overtaking a political reality. The key to Labour winning back its voters is to make tangible differences in the places they live. The economic headroom for them to do that runs through higher education institutions and their success. The permission to do so depends on people feeling like universities are a thing worth saving even with difficult political trades offs.

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  • Your Work Counts More Than Ever: Lessons From a Lifetime in HR

    Your Work Counts More Than Ever: Lessons From a Lifetime in HR

    by Christy Williams | April 2, 2025

    With the constant flow of breaking news impacting higher ed recently, maintaining focus on your mission-driven work and its importance is increasingly difficult. That’s why taking a breather every once in a while — and reminding yourself (and your team!) that your work matters more than ever — is essential.

    As Cheryl Guerin, associate vice president of human resources at Dartmouth College, reminds us in Our Work Matters: Gems From a Lifetime in Higher Ed HR, “The work we do matters, and people matter more.” She emphasizes the relationship aspect of HR, insisting that the sometimes-intangible work matters most.

    In stressing the power of relationships, Guerin also asserts that our willingness to learn from those relationships is vital. Here are some of the lessons she has learned over her 30-year career in higher ed HR.

    Connection Is Key

    Higher ed HR professionals often handle sensitive and complex issues, but that doesn’t mean the workplace has to be devoid of camaraderie. In fact, fostering a positive and connected work environment can strengthen our teams, build trust and even improve problem-solving.

    • Keep It Simple — Offer time for connection — and food if you can. These two seemingly small things can make a huge impact. A workplace survey found that “three types of social opportunities were almost universally ranked highest on the list, no matter how we cut the data: free communal lunches, meetings that devote time to personal chitchat and happy hours.”
    • Recognize Employees — Recognition doesn’t have to be expensive or difficult. Your enterprise software might offer ways of sending customized thank-you notes, for example. If the budget allows, consider purchasing thank-you cards with your institution’s branding — a tangible way for colleagues and supervisors to show appreciation that also provides a lasting reminder of someone’s impact.

    The Power of Self-Reflection

    Not every workplace relationship is easy, and for higher ed HR professionals, navigating challenging dynamics can be emotionally draining. When tensions arise, you might feel frustrated or stuck. That’s why self-reflection is key to maintaining professionalism, resilience and personal well-being.

    Rather than reacting emotionally or feeling powerless, taking a step back — what Guerin calls “getting up in the balcony” — allows for a shift in perspective. This approach encourages curiosity over frustration, helping you assess situations more objectively and question assumptions rather than jumping to conclusions.

    • Develop a Reflective Practice — When workplace tensions arise, take a moment to assess your reactions. Ask yourself, “What else might be true?” to challenge assumptions and consider different perspectives.
    • Embrace Acceptance Without Complacency — Not every difficult relationship can or needs to be changed. Sometimes, the best approach is to acknowledge the situation as it is while focusing on what is within your control — your response and your mindset.

    Your Teammates Are Your Safety Net

    The most enduring and meaningful work relationships go beyond just collaboration — they become a foundation of trust, support and shared experiences. Whether you’re covering lunch breaks for one another, offering help in times of need, or simply being a consistent presence through years of change, connections with colleagues reinforce that, while the work is important, the people behind it matter even more.

    • Invest in Your Work Relationships — Make time to build connections with colleagues beyond daily tasks. Small acts of support and camaraderie can create a lasting foundation of trust.
    • Recognize the Human Side of HR — HR professionals spend so much time supporting others, but you also need a strong network. Cultivating relationships within your team and with your CUPA-HR colleagues ensures that when challenges arise, you have a reliable safety net.

    In higher ed HR, the work you do is critical, but the relationships you build along the way are just as important. By fostering connection, practicing self-reflection and supporting your teammates, you create a stronger, more resilient workplace. Investing in these relationships not only makes the challenges more manageable but also makes our shared journey more meaningful.

    Related CUPA-HR Resources

    Our Work Matters: Gems From a Lifetime in Higher Ed HR (CUPA-HR’s Higher Ed HR Magazine)

    Leading With Kindness: Characteristics of Caring Work Cultures (CUPA-HR’s Higher Ed HR Magazine)

    Organizational Culture & Climate Toolkit

    Recalibrating Employee Recognition in Higher Education (CUPA-HR’s Higher Ed HR Magazine)



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  • 5 powerful ways to link STEM lessons to real-world applications

    5 powerful ways to link STEM lessons to real-world applications

    Key points:

    “Why are we learning this?”

    This is a question every educator has faced before. To be fair, it’s a valid question. Students are naturally curious, and it’s normal for them to wonder about the knowledge that they’re acquiring. The real issue is how we, as educators, choose to respond to them.

    In my experience, teachers have two standard replies to this question:

    1. They’ll try to explain the subject in detail, which results in a long-winded answer that confuses their students and doesn’t satisfy them.
    2. They’ll argue that the information is important because it’s on an upcoming test, which typically leaves students feeling frustrated and disengaged.

