I won’t be able to post this until tomorrow morning. My net access tonight
was restricted to a short sprint of email checking in the CCR lounge and mailroom
just before walking back home from a full day of orientation sessions with the
So that’s it: orientation. We’re toggling between large groups sessions and
smaller, mini-groups, for things such as microteaching
presentations. My dog and pony show danced to the beat of the five-minute version
of aggregation and feedlines as the latest informatics of the WWW (as if from an introductory research writing course).
The microteaching demos are taped; we’ll watch and critique
One of the large group sessions today was on "active learning." We
were asked to–quick!– think up a list of qualifiers that constitute active
learning as something distinctly different from passive learning, I guess.
I was thinking along the lines of, if it burns calories, it’s active, when someone
in the front piped up with "learning by doing." This was one among
many on the list, of course. Then the session speaker took up the problem of
learning something abstract or dead, something that cannot be done. Something
about doing 5th c. B.C. Greece. You can’t do that, right? [Rhetoric?
Another side of this session, in front of all the U.’s TAs called on us to
think of ways we’ll prefer active learning in our teaching this fall
(rather than advocating couch potato essayism or worse). Working from
a volunteered example course–WRT105, someone in the front again–lots
of TAs started chiming in with their experiences in writing classes. In no time,
it was abundantly clear that chaste, parochial conceptions of writing are widespread–no
surprise. This was again clearer when someone asked how TAs in WRT105
will teach sentence diagramming. Lots of interchange. Talkity talk, and a clarification
that WRT105 is a course concerned with argumentation. Argument=binaries,
came next. Pick sides, debate, two camps, polarities, either-ors. But one of
the points of emphasis in the WRT105 plan is that argument is most formidable
when fashioned out of analysis. And I appreciate this distinction, not
as much for the way analysis commonly connotes endless parsing and dissection
(for the sake of dissection and parsing), but for the place of close reading
and discourse analysis in argumentation. Within a few minutes, I started
daydreaming about cue intricacy and intimacy as the indispensibles
in effective argument. And then the session was over.
I hope I don’t seem underhanded or whiny here. I’m still upacking, then unpacking
more. And I only want to comment on one other session–an afternoon hour on
"Academic Integrity." Lead question: How do people cheat? Responses:
making stuff up, copying from sources, pay someone to write it for you, manipulate
a professor, work collaboratively when it’s not a collaborative assignment,
cooking the evidence, and re-using one’s own work. It was neither the
place nor the time for wave-making, so I kept mostly quiet despite my sense
that many of these sins might be IDed as twins of more common, desirable writing
practices–the very sort we encourage: invention, collaboration, integration,
reiteration, etc. And of course there are distinctions, but I continue to be
one of the laggards when it comes to all the rushing around and alarm-sounding
about crises in academic integrity. Last one out of the building. Why? Because
it’s part of our charge as teachers to teach it assertively rather than defensively.
We really ought to want students to do well, yet much of the venom and mud the
comes with the plagio-police neglects to see citation systems in their larger
context or as something about which we could/should/must accept some responsibility.
After that, gross abuses and dishonesty–like diss. fudging–should be treated
seriously, as should some of the deliberate efforts to steal, lie, rob and connive.
Another part of the session fell under the bullet, "Who’s hurt by cheating?"
and the more I thought about it, the more I thought that practically nobody
Okay, so stealing ideas can impact the maker of the original. Fair enough.
But the argument that the institution’s reputation is soiled each time a case
of student cheating goes unpunished strikes me as a broad, tough-to-support
trajectory. What evidence? Does this mean the habitual cheater who, after graduation,
is proven incompetent, mars the institution’s glossy reputation? Maybe. If so,
name the institutions falsely cited as degree-granting in any of the recent
fraud cases. [Note that I’m assuming this contrarian position more as an exercise
in tinkering with the unsettled than as an all-out dismissal of the U.’s concern
for dishonesty. It’s not that I condone cheating. In fact, when caught, egregious
plagiarism gets a failing grade, a furrowed-brow of disgust, and so on. But
I’m not sold on this idea of hurt…there’s more.]
Cheating wastes teachers’ time and dashes our (naive) sense of didactic sanctity
(or whatever). It insults much of the work we do, undermines the high regard
we have for genuine intellectual engagements with our courses, as designed.
But "who’s hurt"? How does that hurt manifest? What is an example
of the hurt–brought about by a single case of cheating or a full-bore
epidemic? What, specifically, was hurt and what does the injury look like? Beyond
the victim of robbery hardship (which is no small thing), I’m wondering
about the nature of the hurt that comes from academic dishonesty. Aside from
frustration and sirening, I can’t tell what that hurt looks like. Maybe we’re
doing such a great job busting the plagiarists that the whole plot is generously