Assessment at the Edge 1: Faultlines

img_4881I know I’m not alone in feeling – increasingly as the years roll by – that all too often the way we assess is at odds with the way our students (and we ourselves) actually learn and experience learning. While I and everyone else round the assessment board table is doing their very best to be professional, to ensure that procedures and regulations are followed, and taking great care to ensure that students are treated fairly and reliably….a bit of my brain is suffering from a form of cognitive dissonance and saying ‘This is nuts!’

There used to be a one of those car stickers that went something like ‘Do Not Adjust Your Mind…There Is A Fault With Reality’. And that’s how it feels. There seems to be a serious disjunction or faultline  between what appears on the hundreds of assessment print outs – actual or virtual – and the actual day-to-day experience of learning and teaching, of creating work, of pursuing ideas, of encouraging and enabling students to really stretch themselves, to try out new things, to fail gloriously, to boldly go.

As teachers we need to – and are required to – ascertain, with as much validity, reliability and fairness as possible, what our students know and understand. For most of us, learning, teaching and assessment is a form of journey along the highways and byways of a particular subject. We, the guided and the guides, explore the landscape of the discipline. Our role as guides, more often than not, is to enable those we guide to understand the meaning and significance of what is seen, what is heard, what is felt, what is experienced.

Occasionally, because as guides we take our work seriously, and there are matters of accountability and responsibility that need to be attended to, we stop and check to see how much those who have entrusted their education to us know and understand, and what they can do.

In order to assess our students we stop acting as guides and essentially become researchers or purposeful explorers. We set out to discover what they know and understand, and what skills they possess. We ask them, demand of them, to demonstrate their knowledge, understanding and skills. We assess them, evaluate them, judge them, measure them against a set of standards or criteria.

If it’s a relatively simple matter of fact or basic competence then it is relatively straightforward to test it. The student either knows who, or what, or when or how…or they don’t. But the landscapes we explore in education are highly complex, intricate, shifting, multi-layered, multi-faceted. Simple straightforward answers and simple straightforward questions are hard to come by. The terrain does not reveal itself easily. Nor should it. In such a landscape meaningful assessment is also highly complex, intricate, shifting, multi-layered and multi-faceted.

If we consider the types of assessment that dot the landscape, we can see a veritable bio-diversity of assessment. But this diversity is also a challenge, and it is worth noting just how many of these types of assessment result in assessment ‘data’ that is qualitative rather than quantative in nature.

But there is may be a problem with this: the more assessment involves qualitative information, the more subjectivity is involved. Now this would be mitigated and we would have improved reliability if we had strict or stricter assessment criteria and also more structured and proscribed content. But, and this is a big ‘but’, if we had those it would obliterate the essence of qualitative assessment in terms of flexibility, personal orientation and authenticity. Which brings us, eventually, to the question of assessment paradigms and to the Clash of the Paradigms.

Next instalment:  Assessment at the Edge 2: Clash of the Paradigms

 

Anthem for Doomed Academics

(This has been written as the momentous results of the Research Excellence Framework, known to all and sundry as the dreaded REF, are about to be announced, and as careers hang in the balance depending on who are the winners and losers.)

Anthem for Doomed Academics

(with apologies to Wilfred Owen)

What lasting hell for these who try as authors?
Only the monstrous anger of the dons.
Only the stuttering academic’s crippled cursor
Can patter out career horizons.
No metrics now for them; no citations nor reviews;
Nor any voice of warning save the choirs, –
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing peers;
And lost opportunities calling them from sad HEIs.
What meetings may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hand of managers but in their eyes
Shall shine the unholy glimmers of goodbyes.
The cost of student fees shall be their pall;
Their inheritance the frustrations of indebted minds,
And each damned REF a drawing-down of blinds.

Why I’m stumbling with confidence

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A few people have asked me why this blog is called ‘Stumbling with Confidence’?

The phrase stems originally from my research into university teachers’ conceptions and experiences of creativity in relation to learning and teaching, and I have used it in various papers and conference keynotes.

My research entailed interviewing a number of colleagues from across a range of disciplines – from the arts to the sciences and various disciplines in between. I would always start the interview by asking them to tell me about an experience in learning and teaching that they would consider was a creative experience for them. In a number of cases that question prompted a sort of rabbit-in-the-headlight stare, as if to say “What the hell has creativity got to do with teaching?”. But inevitably they would eventually identify and begin to talk about a particular experience.

At some point I always asked them what prompted them to go down that particular road? Almost everyone I interviewed either said, or said something along the lines of ‘I stumbled across something’.

Probing deeper into this revealed that the mere act of ‘stumbling across something’ is not sufficient in itself. After all, we stumble across potentially useful stuff all the time. The key factor in enabling them to seize the moment was a sense of confidence: the confidence to believe it might be the right thing to do, the confidence to believe it might just work, the confidence to believe that it was worth whatever risk was attached to it, the confidence to believe it was worth giving it go.

As the debates swirl around skills v. passing exams, education for life v. training for work, the intrinsic value of education v. its extrinsic worth, very few seem to be talking about attributes like confidence, and asking how we might educate and work in partnership with our young (and often not-so-young) students to enable them to face – with a steadfast eye, a steady hand, and a keen, informed, open mind – the uncertainties that a complex, rapidly-changing world will inevitably throw at them.

The poet Antonio Machado famously wrote:

Wanderer, there is no path.
The path forms itself as you walk it.

Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.

At least one of our tasks as educators is to ensure that we have done our best to enable our students – as each forms amd forges their individual path – to stumble confidently towards not only whatever lies around the next bend but beyond the horizon.