Odd threads


Image from “Yarn and cloth making; an economic study; a college and normal schools text preliminary to fabric study, and a reference for teachers of industrial history and art in secondary and elementary schools” (1918)

At Digital Pedagogy Institute 2017, Kate Bowles shared with the Intercultural Collaboration group the language of warp and weft as metaphor for the relationship between structure and agency. A colorful woven scarf gifted to her from Maha Bali, track co-creator, surely helped prompt this metaphor.

Prone to invoking knitting metaphors myself–this blog is titled where warp meets weft for a reason–Kate’s reflections on warp and weft, and in particular the idea that it’s the very tension between them that makes the material object possible and particular, just captured me last summer. Kate was helping us make sense of the relationship between structure and agency in a vocabulary that spoke to my identity as a media scholar, and in imagery that spoke to my larger identity as a maker of meaning. Reading these final lines in her blog post published today helped restore within me some of the hope and possibility that I felt last summer at DPI:

Writing is the gift we give to ourselves. It’s the soul work of our agency, our refusal, and our choice.

It’s that important.

–Kate Bowles, Writing to the dark

I took up knitting when my kids were tiny. I needed a creative practice that was easy to carry along with me to wherever they were playing.  Although my beloved potters’ wheel had kept me connected and grounded for years, it lives in the basement at a far remove from where the kids played and rested, too far out of eyesight. I could carry my bag of knitting with me to swim practices, karate lessons, the park.  And in those first years, most of the objects I knit were gifts for others, mostly my children. A poncho and alpaca leg warmers for my daughter, a variegated vest for my son. Their interest in these hand-knit garments waned as they grew, and except for a baby blanket for a friend or mittens for my aunt, I feel about my knitting the same way Kate feels about writing:

It’s a gift we give to ourselves.

But time to write, like time for knitting, has to be cultivated and sheltered. And blog posts started but not finished gather like my yarn stash. Well-intentioned projects I mean to pick up when there’s time. And there never seems to be enough time to make meaningful progress, so I rarely pick them up.

No one observes my digital presence with as much dedication and care as my father.  A typo in a bio. A c.v. in need of updates.  A hard to find article. Aware of what a demanding year it has been in my work, my father has only very delicately hinted at these languishing tasks.  He recently returned to my website and took note of its new banner image–the one update I managed this year that I feel really delighted by. where warp meets weft

Dad: “I’m trying to read it. What does it say? I can’t tell. It’s not very clear.”

Me: *shrugs*

Dad: “It really just kind of unravels.”


Me:  “Dad, you’re right. It really does just kind of unravel.”

We laughed a bit at that. He still thinks it’s hard to read but more importantly I think he recognized he’d helped me grasp at something I was struggling with, something more important.  And instead of feeling impatient with his gentle reminder that my website was much in need of attention,  I mused that his comment would be a great title for a future blog post.

A blog post that never developed beyond a few sentences in a draft, but an idea that continued to stay with me and present in my thoughts.

Present in a conversation with Sean Michael Morris, who kindly suggested to me that “we are all always in a process of unraveling and re-raveling.”

Present in a conversation with Jenna Azar who knows more than anyone that metaphors help me think through complexity, who patiently helped me find some meaning in wondering about the way a particular bundle of yarn you thought was meant for a scarf actually is better suited for a sweater. And so you just unravel and begin over.  You let go of your image of a lovely scarf and turn instead to the shape of the thing the yarn really wants you to make of it. And what any of that has to do with work and teaching and learning and institutions anyhow.

And what happens when the work you care about and love is to create possibilities for becoming more closely knit together but before that can happen everything must first unravel?

Lessons in embracing not-yetness.

ball of yarn

Kate writes that she was startled out of her writing slump by a keynote given by Robin DeRosa last week at St. Norbert. Robin’s keynote (which is terrific!) included a reference to one of Kate’s old blog posts. In sharing her blog post today on Twitter, Kate describes it “a thank you note” to Robin…and to me.  I don’t know why I am gathered into that caring tweet alongside Robin. Nothing that I did last week holds a candle to what Robin accomplished in that timeframe, which includes the keynote mentioned above and another talk at SUNY’s Conference on Instruction and Technology, with a whole lot of airport marvels in between.

But I do know that in her caring “thank you,” Kate has startled me out of my own writing slump, reminded me of “the soul work” of my agency.

And so my own post here is a bit of a “thank you” as well, to Kate, to Robin, to Bonnie Stewart, and to others who are writing to the dark, writing about what is difficult, what unsettles them, about our work, our lives and our students’ lives, in higher education right now.

Practices Beyond Predictions



“There’s still a lot to do, to have commitment rule education and not consumerism.” — Maxine Greene

The new year’s predictions for higher ed are out in the last week.  It’s not surprising that many of the predictions hover around technology.

I want to offer a response to a theme that recurs across many of these new years forecasts, about 2018 being the year that small colleges make a big splash in online learning.  I have no qualifications as an influencer, futurist, or fortune teller.

My response to predictions of online learning in small colleges is rooted in practice, not prediction.

Towards the end of 2017, I had the privilege of joining an ongoing open conversation on digital learning and the liberal arts at the University of Mary Washington.  This post draws directly from my presentation, “Getting proximate, going for broke: On digital learning, education, and social justice” (which is online here).  In the last stretch of the talk, I sought to bring education and social justice directly into conversation with online learning in the liberal arts.  Some of this I tweeted in the days before the talk as I prepared, steeped in the early writings of Maxine Greene (who remarkably did actually predict, in the late 60s, where we would be today with edtech). Some of this I’ve shared since.  But it seems timely now, in response to the predictions, a call to action from the work in online learning Muhlenberg.

What should we say about online learning and social justice, if we speak from commitment not consumerism?

How do we move towards an interpretation of online learning that gets proximate to the issues of inequality and injustice we need to support?

The first social justice issue is this: online learning may open the door to an unprecedented scale of commodification in higher education. This is already underway and what troubles me most is the degree to which this path appears inevitable. We need to think strategically about how together we can challenge the epistemology of efficiencies and scale that dominates the Silicon Valley inspired dreams of online learning.

We must find openings and alternatives, gathering inspiration from Maxine Greene and others to attempt to look at things as if they could be otherwise. To engage our campus leaders in looking at things as if they could be otherwise. To engage our students in looking at things as if they must be otherwise.

We cannot do this independently. As Vinny Mosco writes in his recently published book, Becoming Digital, “to rescue genuine information and communication from the black hole of commercialism requires strong intervention.”

We need to imagine collaborative models and communities of practice that cross institutional, disciplinary boundaries, so that we can work together to limit commercialism in the digital liberal arts, which is also to advocate for limiting surveillance and extraction of student data in digital learning.

We need a vision of online learning that supports democracy, equity, participation, access, well-being, over one that privileges commodification, surveillance, and consumerism.

We need a vision of online learning that values education as the practice of voice and freedom.

We need a vision of online learning rooted in our liberal arts ethos but that also extends outwards towards those for whom a liberal arts education in a small residential environment is not within reach.

We need a vision of online learning that recognizes all students as fully human, as digital citizens, and treats all students equitably, over one that conceptualizes students something even less than consumers, as data points.

We need a vision of online learning that engages pedagogies that practice the value of voice, over one that denies student voice matters.

We need, in short, a cooperative alternative to the dominant political and economic entities organizing rapidly around the production and provision of online learning.

We need to get organized around activist digital learning that aims to expand the range and possibility of digital resources available to educators and learners.

We have models for doing this in multiple areas of digital learning.  Domain of One’s Own, movements around open education, emerging alternatives to concentrated ownership and control of academic publishing.  To my colleagues in the field of media and social justice, I would say that online learning should be recognized as a leading edge of media activism in 2018.

How might we generate with all of this collective spirit an approach to online learning critically and consciously informed by a social justice orientation?

Let’s take up Maxine Greene’s invitation to educators to “take proactive rather than reactive approaches to technology and keep asking what it is for and how it can serve the needs of humankind.”

