This is a presentation and workshop I led today at El Camino College, one of the main transfer partners of California State University Dominguez Hills, where I work. You can see the presentation by clicking on the image above; the narration is visible in Notes Page view.
Western Kentucky University has a lot in common with the California State Universities that have employed me for around ten years. It’s an access-oriented, regional comprehensive university, it’s proud of its continuing academic quality in the face of unpredictable challenges, and it would like to improve its graduation rates.
To that end, the university leaders are looking at educational practices that engage their students personally in their learning, making them less likely to drop out.
On Friday I paid WKU a visit to learn more, and share what we’re doing in California. Our discussions focused on high-impact practices, and making them work for a greater share of WKU students by identifying a handful that can be offered consistently, equitably, and campus-wide.
For example, like some CSU campuses, WKU may decide to focus on service learning, undergraduate research, and internships in particular. Those few would then be systematically offered, coded into student records, and regularly assessed for impact.
For my part, these are points I want to remember from Friday’s meetings:
- Everyone is an educator. Although faculty are authors of WKU’s educational programs, I was struck that our meetings were attended in equal parts by advisers, staff, student leaders, administrators – pretty much everyone who interacts with students. I think one value of high-impact practices is that they take advantage of all the ways humans learn; to that end, this full-spectrum participation seems especially important.
- Intentional work requires ongoing professional development. WKU’s efforts in this area are led by Jerry Daday, Executive Director of its Center for Faculty Development. His involvement will be crucial: during a closing discussion of the resources needed for scale-up, people said they needed dedicated training for staff and faculty even more than they needed money.
- Colleges will want a role. This was the biggest surprise of my visit, that deans and associate deans need to see themselves in the emerging approach, and will be unhappy if they can’t. Because high-impact practices are often connected to the student’s choice of major, departments won’t feel their identities threatened. And at the large scale of the whole university, picking a handful of signature high-impact practices for everyone will strengthen the institution’s identity. But what about the layer in between the campus and its departments – say, the College of Arts and Letters, or the College of Nursing?
I’m not sure what to do about that. A good answer may lie in integrated approaches to curriculum, like the AAC&U GEMs project, or in “meta-majors,” broad clusters of related subjects that students pursue before they know exactly what to major in. Such integrated pathways may reside in a single college, and lend themselves to a distinct set of high-impact practices.
(References to meta-majors are getting more common, but the field doesn’t have a single authority I can link you to. One example I like is from Complete College America, which describes meta-majors in its “Guided Pathways to Success” toolkit. See the PowerPoint here, and especially slide 22.)
Or maybe, as some in the meetings believed, bringing along the colleges just isn’t a problem: we need those administrative units behind the scenes, and not because our students should know where they are on the org chart.
I get it, but I’m not so sure. We may find that more should be done at the college level with high-impact practices, and how they bring students in, and support their decision to stay.
This follows an earlier post on team science, which considered the growing share of research problems that don’t seem solvable by lone researchers.
For universities this is unfortunate because our inherited structures of higher education, things like the nested hierarchies of colleges and departments, and rules for faculty promotion and tenure, assume that people’s research, scholarship, and creative activity is compartmentalized and easy to attribute to individuals.
As the frontiers of knowledge get more complicated and interdisciplinary, new research looks less and less like the model we’re set up for.
This week a joint UC-CSU project called CREDITS met at Lake Arrowhead to consider team science. Participants were half faculty and half administrators, and heard from experts in the ways research groups form, function, and sometimes unravel.
Such retreats are a privilege of jobs like mine, of course – the idea that you leave your daily routines to meet and hash out alternate approaches to the whole machinery is almost dizzyingly rarefied.
But my own purpose was very down to earth: as academic administrators we regularly need to evaluate the work of people in disciplines we don’t know much about, and traditionally we’ve done that by deferring to the opinions of other experts in the same field. So if an entomologist is up for some kind of recognition or promotion, you ask other entomologists if the candidate’s work appears in reputable bug journals.
