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By R. W. Burniske
Mr. Burniske challenges every parent in this country -- as well as every student, faculty member, and administrator -- to think critically about computers in the classroom.
THE GREATEST threat to education is the death of dialectics. Without dialectics, the pursuit of truth through argumentation, we offer students sterile information or pernicious propaganda. I've learned this lesson many times during the past 16 years while teaching at four different schools in as many countries and continents. I've witnessed the repressed discourse of schools in Egypt, Ecuador, Malaysia, and the U.S., where traditional hierarchies and administrative hegemonies preserve the status quo.
One cannot fault the schools entirely, however, for we must consider the societies that breed them. In Malaysia, where I taught at an international school from 1992 to 1996, government censorship thwarted debate; in America, corporate brainwashing achieves much the same result. What's troubling in both instances, however, is the public's acquiescence. The latest example is America's zealous embrace of computer technology and the absence of public debate over its adoption. Upon repatriation a year ago, after nearly a decade as an expatriate educator, this situation puzzled me. I wonder if it's possible to revive the moribund dialectics in this country, particularly as they relate to technology's role in education, and so consider how best to prepare teachers for dramatic changes in their classrooms. Sometimes it's necessary to step back from our local scene, viewing it from a distance and comparing it with foreign situations, in order to comprehend our circumstances more fully.
Consider, then, one of the defining cultural metaphors of Malaysia: the "shadow play." To understand Malay politics, one needs to be familiar with this form of entertainment, but one needs to study the audience rather than the performance. People in front of the screen are mesmerized by the shadows playing upon it; those on the periphery, however, are less susceptible to the illusion. They see the shadows and hear the music and the narrative, but they also observe the puppet master behind the screen, deftly manipulating both the puppets and the audience.
Now, let's step from the Malay shadow puppets to the theater of American politics, which exploits a national obsession with television to mesmerize its audience. In both instances, infatuation with shadows playing upon a screen distracts people from the substance and motives of the puppet master.
I learned a great deal about this phenomenon while coordinating a global telecomputing project called "The Media Matter," which I created to allow students in different countries to discuss with one another the role of the media in shaping public perceptions. In the midst of that project, Disney, Inc., purchased the ABC television network. My students in Malaysia were surprised to find their counterparts in Iowa -- the ones self-righteously attacking the "evils" of government censorship -- apathetic about this "business merger." My students at the International School of Kuala Lumpur asked how journalistic integrity could possibly be maintained if Disney CEO Michael Eisner should be interviewed for an ABC news program, such as "Nightline" or "20/20." Amazingly, this issue didn't cause much of a stir among the students in Des Moines.
Three years later, how many American viewers of the "ABC Evening News" realize that it is owned and operated by the people responsible for the Magic Kingdom? How many would even see a problem with that? It's ironic that people shrug at corporate-controlled media yet rail against state-controlled media. Don't both lead to the censorship of opposing viewpoints? How can a society teach its young the value of "Truth" if it tolerates the daily deceptions practiced by its government or its media? It is this inability to subject media to a "critical" reading that has prompted Neil Postman and others to fret over "the end of education."1
Developing genuine, dialectical discourse, whether face-to-face or in cyberspace, is no simple matter. The classroom environment suffers when the surrounding community fails to nurture healthy discursive practices.
Consider the present generation of students, weaned on the "boob tube," imbibing a crass ideology that says, "Don't think. Consume!" Our children didn't invent this ideology, but they quickly absorb it. A few years ago a national brewing company had the temerity to sell its product with the flippant query "Why ask why?" Implicit in that advertising campaign and in many others like it was a dismissal of critical thinking. Imagine the impact of that dismissal on young people. Then consider the plight of a teacher attempting to use the Socratic method in a classroom by asking, "Are there any questions?" Adolescents lack the skills necessary for dialectical discourse, and little in popular culture encourages them to cultivate those skills. That's the way the advertising agencies want it, but it doesn't bode well for democracy. Modern rhetoricians remind us of this disturbing reality:
Persuasion is concerned primarily with influencing the way people think or act, whereas argument is concerned with discovering and conveying our best judgments about the truth of things through an appeal to reason. All arguments involve persuasion, but all persuasive acts do not involve argument.2
Rather than pursue truth through dialectical discourse, we too often settle for "persuasive acts" that exert their influence by exciting our passions and overwhelming our reason. Will the Internet and educational telecomputing help us overcome the seductive power of persuasion? Not if they simply encourage more channel surfing, a definite possibility with the advent of Web TV. Unfortunately, the initial hype and hysteria surrounding the "Information Superhighway" have distracted us from more substantial debates, ones that we must revive. We are barraged with these persuasive acts, most of them exploiting our fundamental anxieties, but seldom do we hear rational argument. How else can we explain the change of stance of politicians -- the ones who squeezed public education in the 1980s with the claim that we "can't fix what's wrong with education by throwing money at it" -- who now giddily promote on-ramps to the Information Superhighway in every classroom? In both instances, rather than sound argument, they have given us emotional appeals that prey on our concerns about children, job opportunities, and national interests.
As an educator I'd like to ask those elected officials why they prefer investing in machines rather than investing in people. Do they realize that they've mistaken job training for education? I doubt it.