My close partner and friend in this work, Jenna Azar, keeps me focusing towards one promising path in this text message sent while traveling by train to Fredericksburg:

“What we can imagine, what is possible individually, doesn’t hold a candle to what we can imagine and grow collectively.”




Deep in Domains with Adam Croom

We’re getting ready here for a 2-day visit from Adam Croom, director of the office of digital learning at University of Oklahoma who has done so much to help inspire and and strengthen our still fledgling Domain of One’s Own initiative at Muhlenberg (DoOOM).  Adam’s visit is the official launch of DoOOM campuswide, after a much smaller spring pilot with a faculty learning community and students enrolled in their courses.

On Monday, we’ve scheduled time for students to work with Adam on their domains.  The first Muhlenberg students signed up for domains last spring, just about 6 months ago.  Several more students signed up for domains a few weeks ago with the start of fall courses integrating DoOO in their work.  So time with Adam, who has been working with students on DoOO for a few years now, will be productive and purposeful. The opportunity to look at students’ domains from OU, and to hear about the work and ideas growing there, will hopefully help students at Muhlenberg develop an understanding that the work they are beginning with DoOOM is connected to something larger than our small campus.


The following evening, Adam will headline an event, Domains in Progress, that celebrates and recognizes the time and energy faculty, staff, and students have directed towards their domains since last spring.  This is the part of the two-day visit I’m most looking forward to, because it affords us a much needed opportunity to pause in the work and take some measure of its meanings, early impacts, challenges, and possibilities.  Faculty and staff participating in the DoOOM FLC collectively decided last spring that we’re not quite ready for a “showcase” of domains, like the Creaties at OU.  But six months into this work, it’s a perfect moment to recognize the early progress faculty, staff, and students have made in imagining how domains can be a resource for building a better home on the web for teaching, learning, and scholarship in the liberal arts.


Most of all, in welcoming Adam to Muhlenberg we’re inviting reflection.  Reflection is a practice and a habit that we aim to cultivate among students in the liberal arts learning, but often have too little time for our own regular reflective practices. Without time to reflect, it is all too easy to become detached from the meaning that shapes the work in the first place, as well as the relationships that are at the center of our digital learning efforts. If DoOO is about reclaiming some control over our data, our digital identities and presence, the space of these next two days holds promise as a kind of retreat into reflection and dialogue that is nearly impossible to sustain in our current schedules on campus.  Everyone seems to be juggling an impossible number of projects and pressures.

So we get to slow down just a bit, just enough to reflect on and think collectively about what we want Domain of One’s Own at Muhlenberg to look like. This begins with recognition and thanks for the thoughtful efforts and expertise of Tim Clarke, Jordan Noyes, and Jenna Azar, as well as the Digital Learning Assistants, who play such a significant role in cultivating a community of practice around DoOOM. (And without whom we really would be DoOOMed).

When Students Practice the Value of Voice

Yesterday I published a post based on my Domains17 Conference talk.  There are so many people thinking, writing, speaking critically about A Domain of One’s Own.  My aim was to talk a little about how I approach the project from a media studies background and how it might be connected to the critical social justice mission of the media & communication department where I teach.  Part of the story I was telling revolves around work that is deeply rooted in a commitment to community collaboration: the HYPE youth media program.  

For a decade, Jenna Azar and I have been creatively, boldly, sometimes defiantly working to ensure that HYPE is situated at the forefront of, and integral to, our department and campus commitments focused on critical civic engagement, student agency and voice, equity and inclusion.  We’ve held HYPE up as a model for partnership with community that is rooted in an ethics of reciprocity and recognition that such work must aim to transform our own institution as much as it imagines it is supporting positive transformation within the community.  We’ve also invited our colleagues to consider HYPE a pedagogical space that prioritizes what Michelle Fine calls “critical civic scholarship,” engaging students, ourselves, and community partners “intimately with the thick complexity of what it means to ‘do’ civic.” (Fine, 2012, p. 36).

I wrote in yesterday’s post:

Jenna and I know from teaching an advanced Youth Media course that these collaborations can generate transformative experiences for students who are interested in joining their studies in media and communication with struggles for media justice.  For many, it changes what they study, what paths they pursue after they graduate. 

Later in the evening, I got a text from Jenna, who was just returning from the Intergroup Dialogue Conference at Cornell University in Ithaca, NY.

Text from Jenna: The most Important Thing

It was a link to another blog post, written by a 2013 graduate who was closely connected to HYPE through the Youth Media course we team teach.  Experience with HYPE and youth media, encountering Freire and Pedagogy of the Oppressed in particular, opened up for Julie new possibilities for imagining her future.  For the first time, in her senior year of college, Julie (a scholar athlete and award-winning member of the college’s women’s basketball team) began to seriously consider becoming a teacher and towards the end of that semester she was interviewing with Teach for America.

Julie was one of the students I had in mind when I wrote the passage above.  I was thinking about the community of learners we try to create around HYPE and youth media.

It’s been four years since Julie graduated.  And on her WordPress blog, where she continues to offer a narrative of her experience as a novice teacher, she quotes Couldry’s Why Voice Matters.


Julie’s post reminds me that this work for students–hopefully–continues long after they leave campus.  That’s one of the ideals, I would say, of a liberal arts education, the habit of making connections across their studies and lived experiences.  Julie’s blog (https://youcantlearnwithoutlove.wordpress.com/) offers a narrative of her experiences as a young white teacher, first in Providence, Rhode Island and now in Philadelphia.  “I was a wide-eyed twenty-two year old…”

These glimpses of what she is doing beyond graduation, the identity she is constructing as a teacher, matter deeply.  That she continues to try to enact and embody some of the theory and principles that she encountered through HYPE four years ago is why HYPE matters on our campus.  That she sees her work as a teacher to include, centrally, practicing the value of voice, is perhaps the most powerful reminder of why voice matters.


Reclaiming the Web: Domains 2017


This is a rough transcript of my talk at Domains17.

It was humbling to hear Martha Burtis describe her nervousness about her Domains 2017 keynote.  Reassuring to know I’m in good company there in feeling nervous about this presentation.  It’s was especially difficult to decide where and how to begin this talk.  And then I remembered how we got started with Domains, with a visit from Jim Groom and his public talk on campus, which opened this way:

So what could possibly go wrong here this morning?

While there are a lot of familiar faces here, I’m relatively new to this Domains community. There are a few things to know about me that may help in understanding how Domains is situated within our work at Muhlenberg College, a small residential liberal arts college in Allentown, Pennsylvania. (If you want to know a little more about Allentown and the region, you can take a look at one of the projects a recent group of students completed on the history of slate in the Lehigh Valley, my first collaborative Domains project).

At Muhlenberg, I am a professor of media and communication, as well as the associate dean for digital learning and director of a consortial minor in documentary storymaking.  My teaching, scholarship, and leadership has long been preoccupied with struggles for media justice.  For two decades, my scholarship has been directly tied to youth media, and for the last decade that has been grounded in a rich and transformative collaboration with Jenna Azar, along with our extraordinary colleague Anthony Dalton. Together we co-direct the HYPE youth media program in Allentown (Tony is reimagining the HYPE website this summer so please check back later to see the awesome youth produced documentaries HYPE teens have dropped recently).   

When I started teaching, as is the case for many new junior faculty, I was responsible for teaching the introductory course in the major, “Media and Society.”  The focus in this course was to introduce students to a critical analysis of the political economy of media and communication.  The goal was to help students develop an understanding of the context and impact of corporate media concentration within democratic society.

I imagined that I was providing students with a critical lens for viewing mainstream media, hoping to make their quite familiar media landscape newly strange to them. So that they might see it with fresh eyes, with critical distance, and through the frameworks of critical media theory they were encountering in the course.  I recall vividly, towards the end of my second year, chatting with students before the start of class.  When I asked what they did over the weekend, one student commented that he’d been to the movies and added: “Dr. Taub, you ruined movies for me.”  Other students voiced agreement.  When I asked how I managed to ruin movies for them the student said, “ever since you taught us about product placements, all I can see are products, I’m on the lookout for products, and it completely takes the fun out of watching a movie.” He even added that his friends didn’t want to go to the movies with him anymore because he was so distracting pointing out all of the product placements to them throughout.