Such expedients fail in a world of team science, where a breakthrough may be celebrated outside of the faculty member’s home discipline, and result from an effort with dozens, or sometimes thousands, of teammates. How do you know what’s worthwhile, if the seminal understanding in “ant routing” was appreciated less by other ant scientists but more by UPS dispatchers, management theorists, and environmentalists?
This question of appropriate attribution goes beyond trophies and certificates: in tenure cases it’s literally someone’s job at stake.
So that’s what I was watching for.
On the administrator track I saw presentations from Kyle Lewis, Dan Stokols, Maritza Salazar, and Renee Rottner, whose own work is itself interdisciplinary, serving as examples as well as guidance. They draw from sociology, psychology, mathematics, counseling, and management, among other fields. But what struck me about their research wasn’t just its varied source materials, but also the numerous ways it’s been applied.
That is, each has consulted to private businesses, philanthropy, and multiple branches of the military – pretty much anyone trying to organize collective action. Recognizing their work appropriately isn’t just a matter of checking for citations among other team-science thinkers, or bylines in the Quarterly Journal of Cooperation-ology. On the contrary, their contributions are important precisely because they transcend the boundaries of expertise, and are applied by people in other fields.
I think there are implications in that for higher ed, and that our tenure committees – or for that matter our graduate programs and department curriculum committees – might do a better job of recognizing significant contributions if they included people from other departments, or even from outside of colleges and universities altogether.
We include some external evaluators already, in things like tenure review and grant applications. So what I’m calling for isn’t a difference of paradigm so much as of emphasis. The cases I’ve participated in consider expertise the real litmus test, and use outside triangulation as a kind of corroboration after the fact.
Maybe it’s time we reverse that.
Before working in higher education I worked in film, as a writer and small-time producer. So when I concluded that such a background is excellent preparation for a particularly 21st century skill set, I dismissed it as personal bias. After all, movie making isn’t a new business.
But it has struck me more than once that the virtues of teamwork, ad hoc and project-based relationships, and personal expression are at a new premium.
This was corroborated about a year ago in a New York Times article on Hollywood and the Future of Work, making me feel a little less parochial.
So having read that and thought about it I’ll go the rest of the way, and add that a background in filmmaking is also excellent preparation for academic administration in particular. Bear with me.
Faculty, advisors, and program leads are artists, whose individual areas of expertise are no more available to me than those of a cinematographer or gaffer. For a producer, just as for a campus administrator, about the best you can do is chart a clear course and then try to get people the equipment they need. For me, there was nothing jarring about joining an enterprise of shared governance, where the decision-making authority is distributed across the rank and file. Movies really can’t happen otherwise.
Now that I’m off the campus backlot altogether and in a statewide system office, my role is probably more like studio flunky than small-time producer, but even from here the analogy holds up eerily well. We have a slate of campuses, we study the numbers they return, we make visits when appropriate. And we report upstream to our real bosses, whether taxpayers or shareholders, and try to help them make sense of apparent chaos.
It can be fun in its way, but it’ll never be like life on the set.
Image credits: kcet.org, New York Times
Increasingly I find myself joining or convening teams online, for some focused discussion that may take half an hour to an hour. In a world of laptops, smart phones, and tablets, all webcam enabled, I’m getting new insights into my friends’ living rooms, bedrooms, and airline preferences.
I’m also learning that for a given task and ad hoc group of people, two or three of these short meetings, spaced about a week apart, can be more effective than conference calls or traveling to a single longer meeting.
But with longer and more complicated projects, the collaboration is harder to optimize. And what we’re seeing with the development of knowledge – a core business of higher education – is that the projects are all getting longer and more complicated.
That is, we face a dwindling number of pressing research questions that can be answered by a solitary faculty member. Instead, the new premium is on interdisciplinary teams, say in combinations of chemists, political scientists, economists, and engineers, pulling together to compare competing energy policies. Or cognitive scientists, educators, psychologists, social workers, nutritionists, and pediatricians figuring out the critical components of the first year of human life.
These are questions that universities are well positioned to take on. We have the carrying capacity, the troves of smart people from different walks of life and ways of knowing. They are each expert in some field of inquiry.