    Either way, the result is the same: Students lose all legitimacy in the lesson and they’re unable to connect with the content.

    If we want our students to engage with the material in a way that’s memorable, meaningful, and fun, then we need to help them discover why it is important. Teachers can accomplish this by introducing real-world connections into the lesson, which reveal how the information that students acquire can be practically applied to real-world problems.

    Without building these connections between the concepts our students learn and real-world applications, students lose interest in what they are learning. Using the strategies below, you can start to build student investment into your classroom content.

    The everyday enigma

    Use everyday items that operate with mystery and frame your lesson around them. Your students’ curiosity will drive them to learn more about the object and how it functions. This allows students to see that the small concepts they are learning are leading to the understanding of an object that they interact with daily. When choosing an item, pick one that is familiar and one that has multiple STEM elements. For example, you could use a copper wire to discuss electrical currents, a piece of an automobile to explore chemistry and combustion, or shark teeth when teaching about animal adaptations and food chains.  

    Interest intersect

    Connect your students’ personal hobbies to the subject matter. For instance, if you have a student who is really passionate about soccer, try having them create a mini poster that connects the sport to the concepts learned in class. This gets them to think creatively about the purpose of content. This strategy has the additional benefit of helping teachers learn more about their students, creating opportunities to build communication and rapport.

    Get an expert

    Invite professionals (scientists, engineers, etc.) to talk with your class. This gives students a first-hand account of how the concepts they are learning can be applied to different careers. If you’re teaching chemistry, consider inviting a nurse or doctor to share how this subject applies to human health. If you’re teaching math, a local architect can expound on how angles and equations literally shape the homes in which students live. Not only does this provide a real-world example of students, but it helps schools connect with their community, creating vital relationships in the process.           

    Problem to progress

    Create an engineering investigation based on a local, real-world problem. For instance, I once knew a music teacher who was frustrated because pencils would regularly fall off his music stands. I challenged my 5th grade students to create a solution using the engineering design process. Not only did they succeed, but the experience allowed my students to see the real-world results of the inventions they created. When students understand that their work can make a tangible difference, it completely changes their relationship with the material.  

    Project-based learning

    Project-based learning is driven by inquiry and student ownership. This allows students to make contributions to the real world through hands-on investigations. What makes these inquiry-focused lessons so useful is that students are the driving force behind them. They choose how to approach the information, what questions to pursue, and what solutions they want to test. This makes the learning intensely personal while taking advantage of students’ natural curiosity, creativity, and critical-thinking skills. If you need a little help getting started, consider using one of these Blue Apple projects from Inquiry Outpost.

    By linking our STEM lessons to real-world experiences, teachers can provide a meaningful answer to the age-old question of, “Why are we learning this?” We can equip our students with the skills to not only navigate everyday challenges but also create positive change within their own communities. So, let’s empower young learners to see the relevance of STEM in their lives, and lay a strong learning foundation that will support them well beyond the classroom.

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  • Lessons from Australia on how to do R&D consultations well

    Lessons from Australia on how to do R&D consultations well

    Australia’s R&D sector is afflicted by challenges that will be familiar to UK readers.

    The proportion of GDP spent on research is too low. Business adoption and innovation in R&D is too shallow. Collaboration between business and academia is poor. Reliance on international student fees to fund research has rendered the entire system fragile. And the immobility of academics is stymieing the cross-pollination of ideas.

    However, the Australian government has a plan.

    Back in December the Australian government launched its Strategic Examination of Research and Development. At the time I said the review was about

    […]maximising the value of R&D, improving links between research and the real economy, supporting research mobility, advancing national priorities such as growth, growing research intensity, and doing so with due regard to regional distribution, risk, and international competitiveness.

    Bits and pieces

    In effect, unlike the innumerable reviews we have seen in the UK the Australian government is taking a look at the entire research ecosystem. A sensible approach for a system where improving R&D, in whatever form, relies on funding, funders, researchers, institutes, incentives, governments, the private sector, universities, and many actors besides all working in harmony.

    The Australian government has now launched their discussion paper and the potential for a new R&D system is starting to come into view.

    It is interesting that Australia believes the UK as a country to learn from

    Other countries, such as the UK, USA, China, Israel and Singapore, have successfully adopted new strategies for leveraging R&D and innovation for social and economic gain.

    Most impartial observers would not put the UK’s ability to deploy R&D in the same league as the USA and China, the UK’s GDP investment is well behind Israel’s, while Singapore has rapidly grown its financial and manufacturing base in a way the UK has not. However, where there is a shared ambition is the sense Australia hasn’t quite met its potential.

    Tough clear choices

    This consultation is written in a way that UK consultations are not. The starting premise of this discussion paper is that economic growth is predicated on research, research should benefit all of society, and therefore society as a whole should have a say in how research is funded and organised. This isn’t a document which talks down but it has a clarity that brings the sometimes turgid prose of the UK government’s commissions into share relief.