I might have thought to myself: good! I’m doing my job then. They’re watching film critically.  Of course, I wanted to help students develop a critical understanding of how media ownership shapes and constrains meaning making in our social world.  But I didn’t want to ruin their media for them.  I didn’t want to deny them the pleasures of engaging in media practices, even as consumers of commercial media.

As we talked about this, students shared that they were leaving my classes feeling empowered with critical theory but also feeling helpless, some even used the term depressed, by their inability to do anything that might counter the hegemony of corporate mass media and popular culture.

A quote from Paolo Freire

Maybe students were developing critical awareness but I hadn’t made it possible for them to extend that understanding into critical action.  Simply put, I had cut off their right to be happy.  While there was satisfaction in grappling with difficult theory, there was no joy in their learning.  In their extended dialogue on learning and social justice, Paulo Freire tells Myles Horton, “Seriousness fights against happiness.” (Horton & Freire, We Make the Road by Walking, 1990, p. 171).

This was in stark contrast to what I was seeing in another core class I had the privilege to teach, Documentary Research.  While the first course in the major focuses on critical media analysis, in this second course, the focus is on helping students develop as responsible, ethical media makers. In this course, originally developed by my colleague Sue Curry Jansen, students encounter the history of documentary expression and connect that to their own documentary practice in community settings.  Students create 2-3 minute digital stories that they research, edit, produce, and share with their peers and community members.  They are empowered with tools, support, and space to construct meaningful narratives in collaboration. Paraphrasing Freire here, inside the difficulty of learning documentary methods, digital tools and editing software, self-knowledge and happiness begins to be generated!  In Documentary Research, while students struggle with the ethics and methods of documentary storytelling, they reach the end of the course happy with their results and proud of their individual and collective efforts as novice digital storytellers. And students recognize that this pleasure and satisfaction and meaning comes from rigorous, difficult work. In fact, when alumni come back to campus and are asked about the course experiences that have stayed with them over the years since graduating, they always talk about this course.

Only a very few graduates of our program go on to pursue lives as documentarians.  But that’s not the point. In the process of learning documentary expression, students are learning ethics, accountability, connecting to community.  They are learning to narrate their own experience in the world through digital storytelling. 

I felt joyful teaching that course, that is where my teaching felt the most engaged, the most connected, the most meaningful.

So I began to consider ways to integrate multimodal composition into my other courses.  My desire was to intentionally weave together through my courses experiences that develop students’ practice in critical media analysis, and their practice as ethical media makers. What if I created at the center of all of my courses opportunities for students to narrate their own experiences as learners?  What would it look like to choose pedagogies that engage media and digital tools for this purpose?

I had the opportunity to begin exploring that through a new general education curricular initiative a few years ago and developed a new course: New Media Literacies. (Some of the work of that course exists here on our course blog).  The course explores how young people, in specific cultural and social contexts, negotiate and construct meaning through their use of and engagement with digital tools.

At the heart of the course is students’ participatory fieldwork with the  HYPE youth media program, where Allentown high school students research, shoot, edit, and produce documentary media about social justice issues in their community. Muhlenberg students collaborate with the teens, in a kind of collegial pedagogy (see Soep and Chavez 2010).  Jenna and I know from teaching an advanced Youth Media course that these collaborations can generate transformative experiences for students who are interested in joining their studies in media and communication with struggles for media justice.  For many, it changes what they study, what paths they pursue after they graduate. 

To illustrate, I want to share a story about a student in New Media Literacies, Erik, who just graduated last month.  Erik enrolled in the course as a first year student, who introduced himself to his peers on the first day of class as a football player, a first generation college student, Latino, and made it clear that he recognized that responsibility and brought it into the space of the class.  He was especially excited about the opportunities for multimodal composition in the course—he had an active presence on Tumblr and Instagram and often came to class excited to share his latest post. Between classes he often sent us provocative posts he read the he was relating to course topics.

One morning, he came into class and asked to share a piece he wrote over the weekend.  He sat at the front of the room and read a powerful spoke word poem, a reflection he described as prompted by one of the course readings and conversations at HYPE. Erik’s spoken word piece overwhelmed us all.  We spent the entire class discussing his piece, which illustrated in so many ways the theories of critical new media literacies that we were reading about.  It went beyond those readings to exemplify and embody new media literacy as practice.

From the intimate space of our course, Erik then stepped out into the more public space of the annual multicultural block party and performed his piece there, mic in hand.  His peers recorded it on their phones and shared it to social media.  It was posted to the multicultural center’s facebook page and the likes alone registered just a glimpse of the impact his voice was having. But the video was rough, the sound was poor. So we encouraged him to film it again.  Here’s what he did, with Tony Dalton’s support.

This was a powerful lesson in what it looks like to create space in class and at the center and corners of campus for students to narrate their experience in the world.  Space and opportunities for their voices to be heard by others.  To know, to experience, that his voice matters. This was a stepping off point for Erik—a moment at which he enlarged the space of his engagement on campus, going on to become the co-president of Comunidad Latina.


Why does this matter?  Here’s where I want to extend the conversation on VOICE already happening in the Domains community. To do so, I want to invoke the work of Nick Couldry, a British media scholar, who argues in his book Why Voice Matters that we are experiencing a contemporary crisis of voice—across political, economic, social domains.  At root, he argues, is a pervasive doctrine of neoliberalism that denies voice matters.

Increasingly, the systems of higher ed in which we work are being reorganized and realigned around the values and interests and logics of neoliberalism. This poses challenges for those of us who see our work as tied to expanding possibilities for student voice and agency. 

Couldry is not, of course, the only critic documenting the incursions of neoliberalism into education and other swaths of human social activity.  But his critique stands out to me for its focus on voice.  I won’t do justice to Couldry’s complex argument here, which engages sociology, economics, philosophy, and other theoretical fields.  But basically the heart of his argument is this: neoliberalism denies voice matters. Neoliberalism creates systems in which people are treated as if they lack the capacity for voice, for rendering an account of their experience.

For Couldry, voice is not simply “expressing one’s opinion or perspective.” Couldry is working with the idea of voice as a VALUE. This includes the act of valuing, choosing to value, frameworks for organizing human activity and resources that put the value of voice into practice.  This means choosing against frameworks that devalue, deny, or undermine voice.

How does neoliberalism deny the value of voice? According to Couldry, 1) by imposing a view of life that values market functioning above all, as the overwhelming priority; and 2) by gutting the place of the social in politics and economics. (just think about health care, education, climate science, we could go on…) The result is a CRISIS OF VOICE under neoliberalism.  According to economists, Couldry reminds us, voice is an “externality of market functioning.”

Note: Couldry published Why Voice Matters in 2010.  Since then, we have seen emerge several critical examples of people’s capacities for social cooperation based on voice, including Black Lives Matter, the 2017 Women’s March, the Dakota Access Pipeline protests.  Couldry would have us see these not only as forms of political representation—but from a broader account of how human beings are in the world.  

One response to this crisis, Couldry suggests, is to actively favor frameworks that value voice as a process.  And what I want to consider in the remainder of this talk is the idea that Domain of One’s Own is a framework for organizing the human activity of teaching and learning that intentionally values voice as a process. 

There are so many ways of organizing teaching and learning that undermine, deny, of variously diminish voice–and while I am thinking primarily of student voice, we might also give an account of the ways that faculty voices are undermined, and the ways that staff voices are undermined.  In the framework provided by Couldry, we might consider Learning Management Systems, Learning Analytics, Machine Learning, etc. as ways of organizing the human activities of education that deny voice matters. They share in common a market rationality that denies the value of voice (beyond consumer voice). 

Domain of One’s Own provides the resources and materials from which a student can build an account of herself, a digital, multimodal narrative of her experience in the world.  That is a form of valuing voice.

