plagiarism and gaming: reframing academic integrity

new undergrads in an Arts course are typically faced with at least two documents: the first a course syllabus; the second a not on plagiarism (also known as "academic integrity" or, simply, "cheating". for the student, one is a text on what she will be doing; the other, a warning about what's never to be done. both, i assert, are seen by many students as game rules. rules of a game ("university-ing") that they're about to play.

i agree the game metaphor is problematic: for many, school is anything but a game, and is far more serious and consequential. however, for the argument at hand, it's a useful way to theorize how many students conceive of their academic lives. (see douglas rushkoff's article, "play, cheat, program" for a more adept and in depth take than mine own.)

I don't mean to slam what academic integrity is all about, but i find the punitive, fear-mongering tactic of front-loading such a complex institutional decree problematic. academic integrity is important, but leaving it at that--not asking students to engage in discussions of why it's important, or for whom it's most beneficial--gives it the flavour of a medicine. for many, working the system to avoid such a medicine makes a lot of sense.

there is an academic integrity department at ryerson. it is composed of hard working individuals who are far more dedicated to student success and learning than to penalizing them. yet their capacity to support students extends only so far. other academic agents need to step in to fill in the gap.

which is where TAs and GAs come in. (at least maybe.)

the role(s) an Assistant occupies are already complex, the tasks already quite overwhelming. unpacking what seems a fairly routine and self-evident policy document may seem of the least concern when more pressing matters are at hand. perhaps this is true, but then again, what kind of institution does an Assistant (such as you or me) want realistically, what role in education do we have to play? what role do our students?

maybe collaboratively interrogating what games we implicitly play with our students could be useful. i'd suggest none of us are models of academic integrity; but in our flaws and errors, isn't there something to be shared? some kind of learning that could be gained about who we are as humans in an often dehumanizing institution? adhering to the belief that only course content ever matters in a tutorial--that staying on task is the best and only mode of proceeding--may be a well-considered choice; then again, it may be evidence of strict rule-following. perhaps breaking a rule once in a while may encourage a kind of learning about the games we play in university that wouldn't happen if we blindly obey, or pretend that certain rules don't matter.

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questions

how might you "break the rules" in a classroom? how might your status and power allow you certain opportunities not yet open to your students? how might the seemingly simple act of interactively and collaboratively setting class "ground rules" be a usefully defiant act? what other such "acts" might benefit your classroom?

Conflict in the Classroom, and the "Chanciness" of Learning

Last Friday (Feb. 29) was the first time we offered the "Conflict in the Classroom" workshop in the Arts TA Development Program. It raised a lot of issues: some recurring themes, including general questions of power and authority implicit in academic teaching and the TA role, as well as some emergent discussions about anti-oppression pedagogies, about particular dynamics of talking at/talking past in classroom discussion (read, in this context, "opining" or "asserting belief", and about the difficult TA negotiation of balancing classroom specifics with broader academic, humanistic, and social perspectives. We all agreed that there were "hot button" issues, and that there were many ways--individually and collectively, among ourselves as TAs or with our students--that we can work towards resolution (whatever that means).

One issue that got me thinking was that of risk in the classroom: how, for example, can we be sure that eliminating classroom risk (e.g. by imposing rules of appropriate/academic conduct) will foster better learning? Certainly there's something to be said for classroom safety, and recognizing participant's varying levels of comfort with a "hot-button" issue; but does a safe classroom constitute a meaningful classroom?

Somehow I got thinking of the metaphor of gambling as it goes on in the classroom: we often take chances on the things we say, not quite knowing the outcome that will result of things being said. Silence can be seen by some, to continue the metaphor, as a recognition that the stakes are too high--the outcome too uncertain, and the potential "bet" too great a gamble.

It's not a perfect metaphor for sure, but it does allow me to drop the name of one of my all time favourite movies: Baie des anges (Bay of Angels; 1963) by Jacques Demy (about roulette, isolation, and commitment, set on the French Riviera) - http://imdb.com/title/tt0056846/. And it does allow me to highlight what's important to me about discussion: commitment. This is a critical concept to consider, and a critical skill to develop, yet it is hardly discussed in a society where being non-committal is so much more cool (and economically viable). What enabling a certain amount of classroom conflict can do is balance a sense of personal commitment (to our own individual thoughts and ideas) with a sense of collective social or cultural commitment (to those of others, and to the processes and media that enable such sharing in the first place).

On that note, I'll sign off with two passages from Erving Goffman, from a piece called "Where the Action Is" from Interaction Ritual -http://innopac.lib.ryerson.ca/record=b1744342
I hope you find some meaningfulness in my selection.

