If I was to create a network, it would look something like this:
While this network would have a number of priorities, for certain it would strive to be thought-provoking. Television has gotten better in recent years regarding content meant to make people wonder and ask questions. There is enough mindless programming already.
It would also be edgy. Sometimes it is good to be uncomfortable and confused. As much as people might not appreciate feeling these ways, it is only in these situations that true learning can take place.
As for profitability, obviously it would be a concern. But not to the degree that it would completely determine content choices.
The show I’ve been into most recently: The Americans. It follows Elizabeth and Philip Jennings, two Soviet-era spies who are deep undercover. How deep? They are embedded in a suburban community, hiding in plain sight, playing the roles of average parents with normal occupations and concerns--juggling hectic schedules, being good parents, being friendly neighbors. But these are the opposite of normal people. They are highly trained, intelligent, and, when they must be, deadly soldiers in the Cold War for supremacy.
Who/Where/When
The show is broadcast on FX and has just begun its 4th season. Its creator is Joe Weisberg, a former CIA agent. His experience working for the agency has informed some of the plot elements in the show.
Why
The show adeptly builds tension in every episode, making the most of the fine line the Jenning’s must walk. Because their cover must never be compromised, they are justifiably paranoid about how they present themselves in their community. Weisberg also makes the most of his knowledge of spy gadgets and plans, as the Jennings are shown manipulating a range of instruments meant to steal US military secrets.
However, this is not what I find most attractive about the show. Instead, what hooks me is the way Weisberg and his team have me rooting for “the enemy.” Philip and Elizabeth have sworn an oath to the USSR to destroy America, or at least severely limit its ability to influence the world. But this is not typically what I am thinking about as I watch them maneuver through their worlds. Instead, I identify with them as the protagonists. In general, I prefer these kinds of shows. Breaking Bad, Justified, Game of Thrones: this is just one of many shows that present the complexity and moral ambiguity people must negotiate.
As in life, good and bad are not mutually exclusive. Instead, it’s much more of a spectrum across which people move depending on the situation. Why is this attractive? I suppose it is because of the reason I watch tv. I want to be entertained; yet, I don’t want to completely escape. I enjoy media that poses questions about what it means to live our complex, messy lives. Even if I am not a spy, I have encountered situations in which I must decide between acting in my own self-interest or for a cause bigger than myself. I must decide between acting selfishly or selflessly. I must consider if in my relationships with others I am exploiting them for my own gain or treating others justly as individuals with their own goals and desires.
Audience As I mention above, this is a show for people who don’t mind some complexity and ambiguity. While some Russians are presented in the cold, calculating manner that other media have used, Americans are as well. Certainly, there are plenty of chase scenes, fight scenes, and general intrigue to keep people who like thrillers and suspense interested. But this is not James Bond. It is a much murkier world.
When I consider the media landscape I inhabit, a phrase comes to mind: stuck in-between.
Jeraul75
Why do I feel this way? Let me visualize it. Pretend that the following street represents my media consumption:
As you can see, my street is dominated by two of the biggest broadcasting systems from the previous 100 years: television and radio. True, when it comes to tv, I get my programming quite differently now than I did when growing up. I watch little to no programming on the four major networks. But my changed habits are about more than cable vs. traditional over the air broadcasters. Instead, the big difference is that I watch most television through dvr or Netflix. And you know what this means. . .
No commercials. So long advertisers. Well, sort of. Of course, I still must contend with product placement. But that's a topic for a different post.
I started this post with a comment about feeling like I am stuck in between. Remember:
Jeraul75
My point is that my viewing habits are increasingly different from those older and younger than me. My parent's generation is still pretty devoted to the big networks, including an indescribable devotion to local newscasts.
On the opposite end, there are my own children. It's not just that they consume most of their media on their phones, but it's that the media they consume has been crafted specifically for the internet, mainly YouTube channels.
And then there is me. As I stated, I consume most of my media through tv and radio; however, there's the internet, lurking just down the street.
I feel like I am inhabiting both worlds, and I'm not sure what to make of this transition through which our culture is moving. So how about some questions:
Is it a problem that there is more niche marketing when it comes to programming?