A bird's nest

I imagine Domain of One’s Own as a nest—a tiny space in a vast wide open sky nurturing intellectual, creative, political possibilities, nurturing communities of critical learners, makers, producers.  A place where students’ fledgling interests, ideas, projects are nurtured, cared for.  A pocket of possibilities and a structure to shelter new ideas that don’t easily find a home elsewhere online. 

In introducing Domains at Muhlenberg, I’ve closely collaborated with  Tim Clarke, who administers our Domains project, has created outstanding documentation, and co-facilitated a faculty learning community on Domains with me. Tim used to have a Twitter profile with a quote from They Might Be Giants: “make a little birdhouse in your soul.”  So I’m liking nest metaphor, and it fits with our DoOO instance at Muhlenberg, which we’ve titled: bergbuilds.domains.  And it fits, too, with the ways that all of us on the Digital Learning Team are hoping to help students, faculty, and staff build their own domains as space for nurturing their creative and intellectual projects.

So many spaces within higher ed increasingly push the value of self-promotion, of marketing one’s skills, and a focus on individualistic gain (grades, jobs, credentials).  Can Domain of One’s Own be part of an effort to renew a culture that values connection and collective action? Inquiry tied not only to one’s self gain but to some notion of the social good?

At Muhlenberg, we’ve only been working with Domains for a semester, so my comments here gesture towards the hopeful.  But even in that short time, I see evidence that a domain can be a nest for developing students’ learning as students and as activists who embody a commitment to critical digital and civic engagement.  As learners who are developing digital presence beyond market narratives.


This is Jazzy’s domain.  An art studio major and a Digital Learning Assistant, Jazzy graduated in 2017.  In her last two months of college, she worked with Jenna and Tim to migrate her work off bergbuilds.domains and onto her own domain, TheFriendlyNipple.com.  The site documents her senior art project and other work as an emerging artist.


Jazzy’s project is such a powerful example of Domain of One’s Own as practicing the value of voice.  Here, she’s claiming her own agency, as an emerging working artist, while also using her Domain as a space for other women to reclaim their bodies, a space for female voice.  On the one hand, she’s cultivating a powerful individual presence, making her domain the hub for an already intentional social media presence.  At the same time, she’s connecting her own personal digital empowerment to a call for collective action and participation.  It’s a platform for marketing her work (she sells her work on RedBubble) but it’s not just to market and promote. She offers a narrative of herself beyond and unbounded by market logics.  It’s not just self-branding.


This movement between documenting one’s learning, highlighting one’s growth as a student, showcasing talents and gesturing towards something larger than individual achievements, can be a tricky tension.  If Domain of One’s Own is to hold onto any kind of radical possibility for students, it cannot be reduced to self-branding.  As we introduce students to Domains, it’s necessary to engage in dialogue that frames the value of creating their own domain in a wider lens. As Martha suggested this morning in her keynote, we need to push “beyond the pragmatic and practical goals of the project,” “to grapple with the Web in deep and discerning ways.”  Reclaiming control over their digital identity, their data, their work—that’s important work for students, even vital. But we can also explore with students the need to create the web beyond self-promotion, in ways that hold each other up.  The way Jazzy is using her tiny space on the web to hold up other feminists.  How do we hang on to the possibility of Domains as a strategy that interrupts the neoliberal attack on voice, on education, on the social?  So that it grows as a space for counter narratives like the one Jazzy is offering?

As we grow into our second year, building on the strong foundation and support that Adam Croom, Martha Burtis, Jim Groom Lauren Brumfeld and others have generously offered, I want to think of Domains not only as a student’s individual project to reclaim control, agency, and voice, but also as a project that might remind us of what Michelle Fine calls our “desperate need for rich interdependence” (“Critical Civic Research,” Civic Provocations, Brining Theory to Practice, 2012, p. 35)   This is what draws me to Domain of One’s Own–a rich interdependence among folks at participating sites. 

At Middlebury, the Domains project is called MiddCreate and the landing page pictures three people in a garden—two women are holding watering cans and a man is kneeling and has his hands in the soil near what looks to be some Swiss chard.  Text over the image says: It’s your digital garden. What will you grow?  What I love about this framing is that it lends itself not only to a recognition of the cultivating, nurturing, and growing that happens when students have a domain of their own.  But also, as any serious gardener knows, it’s what’s beneath the soil that really matters:  a deep entangled intricate network of roots sustaining it all.


A nest is a kind of pocket.  I think that Domains can be a small pocket of resistance (this is a reference to another voice we lost recently, the late John Berger, and his book, The Shape of a Pocket).  It can be a resource for addressing the crisis of voice and thinking beyond the neoliberal framework that produces that crisis.  A framework and a set of practices that intentionally value voice.  I’m trying to think about Domain of One’s Own as a framework for cultivating student voice as a process—the ability for students to construct an account of themselves, a narrative of their experience in the world.  A way of organizing teaching and learning that puts the value of voice into practice, so that students–even when confronted with what seem like almost insurmountable injustices–never give in to programmed helplessness.

During the same year that we launched our Domains project, the drumbeat of market competition as the dominant principle in higher education grew louder and louder.  Liberal arts institutions have been especially preoccupied with this, hard pressed to justify the value of the soaringly high cost of a private, residential campus experience.  Domain of One’s Own can be useful as both a tool and a counter-narrative to the neoliberal reorganization of teaching and learning.  Or it can play right into that agenda.  Domain of One’s Own can offer a resource for valuing voice as process, for—as Judith Butler says—giving an account of oneself. (“I cannot give an account of myself without accounting for the social conditions under which I emerge.”)  For holding onto the belief that other alternatives are possible.

We have a long battle to repair the damage of neoliberalism’s assault on higher ed.  The growing precarity for contingent faculty labor, increasing focus on revenue generation, academic capitalism, rising tuition and costs…I’m not suggesting that Domain of One’s Own repairs any of this.  Of course it doesn’t.  But I do think it is possible to situate Domain of One’s Own in ways that might do some repair work around, in particular, technology and voice.  It can at least be a resource to help challenge this dominant view of the neoliberal university.  Where are there spaces to continue to imagine that other worlds are possible?

Where are the radical possibilities within higher ed? How can we connect Domains to those initiatives?  To civic engagement? Global studies? LGBTQ initiatives? Teacher Ed? Departments with social justice missions? Initiatives like Intergroup Dialogue? Where are the spaces/partners working to advance social solidarities? And how can we propose Domains as an ally, an amplifier, to these efforts?

Because voice does matter, not just for one’s own individual benefit, but for the collective.  To emphasize something that Martha Burtis explored in her keynote this morning, I want to ask us to think about how we can keep Domain of One’s Own bold and outrageous. How do we protect it from dissolving into the landscape of higher education individualism? As times grow more desperately unequal, we have to sustain community at the heart of Domain of One’s Own, as well as other forms of digital pedagogy and praxis.  It can easily be eclipsed by the individualism that characterizes so much of the ethos driving tech implementation in higher ed.  Of course we need to know and demonstrate that liberal arts skills are marketable for our graduates.  But I think Jazzy and Erik show us that there is more to the story.

I want to end with a thought from Vivian Gussin Paley.  As a kindergarten teacher and an ethnographer of her own sites of learning, Paley offers some of the most deeply humane and incisive critique of educational technology I have encountered.  

If you believe, as I do, that a brown crayon is also an educational technology. 


Practicing the Value of Student Voice

by Jenna Azar and Lora Taub-Pervizpour

In a recent post, Keegan Long Wheeler reflects on something missing from the OLCInnovate conference.


To be honest, OLCInnovate is not alone in being, as Keegan notes, “mostly void of students voices.”  The lack of pathways for students to meaningfully participate in higher education conferences is pretty widespread.  And the price to attend is pretty steep.  Full price student registration for OLCInnovate in 2017 was $400, with early bird pricing a mere $50 less.  For anyone who has ever supported conference travel for students, or attended a conference as a student, you know that funding is rarely easy to secure far enough in advance to qualify for whatever meager savings an early bird registration affords.

Keegan’s post challenges us to “think about ways you could bring more students to #OLCInnovate and more importantly into #edtech conversations.”  As educators who went with students to OLCInnovate, and will have a student on the “bergbuilds” team attending Domains 2017, we want to share a few thoughts in relation to Keegan’s timely and critical challenge.