    The below caps off the executive summary and it is hard to imagine this appearing in the UK

    Boosting a focus on R&D will prevent Australia’s slide into mediocrity. It will ensure we will be offered a seat at the international table at which big global decisions are made – because we earn it.

    The UK has a greater research capacity than Australia in many ways but to frame the need to grow research as central to the entire future of the country is a bold thing to do. It’s exciting, and it encourages participation.

    The discussion paper sets out what the Australian government is seeking to achieve through this intervention. It is trying to create a more productive, sustainable, and resilient economy through improving the conditions through which research is created, adopted, and diffused.

    Like their UK counterparts the Australian government cannot resist an extremely complex research diagram with a dizzying array of arrows and pie charts to indicate inter-relationships between government and its partners.

    However, the underlying message is clear. Put in place the right set of regulations, policies and funds to allow a variety of research approaches to grow, have clear feedback loops in place with appropriate measurement, and a range of cultural, social, economic, and knowledge benefits can be realised.

    Trade off

    An important departure from the UK is that the trade-offs between policy choices are made clear. Because UK R&D consultations are often single issue it is too easy to advocate for policies without worrying about the consequences. In one consultation I can ask for the Full Economic Cost of research. In another I can ask for a greater variety of research proposals to be funded. And in another I can ask for an increase in PGR places without reducing money in cost recovery or the funding of programmes. Historically, this has meant that the UK has done some things well but has never looked at everything across the ecosystem all at once.

    The Australian review by contrast makes the trade-offs pretty clear. If funding is spread too thinly across the entire country, and if the country cannot rapidly mobilise private investment, there is clearly a choice to be made on whether to concentrate funding or live with this thin spread. There is a clear choice on whether to try to leverage R&D to prop up traditional industries like mining or shift focus into new and emerging technologies. There are clear links between the need for a more diverse workforce and diversity as a means of meeting the skills gaps within R&D. And it is stark in the lack of alternatives to crowding in more private investment to grow Australia’s R&D economy.

    In all, it feels like a document that aims toward interested observers without patronising the wider R&D community. Its framing is honest with the university sector and makes the challenges the university sector faces clear. For example, it pulls few punches in explaining that while a system of research dependent on student funding allows for great freedom this isn’t an effective way to organise funding and strategy in a coherent way.

    The last bit of the discussion paper is that it tells participants what will happen next. This discussion paper is the start of the analyse stage of the strategy. There will be time to test things out, iterate them, and then decide what will happen. Again, it’s clear, the call to take part is grounded in a shared reality, and the language is clear without being patronising.

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  • Lessons for new leaders from longtime marcomm staff

    Lessons for new leaders from longtime marcomm staff

    Over the past five years of conducting organizational capability assessments of higher education marketing and communications departments, my colleagues and I have interviewed hundreds of internal stakeholders. It’s the most fascinating aspect of the work, hearing directly from campus colleagues both inside and outside the department about their perspectives and experiences related to organizational life and departmental effectiveness.

    Through these conversations, valuable insights have emerged thanks to longtime marcomm staff—those team members who have contributed 10 or more years of professional service to their departments. (Note: I use the term “marcomm” to reflect that a blended marketing and communications structure is the typical model in higher education. The nuance and complexity of marketing and communications as distinct but related functions are topics for another post.)

    These insights, framed as reflection questions below, are especially relevant for leaders beginning a new senior role, such as a cabinet-level VP, CMCO or an executive director leading the marcomm function for an academic college or school.

    1. Is “restructuring” an end or a means?

    When longtime staff members discuss organizational structure changes, their healthy skepticism is palpable. They invariably associate these changes with leadership transitions. A “re-org” happened because there was a new VP (just as strategic plans often coincide with new presidents). The perceived impetus for change is simply having new leadership rather than any larger strategic purpose. We frequently hear some version of, “The structure changes and then eventually changes back with a different VP.”

    I’d much rather staff members describe those structural changes as enabling their function to fulfill a more strategic role and more meaningfully advance the institution’s highest priorities. It’s a reminder to leaders that structure should follow strategy, so the task is to ensure that the strategy is clear, reinforced and reflected in decision-making.

    Moreover, leaders should move beyond thinking in terms of discrete “restructures” or “re-orgs.” Organizational change isn’t a periodic event; top-performing departments are constantly adapting and evolving to best serve their guiding purpose amidst changing conditions.

    1. What is the real value of institutional knowledge?

    We undervalue institutional knowledge. Your longtime staff members possess deep institutional knowledge, which we unfortunately may dismiss as outdated or irrelevant. Instead, think of institutional knowledge as a source for critical context and sense making to help you navigate the road ahead and lead positive change.

    ​​In The Practice of Adaptive Leadership, Heifetz, Linsky and Grashow emphasize that “successful adaptive changes build on the past rather than jettison it.” The challenge for leaders lies in “distinguishing what is essential to preserve from their organization’s heritage from what is expendable.” Long-tenured staff members’ insights and institutional knowledge are invaluable in building this understanding.