"In the degree to which a play is a means of acquiring a prize, it is an opportunity; in the degree to which it is a threat to one's bet, it is a risk." (151)

"For chanciness to be present, the individual must ensure he is in a position (or be forced into one) to let go of his hold and control on the situation, to make, in Schelling's sense, a commitment. No commitment, no chance-taking." (152)

Authority versus authorities: Power in teaching and learning spaces

Friday's [Feb. 1/08] workshop on "Facilitating Discussion" was well attended in spite of a relentless snow-storm that had classes canceled on campus as of noon. I neglected to mention it during the session, but I typically state that I find these workshops to be excellent learning opportunities for me. Although they are TA "training" in the strict sense of the term, and the learning is conventionally supposed to happen on the other end—that is, with the participants rather than with me—I don't see how I could ever conclude that there is nothing left for me to learn during any given session.

On this day I came to think more about authority than I have following other previous sessions. Often by the end of a session we raise the issue of power as something that TAs consider important (or would want to consider important) to their own practices as assistants, even if we don't resolve how it plays out for people doing marking or tutorials, working between professors and students, and negotiating academic research versus professionally-related TA employment. In this session much of what we would have discussed in terms of power came up under a pretty interesting discussion on authority.

Explicitly or implicitly, in one way or another, I believe the following questions were raised:

• What is authority? (By definition, in practice, according to the students, etc.)
• What authority should a TA have in the classroom? over what realm or realms? 
• What authority do and/or should students have over the class, its practices, and the course "terms and conditions"? 
• By whose authority does the class seem to operate? by whose authority does it actually operate?

All this left me thinking about the distinction between a TA's authority over content versus her authority over process and other forms of authority. In my own experiences with first year sociology courses, I have found that process far overshadows content, as students at all levels are typically struggling so profoundly with the processes of university learning that specific course matter becomes largely irrelevant. This is not to say that course content was trivialized or became unimportant. Rather, pretty foundational skills needed for university-level academic success were deeply misunderstood, substantively missing, or systematically withheld. (This is not the place for considering why, though this is certainly an interesting
question.)

In any case, my own experience led me to focus on process, and to highlight the importance of a student's own agency and autonomy over the circumstances of her learning. Little of my knowledge of "sociology" proper was demanded of me, much less evidence of my implied position of authority on the subject. This may not be the case in higher level courses, where authoritative content knowledge is in fact necessary, but I'd still guess that the majority of Arts courses demand an exercise of authority over process (simply given the elective nature of many of the courses, and the interdisciplinary make up of the enrolled student body).

Friday's discussion of this issue made me realize two things: first, that authority can be more precisely defined than a simple orientation towards classroom knowledge production; and secondly, that authority over process, which is exercised in local realms (e.g. lectures, tutorials, office hours), will alwaysprefigure authority over content. While "knowing our stuff" as practicing academics will likely aid our activities as practicing TAs, this is never necessarily enough to determine classroom success. Indeed, it may often the opposite effect, leading to antagonistic and painful classroom experiences, if not for ourselves
then for our students, as tradition rather than experience and dialogue becomes the way knowledge gets defined, and the products rather than the processes of learning become the end goals of situations that are only ever processes—both for students and for their teachers (their TAs) as well.

Anyway, I have no idea whether I'm being clear or meaningful to anyone but myself. Perhaps I'll wrap up by commenting on an image by Eric Drooker entitled "Lockdown Dissent." I had always seen the hands behind the bars as those of my students; until Friday, however, I had never quite aligned myself with the hand locking the door. While I know I'm not alone in the act, and can even convince myself that I am among the forces struggling to unlock and open the gate, I also recognize that I am on the outside of the bars while my students are on the inside.

Procrastination... or NOT procrastination?!

It is difficult for some to justify not working when they should be working. Many would call it procrastination, some laziness, but ultimately its a psychological or psycho-social feeling of guilt at not being a productive member of society... perhaps for an extended period of time.

I disagree. I believe all time is time well spent, even the time between moments. It's just a matter of knowing how to shape your time reading PhD Comics, playing Scrabulous on Facebook, browsing the joyful wonder of Boing Boing, or clicking away on your green XO laptop (OLPC) into something worthwhile--something meaningful, not just to others, but to yourself.

Anyway, I thought I'd share that with folks at the beginning of the semester before too much guilt and self-loathing sets in.

(And if you're still stuck, there's always Arts TA Peer sessions to attend...

Happy New Year, everyone!