Is it a problem that, aside from the Super Bowl, there are very few media moments that bring tens of millions of people together as was common in the 20th Century?
Does the plethora of creators and entertainers online signify a challenge to the corporate media system or are these creators and entertainers already a part of our overwhelming commercial culture?
I don't have answers to these questions, yet. But as a media consumer, I find them worth exploring. In any case, long live the local news:
Last month, I received a wonderful gift from a student: a copy of Humans of New York.
The book is a companion to photographer Brandon Stanton's popular tumblr blog and website of the same name. In the preface to the book, Stanton explains that photography was not his initial profession; he was a trader. Photography was his hobby, albeit one that took up more and more of his time. When he lost his trading job, he "wanted to spend the next phase of my life doing work that I valued." He did not intend to photograph people, but "the portraits" of "strangers on the street" ended up being "the most compelling photographs."
As he began posting his favorites, others took notice. And once he started interviewing his subjects, he knew he had a powerful, captivating project with an endless supply of subjects. As he puts it, in New York "the sidewalks are covered with people. . .There [are] tons of them."
I love this story.
After all, look at what it entails: vision, observation, perseverance, chance, gratitude, connection. And joy. Flipping through the pages, the work evokes the deeply human need to be present and counted. It is like looking at a visual representation of Walt Whitman's great catalogues. In these pages are the crowds Whitman endlessly records. But just as in Whitman's work, the crowds are not faceless. They are comprised of individuals, each playing his or her part in "the powerful play." Images of light captured and shared.
Lately, with teaching, I have been trying to define and document, along with other educators, the special moments that take place between me and my students (and colleagues). On twitter, we have started to refer to these as moments of . . .
This is a peculiar kind of joy, hence the desire to capture it.
The moments do not have to be epic successes. Anyone who has been in the classroom knows that some of the most staggeringly wonderful moments are much quieter, sometimes even resulting from failure. Of course, as the word "moment" implies, these also tend to be fleeting.
Teaching is a tough job--the material, the directives, the personalities. All of these must be negotiated with an eye always on the ultimate goal: to help people find within themselves the ability, the wherewithal, the motivation, honesty, skill, love, and curiosity to be well, to grow, to be recognized and give recognition to others.
Well-being Growth Recognition
These can be achieved only when there is a relationship based on more than institutional mandate. It can happen only when there is a relationship that is trusting, respectful, open, honest, and hopeful. Not to mention one that can tolerate some healthy skepticism and contentiousness. Given this list of descriptors, it would make sense to see time as a key building block for this kind of relationship. No way can it happen overnight. However, in the classroom the days are marked from the outset. Perhaps this is what makes the relationship so challenging and the job so demanding.
With a limited timeframe in which to develop the relationship and make it flourish, it is no wonder there can be such tension, anxiety, let-down, angst, and uncertainty. Come to think of it, that the relationship produces success ever is somewhat of a shock. That the relationship does foster
Well-being Growth Recognition. . .
is what leads to
And it is why capturing these moments is vital; capturing helps keep us mindful of what makes teaching a deeply moving, critical profession. So here are a few moments worth documenting:
I feel #edjoy while viewing the honest way a student expresses her battle with depression,
while reading the thoughtful way a student responds to one of my blogposts
while observing students working together in sincere ways
while watching students create themselves and comment on their community
It is a paradox that, for an institution focused on people, education can be quite dehumanizing. Especially in our current era of standardization. But this video clip from a longer student work? I could watch it endlessly. Like Stanton's discovery on the streets of New York, this illustrates brilliantly why edjoy is so potent. It is about people. I feel its rightness in my chest.
So, to summarize:
Perhaps what we educators (and students) need is a book or a blog so we can document and remember the depth of what we do and who we are. What do you think?
Recently, I watched a Ted Talk by Andrew Fitzgerald titled "Adventures in Twitter Fiction." For most of the talk, Fitzgerald provided examples of the interesting ways people are experimenting with social media, especially Twitter, in order to tell stories. While I enjoyed hearing about these examples, it was something he said earlier in the talk that really intrigued me:
We are all broadcasters now
It is not that I found the statement groundbreaking. In fact, it is really just the latest version of an idea I have heard often: we are all now producers of content and designers of our digital personas. Still, something about Fitzgerald's declaration got me thinking, especially when I paired it with ideas from two other Ted Talks: "Your Online Life, Permanent As A Tattoo," by Juan Enriquez; and "After Your Final Status Update," by Adam Ostrow.