    As the authors note, “Successful adaptations are thus both conservative and progressive. They make the best possible use of previous wisdom and know-how. The most effective leadership anchors change in the values, competencies and strategic orientations that should endure in the organization.” New senior leaders, eager to deliver results or serve as change agents, may overlook this crucial balance.

    1. What does upskilling require of the organization?

    The responsibilities of longtime staff members have likely evolved significantly since their initial hiring. New or different types of work are needed as marcomm’s scope expands, audience preferences shift and technologies emerge. Growing these competencies is a shared responsibility requiring genuine organizational commitment. The onus cannot rest solely on individual staff members. Upskilling or reskilling demands adequate time and resources—even when workloads are heavy and budgets are constrained.

    Professional development funding is often the first casualty of budget reductions. But if the organizational approach to professional development has been mostly reactive, then we shouldn’t be surprised by the lack of budget prioritization. This ad hoc approach to professional development points to a larger issue: the absence of formalized talent management practices in marketing and communications.

    Where can you build more intentionality into your organization’s efforts to recruit, develop, support and retain staff? Look to your central human resources team for guidance and learn from your colleagues in advancement, where larger and more mature advancement operations have dedicated talent management functions. Start small by operationalizing your department’s practices in a specific area such as orientation and onboarding. These focused efforts can create momentum for broader talent management initiatives.

    Long-serving staff members serve as both historians and bridges to the future, stewarding institutional values while helping new executives thoughtfully evolve their organizations. When properly engaged and supported, these veteran team members can be catalysts in your efforts to build—or further build—a high-performing department that drives lasting institutional progress. I hope these reflection questions prompt ideas that help your marketing and communications department be people centered and future ready.

    Rob Zinkan is vice president for marketing leadership at RHB, a division of Strata Information Group. He joined RHB in 2019 after more than 20 years in higher education administration with senior positions in marketing and advancement. He also teaches graduate courses as an adjunct in strategic communications and higher education leadership.

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  • Lessons for leaders from the campus encampments

    Lessons for leaders from the campus encampments

    It’s neither a personal nor an especially novel observation to suggest that both in the UK and across North America and Western Europe, debates about campus climate, culture and freedom of speech were upended on 7 October 2023.

    It’s not the purpose of the report, but you can really feel some of the contradictions coming to a head in Josh Freeman’s terrific new HEPI report on the Encampments protesting for Palestine and the response to them, tentatively timed to offer early reflections now that a ceasefire has been secured.

    What until October 7 had been a rhetorically wide framing of freedom of speech and a pretty narrow one over protection from harm and harassment was always going to be challenged when speech took the form of pro-Palestine placards rather than the punch and judy of rarified Russell Group debating societies.

    And while plenty of people still pretend that there are no “fine lines” and contradictions between, say, expressions of pro-Palestinian solidarity and antisemitism, Freeman’s report lays out the realities and complexities of universities, their students’ unions and students themselves being expected to tread and police those lines.

    I was struck, reading the report, by the contradictions between the way in which student “debaters” (the subject of a previous report from Freeman) and student activists of the sort in the encampments are often framed in terms of what they represent – the former is often assumed to be a near-universal experience or at least an ideal, while the latter are painted as an angry mob that often aren’t even students anyway.

    Both, in truth, are pretty unrepresentative of the contemporary higher education experience, both can seem like indulgences that many students are unable to afford, but both do have an influence on students’ understanding of the world. The fact that both appear to be largely confined to the Russell Group could easily be a source of shame rather than relief.

    Motivations and disruptions

    There’s a good methodology to the report that some tend to turn their nose up at when used on other issues – it’s basically a qualitative, case study-based approach, drawing on lived experiences through semi-structured interviews with key players – student protestors, university staff, students’ union officers, and Jewish students – while triangulating these insights with documentary analysis of public statements and social media discourse.

    As a result, there are some fascinating insights from Freeman. Fairly early on, he notes that in the student interviews, many were motivated by factors which, at least at face value, went far beyond the situation in Gaza – referring to other factors like islamophobia, tuition fees, staff pay and pensions, mental health or even the freedom to protest:

    These issues were rarely mentioned in encampments’ official demands but they appear to have been significant motivators to join the protests.

    There’s also a clutch of material on the way in which the encampments themselves operated – laying bare both aspects and incidents of obvious antisemitism, but also anguish about the right (and for some, perceived duty) to object to and highlight the actions of Israel throughout the war, and the way in which those protestors knew that that might be misinterpreted.

    Material on “disruption” is interesting too. Freeman identifies both an oft-denied truism – that this kind of “speech” is designed to be disruptive – and a less-understood concern of some protestors that keeping students on side by not excessively disrupting their education was important.

    The section on the “institutional response” is particularly helpful, mainly because it draws comparisons in the approach on engagement. The running theme is that where – either by chance or by design – institutional managers and student protesters were caused to meet and discuss as people, some inching away from simplistic demonisation was possible and helpful. By contrast, it looks like a lack of engagement allowed a simplistic framing – of protester as terrorist, and university manager as oppressor – to unhelpfully persist.