What hardly any of my colleagues and I are expert in is how to work together toward a common goal. We may have developed our share of common sense and interpersonal skills, but colleges and universities aren’t especially known for either. Until recently we were mostly collections of cranky soloists, with a lot to learn from the emerging field of team science.
Last year the National Academies Press published Enhancing the Effectiveness of Team Science, a sobering look at the challenges inherent in group research at scale. For higher education I think a few of the NAP findings and recommendations stand out.
The writers open with advice for the teams themselves, calling for intentional selection and then targeted professional development for each member, taking into account each one’s specific personality and expertise. In a separate recommendation they call for research and professional development just for the team leaders. And for geographically distributed teams that use virtual meetings – a growing part of my own job – they advise additional team-building exercises and some room for local autonomy.
They close with a set of recommendations for funders to appropriately incentivize and support team science. And in between is this recommendation leveled at higher ed:
Recommendation 6: Universities and disciplinary associations should proactively develop and evaluate broad principles and more specific criteria for allocating credit for team-based work to assist promotion and tenure committees in reviewing candidates.
In other words, we shouldn’t be surprised to find ourselves among idiosyncratic loners if our system favors them.
I’ve seen universities try different things to overcome the centrifugal force of disciplines and departments. Some are structural, like creating centers for multi-faceted inquiry into a particular complicated problem, like the Institute for Palliative Care at CSU San Marcos, or the tradition at CSU Channel Islands of coordinating annual searches across departments to create research cohorts. Others are mostly rhetorical but still effective, intentional messaging from the top and written promotion policies that value teamwork.
For the last few months I’ve been advising a team-science project called CREDITS, which is itself a large-scale collaboration. It originated as a partnership between California’s more selective and research-focused UC system and the CSU system of regional comprehensives, where I work. We’ve had in-person meetings and conference calls, and reviewed applications from faculty to join an upcoming retreat.
We asked applicants about their experience in team science, and what they found challenging. Two answers have stuck with me:
From a UC geneticist who works with government agencies, mathematicians, and attorneys: “The main obstacle to collaborative projects, in my view, is that a project is not necessarily at the same level on all the participants’ priority list, and this can result in frustrating delays.”
From a researcher in international coastal flooding: “This work is inherently interdisciplinary. As a coastal engineer, I work closely with other engineers, ecologists as well as economists and risk analysts to quantify the risk reduction value of coastal ecosystems and enhance their consideration within coastal planning and policy-making. The foremost challenge was understanding the language of another discipline, communicating my ideas and work to experts in other fields, and reaching a consensus on research goals, outcomes and process.”
I’ve thought of these two submissions more than once in just the last week, in places I didn’t expect.
To raise their graduation rates, all 23 California State Universities are trying to improve the student experience, an effort that creates new connections among faculty, front-line advisers, and a surprising number of back offices, all struggling with mismatched priorities and murky reporting relationships. Last Thursday I spoke to a doctoral student at San Diego State about her research into exactly what that’s like, and what steps administrators can take to make such collaborations easier. I’ll share her findings with you when they’re ready.
A little later the same day, I was in a meeting on the redesign of the CSU’s statewide web site. For decades it’s been organized entirely from our perspective, each department getting some dominion over pages to maintain. The redesign leadership is heroically shifting all that to a team approach, aiming for a visitor-centered site organized not by what we do, but by what visitors want to know about us.
Curiously, both of these were research-driven discussions, and both involved people across a mix of “disciplines” or ways of knowing, all rummaging around for a common way to talk to each other.
There is a lot at stake as we all try to get better at this – for the health of our planet, for mitigating coastal floods, and for simply getting more people through college, precisely to take on all those other problems.
But I wonder if we’re doing enough in higher education for this, or if the proficiencies of teamwork deserve more attention in the undergraduate curriculum.
Like the faculty who applied to the CREDITS retreat, my colleagues and I are too often stymied not by gaps in our specialized learning, but by under-developed tools for getting along with each other. We seem ignorant of things people outside of academia have already figured out.
The retreat is next month, and I’ll report back then.
Image credits: livingwagejourney.org, hivlawandpolicy.org.