While these two talks ultimately do not focus on the same exact idea, they agree on one thing: as human beings, we all now have to consider something that no other humans in the history of the world had to on quite the same scale--we are "broadcasters" of our selves. Meaning? With every move we make online, especially regarding social media, we provide information about ourselves that affects how people see us right now. But that's not all.
This information will also outlast us.
When we are no longer physically on this planet, our posts, tweets, pics, purchase histories, emails, videos, etc, will remain for our children, grandchildren, and successive generations to see. With this in mind, perhaps we need to take time to consider the kind of digital self we are leaving behind. As I think about my "broadcasting" from the previous week, here's what it looks like:
A few gift purchases on Amazon.
Some pictures of a family get-together on facebook and Instagram.
Between 5-10 G+ posts. Some for class communities and a few for a mooc in which I am participating. For one of the posts, I used YouTube Editor to create a short video about writing.
Roughly 150 tweets regarding education. Most of them surrounding the idea of #edjoy--a hashtag that I have asked other educators to use.
An iMovie video posted to YouTube in which I tried to remix a friend's Vine video.
There is probably more that I am forgetting about. Here is the upshot, though. It has me thinking about my "broadcasting." Does it give an accurate sense of who I am? Have I shared ideas that I find important? Or how about this question:
If people only knew me through my "broadcasting" from the previous week, would I be happy with what it says about me?
Recently I came across this Vine, compliments of @timneedles:
It inspired me so much, I decided to remix it and use it as the basis for a short video:
For such a short video, this actually took me quite some time. Naturally, somebody might ask why I would spend a couple of hours putting this together, knowing that few others would see it. The simple answer? Creating, regardless of what it is, provides a break.
It is about the process. Whether making a video
A piece of micro fiction:
Or a multimedia collage:
Working on this material or with paper, scissors, and glue removes me from my daily routine and reminds me how important it is to explore the emergent possible. It is too easy to coast, to skate, to not think beyond what needs to be done. But life is mysterious and wonderful and difficult. Creating restores an awareness of what is in front of me and, more importantly, what is inside me.
Creativity brings life. Rejoice! Inside, you'll find power. You'll find ability good for a big heart.
I attended a conference last year where I heard Chris Lehmann speak. Like countless teachers, I consider him on target regarding the ways we need to rethink how we do education. And, like many teachers who have listened to and spoken with Chris, I now have a problem: tests.
As Chris was discussing the benefits and challenges of implementing a problem based curriculum, like they have at SLA, he said something along these lines: if you have a test at the end of a unit, you don't have a problem based curriculum. You have a test based curriculum. Well. That makes sense.
But, as it turns out, resisting the impulse to test is quite difficult. First off, there are some reasons to give tests. For example, on a test, students can demonstrate their knowledge. Tests can also hold students responsible for information and reward those who have been diligent about doing the work. I am sure there are other reasons as well; however, my intention here is not to support tests. Instead, I want to reflect on why I am struggling with giving them.
Here are three reasons: 1) I'm not convinced that a test truly shows what a student thinks about whatever it is she is being tested on. It is the definition of top-down assessment. 2) Tests standardize learning, which is messy by its very nature. 3) Tests do not strike me as authentic learning experiences. What do I consider learning?
This is learning
And this
And this
Each of these examples illustrate meaningful, hands-on experiences. By looking at the work and talking to students about the experience, I know these activities required planning, focus, attention to detail, trial and error, flexibility and risk. These are skills that we know students (and all of us) need.
So, why can't I just embrace this approach and think no more about tests? I guess a big reason is that tests still reign supreme. As much as I hate to say it, I feel pressure (albeit from within) to conform. I feel (again, with no real evidence) like other teachers would regard with suspicion my choice not to test. I feel like I might even be doing my students a disservice by not testing, since most of them are going on to college, where they will face some big tests.
Thanks Chris Lehman. You have me thinking. Then again, it would be so much easier not to.