    Freeman also reflects on the learning made possible by those encounters:

    The ultimate goals of discussions should be learning, on the one hand – these examples suggest institutions still have much to learn from their students – and explaining, on the other, why some demands are not feasible.

    Another aspect of the diversity in approaches relates to “demands”. The old “give them an inch and they’ll take a mile” approach to students can be seen in this quote:

    It would create two categories of students … it would give them a carte blanche for any kind of behaviour.

    …while others were perceptive enough to recognise that hard and fast rules can look quite silly quite quickly when it’s often context that counts:

    It’s a special situation, an emotional issue. It’s okay to call this a one-off. Though some have said we are setting a bad precedent by allowing this behaviour.

    That’s true too over a running theme in the narrative amongst protesters – that taking an early and unequivocal stance on Ukraine in the way that most of the sector did was, for them, incompatible with a sudden concern for neutrality over Israel/Palestine.

    Frustratingly, Freeman even reports that after accusations of being “hypocrites”, “several” senior staff said that, on reflection, their institutions would avoid political statements entirely in the future – as if carefully crafted regulations will always trump context. They won’t.

    I’d also tentatively add that while it was undoubtedly true that:

    …In comparison with the Marking and Assessment Boycott, there is tiny traffic from students. To the bulk of our students, it [the conflict] is not on their radar. We have had a few hundred emails on divestment, but they are the same people writing over and over, with the same template.

    …one might argue that a huge international conflict, with significant global implications, might cause one to wonder why more students weren’t engaged, particularly in universities where “activism” is more a rarity than a rhythm.

    Threats, reputation and officialdom

    There are, inevitably, some pointed observations both about government and the Office for Students – which to this day has said almost nothing about so many of the edge cases of freedom v harm involved in Israel/Palestine, despite being in the process of launching two new “sandbags on the see saw” in the form of free speech duties and anti-harassment duties.

    Universities – perhaps it was always thus – were neither to be trusted nor offered much in the way of help when being left to resolve the tensions themselves:

    They’ve left us to it. That may have been the best thing.

    In a week when student activists appear to have brought down a populist Prime Minister in Serbia, I was also especially interested in Freeman’s observations about the relationship between what we might call the “official” voice of students – students’ unions – and the activists in the encampments.

    Before I even got to page 35, for example, I knew that words to this effect would appear somewhere:

    We engage with the Students’ Union as they are the democratically elected representatives, not with some small group of people, most of whom have nothing to do with the University or its community.

    I would note in eyebrow-raising passing that I’ve often come across that view from those who tend, in other contexts, to challenge the representativeness of their students’ union when advancing recommendations or opinions.

    But more broadly, I tend to adopt a straightforward principle when an organised group of students decides that the “official” channel of communication isn’t cutting the mustard – they often have a point. That’s partly because, back on that “hard and fast rule” thing, some SUs (and their universities) can take their apoliticism and desire to be seen to be supporting all students too far – overcooking reputational or charity law fears, and undercooking their role as clearing houses for often opposed student opinion.

    When Freeman recommends that:

    Distinguishing between the collective position of the students’ union on the one hand and the stances of individual elected officers on the other, so elected officers can remain true to their own views and the mandate they were elected on, while allowing the students’ union to remain apolitical, follow charity law and be representative of the wider student body.

    …it also seems fairly clear that the “own views” aspect of that doesn’t mean silence in the way that has been imposed for many an SU officer with strong views on the issues.

    Mediation and advocacy

    What’s helpful in the report is the description of the positive role that many SU officers and staff played in the process as mediators (supporting both encampments and institutions to reach a resolution), as intermediaries (passing “intelligence” between encampments and institutions), and as advocates to make sure the voices of all students are heard roles that many of their staff (outside a handful) are neither routinely funded for nor recognised.

    And as Freeman puts it when discussing allegations of illegitimacy:

    But rather than undermining the positions of elected officers, it might be more productive to work with the SU to create an effective process for dialogue with all groups of students. When the main mechanism for students to contribute to institutional policy does not function properly, it may explain why many students choose to bypass their unions and channel their frustrations through protest.

    I discussed some of the differences between what we might call the “official” student movement and the activists leading the blockades in Serbia in my write up on that issue elsewhere on the site – and I’m struck by the character of the past 18 months’ pro-Palestinian activism when compared to previous intensifications of the Middle East conflict.

    For many years, the “voice” of such activism tended to be the Federation of Islamic Student Societies (FOSIS), often setting up an arguably unhelpful and simplistic link between Jewish students, the Union of Jewish Students and a “pro Israel” position on the one hand, and Muslim students, FOSIS and a “pro Palestinian” position on the other.

    For all sorts of obvious reasons, the simplicity of those links and resultant “sides” was always problematic – it has never been just Muslim students and Jewish students caught up in debates over the conflict, and there have always been significant differences of opinion on the conflict within those “sides”.