There are obvious financial barriers to students attending conferences.  Chris Gillard has also written about the absence of student voice at conferences and most recently about the troubling framing of students as cheaters and liars in particular in the ubiquitous online proctoring advertising and sponsorship at OLCInnovate.  One of the first questions Chris asked us when we met at OLCInnovate was how did we manage to fund the cost of bringing to students to OLCInnovate.  Airfare and lodging for a minimum of 3 days in New Orleans is significant and an obstacle not only for students but for many faculty and staff.  With shrinking budgets for conference travel, many of us are having to justify and limit participation at conferences.

We were able to attend OLCInnovate as a large team, including two students and five faculty and staff, because we had five free registrations.  In 2016, our project for the Solution Design Summit won the competition and one of the major benefits was complimentary registration for our team to attend the 2017 conference. Saving the $3100 in registration fees certainly contributed to our ability to fund two student registrations.  Muhlenberg students are also eligible to apply for conference travel funds from the Dean, and both of our students received funding that basically covered their roundtrip airfare.  Through the digital learning budget, we were able to support a shared hotel room and meals.  Muhlenberg is a small residential liberal arts college that values undergraduate research and faculty – student collaboration.  Practicing that value means ensuring the resources to support student conference presentations and travel.  Realistically, in the future–when we don’t have complimentary registrations for OLCInnovate–practicing that value will mean fewer of us attend so that we can prioritize student participation and presence.

Karl Schultz, Digital Learning Assistant, at OLCInnovate
Dan Lester, Digital Learning Assistant, at OLCInnovate

Keegan has started to think about possible ways to support more inclusive edtech conference spaces.  “Off the top of my head, it would be fantastic if more conferences (including #OLCInnovate) offered to sponsor undergraduates and graduate students that submit proposals, including travel/lodging. Alternatively, if instructors/institutions have access to funds that could be used to encourage students into our scholarship spaces to add their voices. We need to make this a priority.”  Certainly with the pervasive branding and marketing at OLCInnovate (which Chris Gillard has described here), there must be resources to sponsor student attendees.  There are good examples of other professional conferences pursuing more sustainable solutions — convening in less expensive venues, minimizing or eliminating conference swag, foregoing a full print run of the conference program and relying on digital scheduling platforms, scaling back catering.  We’ve attended conferences where there was a work exchange and volunteer option to help lower registration fees.  We’ve also attended conferences in the US and in Europe that waive or reduce the registration fee for students traveling internationally.  One favorite academic conference has long held the policy that no one will be turned away due to lack of funds.

digital learning team collaborating
Working on OLCInnovate presentation in the hotel lobby.

Securing resources for students to attend conferences is difficult work. We can advocate for conference organizers to pursue more equitable pricing, but beyond that, there are things we can consider to create possibilities for a more equitable and ethical conference experience for our students.  If we are able (and have the privilege) to navigate the undeniable global, financial, and personal barriers to attendance (none of which should be taken lightly and many of which are struggles for faculty and staff as well–see Rebecca Hogue’s post on this and all of Maha Bali’s writing on virtual conference attendance), we then have to pay close attention to the kind of experience we help structure for students in an environment that isn’t always or even often designed with their participation in mind.  [Note: there are some wonderful academic conferences that are deeply thoughtful about centering student participation and that embrace this as part of their mission.  They are not the subject of this post].  

In this post, we want to reflect on some of the ways we practice valuing the voices of students in our work at conferences and at home.  Reflecting back on our experience at OLCInnovate, we offer a few areas where practicing the value of student voice is critical.  Really helping students feel welcome at conferences begins with getting really clear about why we’re encouraging them to attend in the first place. What are our goals for them in suggesting conference travel? It’s not sufficient to say, “come!” We must consider and articulate our understanding and beliefs about how their voices and perspectives enrich our work and learning within the conference.   What are the individual and collective hopes for attending the conference?  If we want students to attend our professional conferences, we need to mentor and model ways of engaging in conference activities that allow them to be more than a guest or an observer in an unfamiliar space.

Can we imagine richer opportunities for students to participate as cocreators?   

We look at this through the lens of youth media.  As youth media program directors, we find a good guide for youth-adult partnership in Soep and Chavez’s model of “collegial pedagogy.” In this model, collegiality and pedagogy converge “in ways that unsettle some basic assumptions about learning as typically theorized in school settings and academic subjects.” (2010, p. 53)

Collegial pedagogy foregrounds partnership and recognizes the opportunity for growth for all participants. We see opportunities in the following moments to embody collegial pedagogy and invite others to expand upon them.

The conference proposal:  In what ways are students part of the proposal writing process? If students are preparing their own proposals, how are you supporting them?  If students are part of your proposal writing process, how are you including them?  Are they coauthors? Are they reviewing and commenting on drafts? What kind of feedback are you inviting from student collaborators and how are you communicating about that?

Even at this early stage, students can have a clear sense of why they would want to attend the conference. What do they hope to gain from attending and how will participation support their current or future goals?  We, too, make choices about which conferences to attend — choices based on the communities of practice to which we belong, based on conference location, the relationships we hope to renew and foster, exposure to experts and new ideas–we want the students to be involved in that process as well. Knowing why you’re there and having your own personal development in mind sets the tone for a more deliberative, thoughtful, agentive experience for students.  

The conference presentation:  The same questions apply but gain urgency around the presentation itself.  If students are presenting their own work, what do they need to know from you about the conference context, culture, and professional norms? What kind of opportunities can you create on your campus for students to practice their presentation and get supportive feedback before the conference?

In a venue like OLCInnovate, it’s more likely the case that students are co-presenting with faculty and staff.  Here the work of practicing the value of student voice as process is critical.  What does co-presenting look like to you and how are you communicating that vision to your student partners?  What do they envision co-presenting entails?  An open conversation, early on, about these roles and partnerships is critical to practicing the value of student voice –not just as a highlight in someone else’s conference presentation but centered in the process.

Here’s the thing: sharing a link to an outline of presentation slides with your co-presenters isn’t collaboration. It doesn’t even set co-presenters up for collaboration, and is especially ambiguous if you’re a student co-presenter.  One of us (Lora) made that mistake and then wondered: why aren’t the students adding slides and designing with abandon?  One of us (Jenna) issued a reminder: “Was that your expectation? Oh, that requires a conversation, at a minimum.”

The conference experience:  Are we encouraging them to attend sessions based on their academic interests or professional goals? Our responsibility is to model and make visible the choices that go into which sessions, events, and activities one might attend. Are we creating space in the day to debrief and synthesize how they’re participating and engaging? Challenging students to say more, to claim a kind of knowledge and ownership over their voices there? Are we helping them understand the value of their voice in the collective conversations happening not just in their presentation but in the hallways, in the lobby, in other presentations they attend?

Practicing the value of student voice in proposing an idea, preparing a presentation and attending a conference means constructing a cocreative process that challenges us to engage with students as partners. This can be difficult, especially as conference deadlines loom and other pressures on our daily lives consume every minute up until we’re boarding the plane or getting on the road.  But caring for the process of creating a conference presentation with students enriches the learning experience for all participants. For us, accompanying students to conferences is an opportunity to consider the other ways we practice valuing their voices.  

In truth, as we prepared for OLCInnovate, we didn’t say to students from the outset: “Here’s why it’s so important that you’re part of this presentation.  We want you to join us because you represent and model a way of being at Muhlenberg that we think is important. But you also bring new and important ways of seeing that we may not be able to even see or consider because of our own location in the institution and this work.”

We should have. This reflection post serves as a reminder for us as well.

It was clear, by the end of OLCInnovate and many meals together, why the students were there.  Really, taking the time to eat together each evening created space for collective reflection and for listening closely to what Karl and Daniel were experiencing.  It created space for them to offer an account of the conference from their perspectives (and within the pervasive messaging about cheating students).  Many people, especially Chris, affirmed throughout the conference, that their presence mattered.  During our presentation, (which was not especially well attended), one participant remarked: “This is the space I’ve been wanting to see here.  We need to hear from students.  I wish everyone could have heard you. Students help us see this work differently.”