But what I'm certain they do know is that the "boxes and wires" of telecomputing are manufactured by "Big Business." And Big Business fills those campaign coffers we keep hearing about. So if we keep Big Business happy by investing in its gadgetry, then Big Business will keep the politicians happy by spreading largesse -- and occasionally donating hardware and software to schools and libraries. This, in turn, will get youngsters "hooked" early, thereby oiling the machine that paves the Information Superhighway.
Unfortunately, there's one significant casualty along the way: public debate. As government of the people, by the people, and for the people succumbs to government of the corporation, by the corporation, and for the corporation, the dialectics of democracy yield to the spreadsheets of plutocracy. Perhaps this explains my sensitivity to the rhetoric of our current would-be Education President. Consider the following excerpt from his second inaugural address:
Now, for the third time, a new century is upon us, and another time to choose. We began the 19th century with a choice, to spread our nation from coast to coast. We began the 20th century with a choice, to harness the Industrial Revolution to our values of free enterprise, conservation, and human decency. Those choices made all the difference. At the dawn of the 21st century a free people must now choose to shape the forces of the Information Age and the global society, to unleash the limitless potential of all our people, and, yes, to form a more perfect union.
As I understand it, implicit in the idea of "choice" is that we have at least two options from which to select. And yet the President made no mention of alternatives to these choices. Note, too, the businesslike detachment of the statement "Those choices made all the difference." Yes, Mr. President, they most certainly did. But could we stop to consider whether the differences they made were positive or negative? Could we hear a rational argument, instead of emotional rhetoric, about how this current "choice" will help us "form a more perfect union"? What these statements reveal is how little "choice" the common person actually had at the start of each new century. What are the chances of creating "a more perfect union" when the leader of it declares that "a free people must now choose to shape the forces of the Information Age?" If we're told what we must choose, then how free are we? If there is no alternative, no opposing view, where's the dialectical tension necessary to discover Truth?
Access to the Internet will not solve the problem of this paucity of debate. Nor will it necessarily reinvigorate "public discourse in the age of show business."3 It is unrealistic to expect children who spend 35 hours a week in front of television screens that shower them with "persuasive acts" to suddenly develop critical thinking skills and engage in healthy on-line discourse the moment they log on.
Rather than wring our hands, however, we should look upon the outrageous expenditures for wiring schools as a challenge. It's no longer a question of whether we should introduce computer technology into our classrooms. I'm afraid that "choice" has already been made for us. The question now is how we should make use of this technology for educational purposes. How can we use it to help young students acquire a literacy that's more hospitable to dialectical discourse?
We might, as we so often do, blame the schools for these problems -- even as we demand that they save us from them. If we're genuinely concerned, however, then we must provide more and better professional development opportunities for teachers. In February 1997 the National Center for Education Statistics published a report indicating that Internet access in K-12 schools in the U.S. had increased from 35% in 1994 to 65% in 1996, while only 14% of the schools surveyed had provided mandatory "teacher training" in that time span.4 Teachers, it would seem, are left to train themselves and are marginalized when it comes to debates over education reform.
Meanwhile, politicians who saw no problem squeezing public education funding in the 1980s now rhapsodize over technology in the classroom. Does anyone else have a problem with this? I think a number of people do, but to articulate one's reservations is to invite the mockery of powerful opponents who ridicule thoughtful objections and attach the "Luddite" label to those who raise them. The consequence of this is the stifling of essential debates and the repression of significant questions, such as: At what age should we introduce children to computers? What impact will computers have on the social, emotional, and psychological development of our children? And how will computers alter the dynamics of a classroom and school?
Instead of these inquiries, we hear the more utilitarian question, one carrying the assumption that computers are ipso facto a good addition: How can we get more computers into the classrooms? This isn't a recipe for successful schools, nor is it healthy for democracy in this country. As Samuel Sava, head of the National Association of Elementary School Principals, observed before the start of the 1997-98 school year:
I have not the slightest doubt about the value of computers in our society. But I question whether we have learned to apply this technology to K-8 instruction. . . . If computers make a difference, it has yet to show up in achievement. We must have the courage to resist the public enthusiasm for sexy hardware and argue for the funds necessary to train our teachers. We cannot send them into the computer room with nothing but a user's manual. If you've ever read one of those things, . . . they give new meaning to the phrase "English as a second language."5
I'd like to challenge every parent in this country, as well as every student, faculty member, and administrator, to think critically about computers in the classroom. Let's revive the dialectical discourse that is absent from so many discussions of the issue. If there's one thing I've learned while teaching nearly 1,500 students from the Middle East to North America and from Southeast Asia to South America, it is this: schools will never be good places for students until they are good places for teachers. Given current trends, I'd say our schools are in danger of becoming good places for machines.
So let's argue about this one a little, shall we? It's time for free people to choose wisely, demanding more options than technology affords and more substance than shadows provide.
1. Neil Postman, The End of Education:
Redefining the Value of School (New York: Knopf, 1995).
2. John D. Ramage and John C. Bean, Writing
Arguments: A Rhetoric with Readings, 3rd ed. (Boston: Allyn and Bacon,
1995), p. 3.
3. Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves
to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business (New York: Penguin,
1985).
4. Sheila Heaviside, Toija Riggins, and
Elizabeth Farris, Advanced Telecommunications in U.S. Public Elementary
and Secondary Schools, Fall 1996 (Washington, D.C.: National Center
for Education Statistics, 1997), available on-line at http://www.ed.gov/NCES/pubs/97944.html.
5. Quoted in Tamara Henry, "Questioning
Computers," USA Today, 25 July 1997, p. 4-D.
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