    But it’s also true to say that both UJS and FOSIS were able to act in an “official” student representative role in a similar way to that that Freeman frames students’ unions as inhabiting – able to speak to power, their own members, and through NUS, each other. In recent years, FOSIS has fallen away in prominence – the channel for much of the anger and activism now represented by the Palestinian Solidarity Campaign and related offshoots – while UJS has tended to focus its efforts on persuading power to exert authority over antisemitism.

    That is not to suggest that either is wrong, or illegitimate, or especially problematic – but it has meant that in this phase of the Middle East crisis, one “side” has looked very official, while the “other” has looked like the opposite. In a climate where words like “oppressor” get attached to one side and “terrorist” to the other, those types of perhaps accidental perceptions are likely to have clouded wider students’ engagement in and understanding of what has been happening.

    Partnership and power

    Bringing both Serbia and the HEPI paper together, in quieter moments this week I’ve been caused to re-read this terrific paper from Simon Varwell on citizen participation in an era of emergency decision-making.

    Varwell is a former staffer from Sparqs – the little known (outside of Scotland) student participation “agency” originally set up to give a boost to class rep training north of the border. It rarely gets the credit it deserves from Scottish ministers or Principals, but it’s much more than its roots as a train the trainer scheme for reps these days – producing acres of intelligent and helpful material that has helped to engender partnership between students and universities in Scotland more generally.

    His paper – written in the teeth of the Covid crisis – makes a compelling argument that what Sherry Arnstein described in the late 60s as a “ladder” of participation pretty much turned into a circle during the pandemic – where the very highest and lowest levels of student engagement overlapped in a zone of anger and conflict.

    I think that argument matters – not especially from a tactical point of view, but because it’s clear that in some universities, notions of “partnership” melt away quickly when something more “serious” or “risky” is on the table – whether that’s making cuts to provision, handling Covid, or dealing with ministerial and press interest in a protest or “woke” initiative on campus.

    Partnership can mean all sorts of things to all sorts of people. But fundamentally it’s about sharing power, both between groups of students and between students and their university.

    Few would argue that partnerships of the latter should be “equal”. But when what is sold as a safe environment doesn’t feel like it, and when what is promoted as way of having your voice heard or your interests met feels like being ignored or marginalised, “senior” partners should always be mindful that universities aren’t schools, authority tends to depend on consent, and whatever the weight of expectation on the “grown ups” to crack down and control, conflict almost always requires both mediation and mutual respect.

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  • Lessons Learned from the AI Learning Designer Project –

    Lessons Learned from the AI Learning Designer Project –

    We recently wrapped up our AI Learning Design Assistant (ALDA) project. It was a marathon. Multiple universities and sponsors participated in a seven-month intensive workshop series to learn how AI can assist in learning design. The ALDA software, which we tested together as my team and I built it, was an experimental apparatus designed to help us learn various lessons about AI in education.

    And learn we did. As I speak with project participants about how they want to see the work continue under ALDA’s new owner (and my new employer), 1EdTech, I’ll use this post to reflect on some lessons learned so far. I’ll finish by reflecting on possible futures for ALDA.

    (If you want a deeper dive from a month before the last session, listen to Jeff Young’s podcast interview with me on EdSurge. I love talking with Jeff. Shame on me for not letting you know about this conversation sooner.)

    AI is a solution that needs our problems

    The most fundamental question I wanted to explore with the ALDA workshop participants was, “What would you use AI for?” The question was somewhat complicated by AI’s state when I started development work about nine months ago. Back then, ChatGPT and its competitors struggled to follow the complex directions required for serious learning design work. While I knew this shortcoming would resolve itself through AI progress—likely by the time the workshop series was completed—I had to invest some of the ALDA software development effort into scaffolding the AI to boost its instruction-following capabilities at the time. I needed something vaguely like today’s AI capabilities back then to explore the questions we were trying to answer. Such as what we could be using AI for a year from then.

    Once ALDA could provide that performance boost, we came to the hard part. The human part. When we got down to the nitty-gritty of the question—What would you use this for?—many participants had to wrestle with it for a while. Even the learning designers working at big, centralized, organized shops struggled to break down their processes into smaller steps with documents the AI could help them produce. Their human-centric rules relied heavily on the humans to interpret the organizational rules as they worked organically through large chunks of design work. Faculty designing their own courses had a similar struggle. How is their work segmented? What are the pieces? Which pieces would they have an assistant work on if they had an assistant?

    The answers weren’t obvious. Participants had to discover them by experimenting throughout the workshop series. ALDA was designed to make that discovery process easier.

    A prompt engineering technique for educators: Chain of Inquiry

    Along with the starting question, ALDA had a starting hypothesis: AI can function as a junior learning designer.

    How does a junior learning designer function? It turns out that their primary tool is a basic approach that makes sense in an educator’s context and translates nicely into prompt engineering for AI.