As the year ends and we head into a busy stretch of conferences–from the Bryn Mawr Blended Learning Conference to Domains 2017–we are aiming to be more open to the ways that conference partnerships with students can transform how we practice and center their voices in our work. We are not new to this and we are certainly not alone.  We think of Andrew Rikard’s Thoughts on the Limitations of Student Voice and we take deeply into our work his reminder that ‘Student Agency’ is Not Something You Give or Take.  Perhaps creating more hospitable spaces for students at conferences requires us to reframe how we speak about students and their presence and positioning at conferences.  We imagine we are not simply bringing students to Domains 2017, but practicing the value of student voice and agency in our domains work in the spaces where we share it out.

The story of Dan and Karl’s experiences in the Vendor Exhibit Hall at OLCInnovate will have to wait for a future post…


We make and remake the road together

Linden Street, Allentown. The road between home and school. HYPE youth media program, 2016.

I am reading a “talking book”–it is a dialogue between  Paulo Freire and Myles Horton on their “formative years,” narrating their subjectivities and identities as educators, theorists, and social justice activists.  Each tells a story that invokes the importance of being located in place and time. Beneath a mango tree in Recife.  Beside a river in western Tennessee.  I read it and hope for a deeper understanding of the cultural historical settings shaping their identities and perspectives on education and social justice.  I also read it as a provocation to consider my own subjectivity and identity as an educator.  How do I locate myself in this conversation about theory, practical experience, education and social justice? How do I locate myself in relation to this “talking book”–in relation to others who are trying to connect their work in higher education with a better future? As our tweets under the hashtag #HortonFreire are interrupted by tweets reminding me this is a time of growing fascism and oppression, I get to thinking that the work of making the road is always incomplete.  It is making and remaking.  And sometimes it feels like the ground on which you might even begin to build a road has been ripped out from under you.

Wanderer, we have no road.

In 1999, I moved to Sao Paulo, Brazil, to help design and establish a technology program in a private bilingual elementary school.  I was eager to learn the school culture, collaborate with the teachers and have their voices guide the project.  I did not want to be another “technology missionary” imposing ideas on teachers who were the experts of their curriculum and school culture.  The work I was beginning was an outgrowth of my studies with Michael Cole at UC San Diego and UCLinks, and the proposal was to adapt the “Fifth Dimension” model to reflect school and community interests, especially those related to local culture, language, and educational concerns. I suggested this approach to the school’s director, as an alternative to outsourcing “informatica” to a British company that was aggressively marketing its curriculum to private schools in Brazil.  I argued that any tech project that excluded teachers from its planning and instruction would breed distrust, skepticism, undermine the integrity of the curriculum, and never be wholly embraced within the school culture.

It was easy for me to stand up and make a strong case against outsourcing the school’s tech curriculum to a global for-profit edtech company.  I’d been engaged in supporting and participating in community-driven technology-based learning projects and environments throughout undergraduate and graduate school.  What I was unable to see at the time, however, was how my own location as an outsider, speaking English as a first language, situated in structures of whiteness and class privilege, positioned me in equally problematic ways within the school.  While I was busy with a frenzy of questions about how to pack up a life and move from Berkeley to Brazil on short notice, what kinds of questions where teachers asking about me and my sudden appearance at the school? About the creation of a new administrative position, “Coordenadora de informática”?  About importing an educator from the US for that position? What kinds of questions, about equity and privilege, about language, culture, and power, came to mind for teachers when they learned the school would provide for the holder of this new position housing and a car, as well a salary paid in US dollars?

Trained in ethnographic methods of communication research, I was busy thinking about shaping a participatory process with the teachers and students, and learning as much as I could about the cultural context in which that process would be situated.  In this work, I held tight to my knowledge of Paulo Freire’s work and writing, and imagined this knowledge would be a resource in helping to construct collegial relationships with teachers.  I bought a copy of Pedagogy of the Oppressed in Portuguese, and was eager to discuss Freire’s ideas with my new colleagues.  It sat open on my desk, an invitation to conversation but also perhaps a kind of unknowingly arrogant shorthand to announce: “I’m informed! I’m trustworthy!”

I was so uninformed.  It turned out that, early on, teachers were more interested to talk with me about Vygotsky because they knew that I as was a student of Mike Cole, who in turn studied with Vygotsky’s student/colleague Alexander Luria.  They carried their own copies of texts by Vygotsky and Cole, in Portuguese. Many of my new colleagues studied with leading Brazilian scholars on Vygotsky and sociocultural theory at the University of Sao Paulo down the road.  In my eagerness to chat about Freire, I was missing opportunities to talk about the theoretical and practical issues that they were working with at the time.  It’s not that they didn’t care about or engage with Freire’s work–they did, and they had a lot to say about the influence of Vygotsky on his work–but that I was ignorant to act as if their basis in critical pedagogy began and ended with his work.  During my three years at the school, my colleagues taught me about the work of many critical pedagogues and theorists that I had not encountered in my studies.  I also imagined a shared interest in Freire provided a ready-made bridge across our differences.

Bridges, like roads need to be made.  Shared theoretical perspectives and grounding mattered to the work we would do together in the years ahead.  But my identity and positioning as the “technology expert from the University of California” located me within an ongoing struggle within the bilingual culture and curriculum of the school.  This was not self-styled–I recall very well the evening that I was introduced to parents at the school and felt bewildered by how much those credentials combined with my status as  “native English speaker” to confer authority and value in the competitive marketplace for bilingual education in Sao Paulo in the late 90s.  This was some of my early awakening around the nexus of language, culture, and power that teachers were navigating and that I would also learn to confront.   They worked tirelessly to ensure that the project-based Brazilian curriculum enacted in Portuguese during the morning informed and was pedagogically aligned with the English language curriculum taught in the afternoon.  This was critical, difficult work because the English language texts from US academic publishers inscribed within the curriculum a hegemonic worldview and dominant discourses that the Brazilian national curriculum explicitly confronted and challenged.  The politics of language and power played out in other ways.  Although I was quickly developing speaking proficiency in Portuguese, I was encouraged and expected to speak only in English (especially with the children who turned out to be my very best language teachers).

Who was I, showing up in a private school in Sao Paulo with a dozen blue Apple iMacs, and with what kinds of intentions towards constructing new “progressive” learning arrangements around this technology?  What ideological interests did that technology express and represent? If pedagogy is understood as a struggle over cultural meanings, what about my own location in an exploitative capitalist global division of labor?

These are questions that loom for me now in rereading Horton and Freire, and making some sense of the meanings that emerge as I join fellow wanderers through this text.

What has been increasingly lost in the North American and Western appropriation of Freire’s work is the profound and radical nature of its theory and practice as an anti-colonial and postcolonial discourse.” –Henry Giroux, “Paulo Freire and the Politics of Postcolonialism,”

As a graduate student reading Horton and Freire, on my sunny Southern California campus, I wanted to find in that text resources for hope, for strategies and methods aimed at making a difference in the afterschool educational settings where I was doing research. I read Freire at an epistemological distance that privilege affords–in a way that left intact my taken-for-granted assumptions about how and where learning takes place. It was the mid-1990s, and the UC Regents sent shockwaves through the state when they voted to eliminate affirmative action in university admissions.  Based on his work with an afterschool project called the Fifth Dimension in San Diego, Cole and colleague Charles Underwood at the UC Office of the President, had the idea that universities and communities across the state might partner to create technology-based afterschool programs as an alternative way to build pathways (make roads) to higher education for underrepresented minority youth.  All of us involved, undergraduates, graduate students, faculty, staff, wanted to make a difference.  Looking back on this work, now in relation to my current teaching in the privileged environment of a private residential liberal arts college, I recognize more fully the ways that in designing the Fifth Dimension, Cole was also aiming to disrupt the alienated college education of students like myself in communication, education, psychology, and other social science disciplines.  This was a first invitation to experience education as border crossing, and our weekly fieldnotes meant to create space for our critical engagement with the politics and of leaving the comforts of campus for community sites  to connect our learning with theory-driven activities organized for young people afterschool, to unsettle our worldview and values.