    Learning designers ask their teaching experts questions. They start with general ones. Who are your students? What is your course about? What are the learning goals? What’s your teaching style?

    These questions get progressively more specific. What are the learning objectives for this lesson? How do you know when students have achieved those objectives? What are some common misconceptions they have?

    Eventually, the learning designer has built a clear enough mental model that they can draft a useful design document of some form or other.

    Notice the similarities and differences between this approach and scaffolding a student’s learning. Like scaffolding, Chain of Inquiry moves from the foundational to the complex. It’s not about helping the person being scaffolded with their learning, but it is intended to help them with their thinking. Specifically, the interview progression helps the educator being interviewed think more clearly about hard design problems by bringing relevant context into focus. This process of prompting the interviewee to recall salient facts relevant to thinking through challenging, detailed problems is very much like the AI prompt engineering strategy called Chain of Thought.

    In the interview between the learning designer and the subject-matter expert, the chain of thought they spin together is helpful to both parties for different reasons. It helps the learning designer learn while helping the subject-matter expert recall relevant details that help with thinking. The same is true in ALDA. The AI is learning from the interview, while the same process helps both parties focus on helpful context. I call this AI interview prompt style Chain of Inquiry. I hadn’t seen it used when I first thought of ALDA and haven’t seen it used much since then, either.

    In any case, it worked. Participants seem to grasp it immediately. Meanwhile, a well-crafted Chain of Inquiry prompt in ALDA produced much better documents after it elicited good information through interviews with its human partners.

    Improving mental models helps

    AI is often presented, sold, and designed to be used as a magic talking machine. It’s hard to imagine what you would and wouldn’t use a tool for if you don’t know what it does. We went at this problem through a combination of teaching, user interface design, and guided experimentation.

    On the teaching side, I emphasized that a generative AI model is a sophisticated pattern-matching and completion machine. If you say “Knock knock” to it, it will answer “Who’s there?” because it knows what usually comes after “Knock knock.” I spent some time building up this basic idea, showing the AI matching and completing more and more sophisticated patterns. Some participants initially reacted to this lesson as “not useful” or “irrelevant.” But it paid off over time as participants experienced that understanding helped them think more clearly about what to expect from the AI, with some additional help from ALDA’s design.

    ALDA’s basic structure is simple:

    1. Prompt Templates are re-usable documents that define the Chain of Inquiry interview process (although they are generic enough to support traditional Chain of Thought as well).
    2. Chats are where those interviews take place. This part of ALDA is similar to a typical ChatGPT-like experience, except that the AI asks questions first and provides answers later based on the instructions it receives from the Prompt Template.
    3. Lesson Drafts are where users can save the last step of a chat, which hopefully will be the draft of some learning design artifact they want to use. These drafts can be downloaded as Word or PDF documents and worked on further by the human.

    A lot of the magic of ALDA is in the prompt template page design. It breaks down the prompts into three user-editable parts:

    1. General Instructions provide the identity of the chatbot that guides its behavior, e.g., “I am ALDA, your AI Learning Design Assistant. My role is to work with you as a thoughtful, curious junior instructional designer with extensive training in effective learning practices. Together, we will create a comprehensive first draft of curricular materials for an online lesson. I’ll assist you in refining ideas and adapting to your unique context and style.

      “Important: I will maintain an internal draft throughout our collaboration. I will not display the complete draft at the end of each step unless you request it. However, I will remind you periodically that you can ask to see the full draft if you wish.

      “Important Instruction: If at any point additional steps or detailed outlines are needed, I will suggest them and seek your input before proceeding. I will not deviate from the outlined steps without your approval.

      “

    2. Output template provides an outline of the document that the AI is instructed to produce at the end of the interview.
    3. Steps provide the step-by-step process for the Chain of Inquiry.

    The UI reinforces the idea of pattern matching and completion. The Output Template gives the AI the structure of the document it is trying to complete by the end of the chat. The General Instructions and Steps work together to define the interview pattern the system should imitate as it tries to complete the document.

    Armed with the lesson and scaffolded by the template, participants got better over time at understanding how to think about asking the AI to do what they wanted it to do.

    Using AI to improve AI

    One of the biggest breakthroughs came with the release of a feature near the very end of the workshop series. It’s the “Improve” button at the bottom of the Template page.

    When the user clicks on that button, it sends whatever is in the template to ChatGPT. It also sends any notes the user enters, along with some behind-the-scenes information about how ALDA templates are structured.

    Template creators can start with a simple sentence or two in the General Instructions. Think of it as a starting prompt, e.g., “A learning design interview template for designing and drafting a project-based learning exercise.” The user can then tell “Improve” to create a full template based on that prompt. Because ALDA tells ChatGPT what a complete template looks like, the AI returns a full draft of all the fields ALDA needs to create a template. The user can then test that template and go back to the Improve window to ask for the AI to improve the template’s behavior or extend its functionality.