Today, I teach undergraduates the theory and practice of documentary research.  I collaborate with colleagues and community partners to design learning activities that engage students in many kinds of border crossings.  A central problem in documentary work is how is it possible to ethically represent and do justice to the lives of people whose stories are different from your own?  What borders of experience, understanding, language, as well as literal borders, must be crossed? This is another space of learning where the work of Freire and Horton joins up for me.  Documentary storytellers were among those missionaries, outside “do-gooders” and other troubling figures Horton describes as “all coming down to save the people of Appalachia.”  When Horton says, “I resented the exploitation of people by somebody, particularly from the outside, who came in with an idea they thought was good for people, ” I am reminded of documentary filmmaker Elizabeth Barrett, and her film Stranger with a Camera.  The film, about the murder of Canadian documentary filmmaker Hugh O’Connor in Letcher County, Kentucky, (and Barrett’s larger body of work with Appalshop), grows out of the resentment she felt as a young girl, towards storytellers who used cameras like weapons, shooting images that contributed to a national imaginary of Appalachia as a deeply othered place.

There is another conversation I’m reading alongside the dialogue between Horton and Freire.  It is bell hooks’ playful conversation between herself as Gloria Watkins and her writing voice, bell hooks, in chapter 4 of Teaching to Transgress.  She is writing about her friendship with Freire and how deeply his work is felt through her own.

Often when university professors and students read Freire, they approach his work from a voyeuristic standpoint, where as they read they see two locations in the work, the subject position of Freire the educator (whom they are often more interested in than the ideas or subjects he speaks about) and the oppressed/ marginalized groups he speaks about. In relation to these two subject positions, they position themselves as observers, as outsiders
(p. 46).

I am thinking about next semester, and students reading Pedagogy of the Oppressed in a Youth Media course that is a partnership with a 9th grade high school teacher and her class in Allentown.  I feel compelled to revisit how I teach this work given the current historical moment of escalating fascism and oppression in the US.  How do we enact a pedagogy that invites students –specifically, students in a predominantly white institution–to read critically, dialogically? To unsettle reading as a voyeur and question the borders that have shaped and constrained their identities and possibilities as readers and learners?  I am thinking too, of Henry Giroux’s engagement with Freire’s work, as a challenge to become a border crosser:

I want to argue that Paulo Freire’s work must be read as a postcolonial text and that North Americans, in particular, must engage in a radical form of border crossing in order to reconstruct Freire’s work in the specificity of its historical and political construction. Specifically, this means making problematic a politics of location situated in the privilege and power of the West and how engaging the question of the ideological weight of such a position constructs one’s specific reading of Freire’s work. At the same time, becoming a border crosser engaged in a productive dialogue with others means producing a space in which those dominant social relations, ideologies, and practices that erase the specificity of the voice of the other must be challenged and overcome. –Henry Giroux, “Paulo Freire and the Politics of Postcolonialism”

As you walk you make the road,
and to look back is to see that never
can we pass this way again.

The last time I looked this closely at my experiences in teaching and learning in Brazil was also a provocation from Bryan Alexander.  It was in a multimodal story workshop at nearby Lafayette College, somewhere around 2003 or 2004.  If I can locate that multimodal text, I will share it here.  But I am appreciative of the invitation to read with you, to reread, with less certainty, more openness, more dialogically, and within a community of border crossers, who are doing so much to try to redefine relationships of teaching and learning and technology.

And to make the reading more fully “a loving event.”

Valuing Time and Collaboration


“Time is everything. Because social capital compounds with time. So teams that work together longer work better because it takes time to develop the trust you need for real candor and openness. And time is what builds value.”

–Margaret Heffernan, “Why It’s Time to Forget thePecking Order at Work,” TEDWomen 2015.

How many of us have, in our daily working lives, the time we desire to develop and grow trusting relationships with our colleagues?  How many of us work in organizations that are structured to prioritize meaningful connections to our colleagues? Meetings, so often focused on the urgent needs of the moment, rarely provide adequate time for allowing new ideas to surface, let alone the creative space that nurtures insights, inspiration, and deep listening.  And as much as we may endeavor to construct that space on campus, sometimes getting off campus, out of the familiar work environment and routines, is required to be able to see and listen to new possibilities, new ways of imagining our work together, ways of being more less busy and more creative together.

In 2016, the Solution Design Summit at OLC Innovate provided my colleagues and I on the Digital Learning Team one such space of possibility.  For us, SDS was a small haven for informal, unstructured, and sometimes messy conversation within the much larger OLC Innovate conference.  Laura Pasquini and Mike Goudzwaard were tirelessly patient co-chairs and shaped the space and experience for us to think creatively and even courageously about the challenges we hoped to address at our institutions.  And they surrounded teams with a multidisciplinary gathering of talented and generous leaders in the field ready to push our thinking further.

I’m writing this blog post to encourage readers to consider applying to SDS–here is this year’s call for proposals (deadline for submissions: November 2!).  I hope that by sharing a little bit about our experience and its value to our work, readers will have another perspective on what to expect and look forward to at SDS 2017.

Joshua Kim and Kristen Eshelman note in their summer article, 5 Reasons We Will Avoid Edtech Conferences:

“The modern edtech conference leaves too little time for conversation. So much of the conference is scheduled for sessions—and so much of our time is spent organizing and running those sessions—that little time or energy is left for the important conversations.”

Time and space to connect is what SDS does best.  As someone who led a team to SDS in 2016, and is now part of the SDS 2017 organizing team, I have experienced from both perspectives–participant and organizer–the summit’s intentional focus on supporting groups with both time and space for conversations that matter.  SDS is organized to provide teams dedicated time to create, ideate, and hone their project proposals.  It is also designed to connect teams with a wide network of helpful, experienced, and brilliant educational leaders.  Patrice Torcivia (SDS 2017 chair), Adam Croom, Julie Larsen, and Kyle Johnson are a few of the many people who offered substantive feedback that changed our project for the better.

My colleague, Tim Clarke, has done an awesome job capturing the work that has evolved out of our SDS experience in a new blog post.  While focused primarily on our fledgling Domain of One’s Own initiative, bergbuilds, Tim describes its roots in our SDS initiative:

The heart of that proposal is the, “creation of an innovative peer education model that empowers students to develop the relationships, skills, and competencies they need to excel as leaders in digital learning contexts”. A major part of this work, clearly, concerns our plans forstudent uses and student peer support of Domain of One’s Own.

Just prior to the start of this academic year, we launched a new pre-orientation program centered on digital learning and digital literacies. For a few days prior to the start of the semester, we hosted 9 incoming students and 3 student leaders. We worked together on digital mapping, digital archiving, and digital storytelling projects (and had a bunch of silly fun, too). We also handed out our very first bergbuilds.domains accounts to students. In fact, our tagline for this entire pre-orientation experience was, “A Dorm & A Domain” — emphasizing that a Muhlenberg experience is as much about staking out an online presence as it is setting up a dorm room or learning your way around campus.

I’m also thrilled that all of our student leaders and many of our pre-orientation attendees have agreed to be among our very first Digital Learning Assistants.

Tim traces more succinctly than I can how far we’ve come with this work since arriving in New Orleans last spring: we developed and implemented the digital learning pre-orientation and one giant measure of its success is the fact that more than half of the pre-o participants have signed up as Digital Learning Assistants. What this tells us is that students the 5-day pre-orientation provided experiences that are helping to empower students as digital learners.  Digital Learning Team members designed a schedule that included: interactive digital mapping activities to learn the campus, Instagram scavenger hunts to locate less visible gems on campus, digging into the library’s special collections and digital archives, and creating digital resident/visitor mind maps. Playing ultimate frisbee at night on the college green with LED light up discs and designing and programming digital light displays and play lists for all the other pre-o groups on campus ensured that an element of play and discovery animated the program.