    Building this cycle into the process created a massive jump in usage and creativity among the participants who used it. I started seeing more and more varied templates pop up quickly. User satisfaction also improved significantly.

    So…what is it good for?

    The usage patterns turned out to be very interesting. Keep in mind that this is a highly unscientific review; while I would have liked to conduct a study or even a well-designed survey, the realities of building this on the fly as a solo operator managing outsourced developers limited me to anecdata for this round.

    The observations from the learning designers from large, well-orchestrated teams seem to line up with my theory that the big task will be to break down our design processes into chunks that are friendly to AI support. I don’t see a short-term scenario in which we can outsource all learning design—or replace it—with AI. (By the way, “air gapping” the AI, by which I mean conducting an experiment in which nothing the AI produced would reach students without human review, substantially reduced anxieties about AI and improved educators’ willingness to experiment and explore the boundaries.)

    For the individual instructors, particularly in institutions with few or no learning designers, I was pleasantly surprised to discover how useful ALDA proved to be in the middle of the term and afterward. We tend to think about learning design as a pre-flight activity. The reality is that educators are constantly adjusting their courses on the fly and spending time at the end to tweak aspects that didn’t work the way they liked. I also noticed that educators seemed interested in using AI to make it safer for them to try newer, more challenging pedagogical experiments like project-based learning or AI-enabled teaching exercises if they had ALDA as a thought partner that could both accelerate the planning and bring in some additional expertise. I don’t know how much of this can be attributed to the pure speed of the AI-enabled template improvement loop and how much the holistic experience helped them feel they understood and had control over ALDA in a way that other tools may not offer them.

    Possible futures for ALDA under 1EdTech

    As for what comes next, nothing has been decided yet. I haven’t been blogging much lately because I’ve been intensely focused on helping the 1EdTech team think more holistically about the many things the organization does and many more that we could do. ALDA is a piece of that puzzle. We’re still putting the pieces in place to determine where ALDA fits in.

    I’ll make a general remark about 1EdTech before exploring specific possible futures for ALDA. Historically, 1EdTech has solved problems that many of you don’t (and shouldn’t) know you could have. When your students magically appear in your LMS and you don’t have to think about how your roster got there, that was because of us. When you switch LMSs, and your students still magically appear, that’s 1EdTech. When you add one of the million billion learning applications to your LMS, that was us too. Most of those applications probably wouldn’t exist if we hadn’t made it easy for them to integrate with any LMS. In fact, the EdTech ecosystem as we know it wouldn’t exist. However much you may justifiably complain about the challenges of EdTech apps that don’t work well with each other, without 1EdTech, they mostly wouldn’t work with each other at all. A lot of EdTech apps simply wouldn’t exist for that reason.

    Still. That’s not nearly enough. Getting tech out of your way is good. But it’s not good enough. We need to identify real, direct educational problems and help to make them easier and more affordable to solve. We must make it possible for educators to keep up with changing technology in a changing world. ALDA could play several roles in that work.

    First, it could continue to function as a literacy teaching tool for educators. The ALDA workshops covered important aspects of understanding AI that I’ve not seen other efforts cover. We can’t know how we want AI to work in education without educators who understand and are experimenting with AI. I will be exploring with ALDA participants, 1EdTech members, and others whether there is the interest and funding we need to continue this aspect of the work. We could wrap some more structured analysis around future workshops to find out what the educators are learning and what we can learn from them.

    Speaking of which, ALDA can continue to function as an experimental apparatus. Learning design is a process that is largely dark to us. It happens in interviews and word processor documents on individual hard drives. If we don’t know where people need the help—and if they don’t know either—then we’re stuck. Product developers and innovators can’t design AI-enabled products to solve problems they don’t understand.

    Finally, we can learn the aspects of learning design—and teaching—that need to be taught to AI because the knowledge it needs isn’t written down in a form that’s accessible to it. As educators, we learn a lot of structure in the course of teaching that often isn’t written down and certainly isn’t formalized in most EdTech product data structures. How and when to probe for a misconception. What to do if we find one. How to give a hint or feedback if we want to get the student on track without giving away the answer. Whether you want your AI to be helping the educator or working directly with the student—which is not really an either/or question—we need AI to better understand how we teach and learn if we want it to get better at helping us with those tasks. Some of the learning design structures we need are related to deep aspects of how human brains work. Other structures evolve much more quickly, such as moving to skills-based learning. Many of these structures should be wired deep into our EdTech so you don’t have to think or worry about them. EdTech products should support them automatically. Something like ALDA could be an ongoing laboratory in which we test how educators design learning interventions, how those processes co-evolve with AI over time, and where feeding the AI evidence-based learning design structure could make it more helpful.

    The first incarnation ALDA was meant to be an experiment in the entrepreneurial sense. I wanted to find out what people would find useful. It’s ready to become something else. And it’s now at a home where it can evolve. The most important question about ALDA hasn’t changed all that much:

    What would you find ALDA at 1EdTech useful for?

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