But none of this was anywhere near fully articulated when the Digital Learning Team first arrived in New Orleans.  We had some broad ideas and visions, but it wasn’t until the first SDS session that we were really able to spend concentrated time to imagine what it would all actually look like. I began this post with a quote from Margaret Heffernan’s 2015 TEDWomen talk. In this talk, she takes on “the superchicken model,” where value in organizations is attributed to “star” employees who outperform others (usually at the expense of others).  I overheard some jokes about “shark tank” at SDS, but SDS really creates an entirely different model.  The SDS model recognizes that all innovation, all design thinking, is social. The SDS experience designed to encourage social connectedness, and the greatest benefit of SDS was the time it afforded our team to work together, uninterrupted, over the space of a few days.


Participating in SDS was a chance to work in the open on an idea that was emerging but not yet fully shaped.  SDS teams shared their project ideas openly in a room full of generous, helpful leaders from various kinds of institutional contexts.  They were there to listen to us, reflect back to us what they were hearing, and challenge us to improve ur designs.  Heffernan’s words below beautifully describe the process we experienced at SDS:

“No idea is born fully formed…It emerges… kind of messy, and confused, but full of possibility. And its only through the generous contributions, faith, and challenge, that they achieve their potential.”

Our team’s thinking was transformed, strengthened, and fueled through the many generous contributions and productive critiques we received from the engaged community of experts at SDS.  This value on generosity and collaboration infused the SDS formal sessions, but also spilled out into the hallways and elevators and corners for coffee breaks throughout the conference.  Literally.

cgp2pz6u0ae1shzHere’s Jill Leafsteadt and colleagues from CSU Channel Islands who generously agreed to observe a final run through before our presentation.  Their willingness to spend 10 minutes and then share their sensitive feedback mattered a great deal to us as we prepared to go present our ideas to the SDS reviewers.  SDS privileges collaboration and social support over competition.  Even while SDS does select an overall “winning team,” the primary emphasis is on providing each participating team with the opportunity for rich dialogue and collaboration.  The purpose is to create conditions for teams to think together creatively and courageously about the challenges they are working on, in a challenging but enormously helpful context.

Heffernan’s research on work led her to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London.  The observations and interviews she conducted there surprised her.  “[W]hen I talked to producers of hit albums, they said, ‘Oh sure, we have lots of superstars in music. It’s just, they don’t last very long. It’s the outstanding collaborators who enjoy the long careers, because bringing out the best in others is how they found the best in themselves.'”  This is the sentiment that defined the environment of SDS.  We had carefully honed our pitch to exactly 10 minutes, so it was a risky few seconds at the outset when I went off-script added this spontaneously to our introductions and thanks:  “We should all be going back to our campuses and doing what we can to create this kind of space for our colleagues.”  The outstanding collaborators at SDS helped bring out the best in each team.  This was learning by doing, undoing, and redoing.  And each team left SDS with an improved design to take back to their campuses.

In sharing these experiences from SDS I hope to encourage readers to consider submitting a proposal (by November 2!).  It’s hard to capture just how much the time with my team and the helpfulness of generous SDS collaborators has catalyzed our digital learning work at Muhlenberg.  In a blog post reflecting on her recent visit to campus, Lauren Brumfeld from Reclaim Hosting notes the “togetherness” she observed among the Digital Learning Assistants.  I believe that togetherness, the value of social connection, is the key to our winning SDS design project.




The Bus Has Left and There’s No Coming Back

On October 13 and 14, the Digital Learning Team at Muhlenberg College had the pleasure of hosting our friends from Reclaim Hosting, Jim Groom and Lauren Brumfeld.  I’m not exaggerating when I say the days were packed and both Lauren and Jim were generous in their authentic engagement with the various staff, faculty, and student groups they met throughout the visit.  The Digital Learning Team spent a long morning with Jim and Lauren, in critical discussions about how we are launching bergbuilds, our Domain of One’s Own initiative, and how to make it sustainable.  It was heartening to hear their sense that the intentionality framing our early efforts has been critical to successful Domains projects on other campuses.  Indeed, from the earliest moments of exploring the possibility of Domains at Muhlenberg, conversations with folks leading Domain of One’s Own initiatives at other campuses were vital to shaping our understanding, goals, and approach.  This includes Kristen Eshelman at Davidson College, Andrea Rehn and Whittier College, Jill Leafstedt at CSU Channel Islands, and more recently, Martha Burtis at University of Mary Washington, Adam Croom at Oklahoma University.  It also includes Andrew Rikard at Davidson, who woke up early one summer morning to share with our Digital Learning pre-O students his perspective on what it means for him to connect his learning to his own domain.  Each of them has been generous in sharing their experiences getting started with Domain of One’s Own and have taught me a great deal about the kind of support and strategic thinking that is useful to iterate and sustain a local Domains project.

And I think they all said, if you can do it, bring Jim Groom to campus.

Having Jim and Lauren on campus for two days was an opportunity to intensely explore with them the kind of local Domains scene we hope to cultivate in our community.  They paid close attention in each conversation and it was clear that they were listening deeply for the themes, values, meanings that were surfacing across many different gatherings over the two days–with the Digital Learning Team, the participants of a Domains Faculty Learning Community, the student Digital Learning Assistants, and with students in the first year seminar, “Who Controls Your Digital World?” taught by Tina Hertel, director of Trexler Library at Muhlenberg.  During his workshop with the Faculty Learning Community, Jim very seamlessly worked with Digital Learning Team folks as if they were longtime colleagues–and in doing so really meaningfully called attention to the expertise on campus, especially with instructional technologists Jordan Noyes and Tim Clarke, and Jenna Azar, instructional designer.  Long after Jim and Lauren’s visit ends, these are the three who will hold much of the responsibility for cultivating and supporting Domains at Muhlenberg.


Digital literacies and identities are at the heart of these conversations, and so it was really intentional that Tim Clarke (Instructional Technologist) and Jenna Azar (Instructional Designer) chose the library for the site of Jim’s talk.  This is a perfect place to emphasize how central librarians are to our Domains project and to digital learning in general at Muhlenberg.   In the moment that Jim took the mic, it seemed as if he might bring the library roof down.  Everyone loved it.

Sean Miller, manager of Media Services, helped transform the library concourse into a presentation space, and also captured Jim’s talk on video.  He gets credit for the howling mic gif, too.

Jim’s full talk can be viewed here:

Here’s the Storified version of tweets from the students in the class, Who Controls Your Digital World?  Jim and Lauren visited their class earlier during the day and then they attended Jim’s talk in the evening.


One message was pretty consistent across the many conversations throughout the two days: the importance of blogging.  Not just the idea of blogging about our work, but the idea of blogging as our work.  We were all struck by how often Jim emphasized how critical it is for us to model for students the kinds of practices we aim to encourage and grow among them, including blogging, working openly, in public.  Jim and Lauren made the strongest case for making blogging part of our regular work (“if you’re not blogging, you’re not working!”) and I’m certain that this is just the first of several posts to come reflecting on the ways our work has been enriched and catapulted by our visit from Jim and Lauren.
I was inspired by the pedagogy of ds106 (#4life) in which the instructors hold themselves responsible for completing and publishing assignments alongside the students.  It was an activity from the ds106 assignment bank that inspired critical engagement during a session with the first ever cohort of Digital Learning Assistants.
Here’s where Lauren’s presence was key–she was able to share with the students her perspectives on Domains as a recent grad, and how she made the most of her experiences in the Digital Knowledge Center at the Un iversity of Mary Washington. Thinking with Lauren and Jim about how the DLA program can help cultivate a deeply student-centered mission for Domains at Muhlenberg generated some of the most exciting and inspiring ideas for the work ahead of us this semester and throughout the year.  A space (physical and digital) for them is in the works, but in the meantime interested folks can follow the DLAs here on Twitter.


We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us and I’m looking forward to collectively processing some of the key ideas and aesthetic elements that Jim and Lauren helped surface with us.  Until then, I’m going to remind myself of something Jim said early on: “Domain of One’s Own is won one post at a time.”