Latest Read: The Education Myth by Jon Shelton

My latest read is The Education Myth by Jon Shelton. It's a very detailed walk through education and economic policy in the US, starting in early US history but mostly focusing on the 20th and 21st centuries. I'm not going to walk through every point, just note two things;

1) His basic critique is one that I echo: US policymakers have focused pretty much exclusively on education as improving workers, rather than focusing on creating more opportunities for work. Yes, teaching a man to fish helps him feed himself, but are there healthy fisheries for him to ply? Good harbor infrastructure? Functioning markets in which to sell his catch? Are there alternative careers if fishing isn't his comparative advantage?

The government cannot do all of this (or arguably most of it) but to the extent that they do play a role, it has to be something broader than just trying to train people without regard for the world they're being trained to move in.

2) Near the end, on page 179 he notes that while research has shown that states with good educational investments tend to have less income inequality, the causality isn't clear. Maybe states that invest in social spending across the board have less income inequality AND more educational spending because those two priorities tend to go together in a lot of Americans' values systems. Or maybe greater economic security leads to more desire to invest in education. An individual can climb relative to others via education, but it's not clear that a society can equalize itself via education. If anything, the conditions that lead to learning require economic development before you can get more kids to spend more time studying.

Latest read: The Captive Mind by Milosz

 I'm reading The Captive Mind by Czeslaw Milosz, a book about why intellectuals conformed in communist societies. I have only read one chapter so far, but there's an observation that I have to blog:

The loss of religion means a loss of common axioms and reference points. (Not an original point, but well worth making.) In a society with a common framework, the intellectual can reason from shared axioms to useful conclusions, and hope to be relevant and important. The intellectual is providing a service that people need, a way of assuring them that their actions are consistent with shared values. Communism provides alienated intellectuals a way to be part of the society as a quasi-theologian.

Milosz also tells of a conference where Polish artists and writers were instructed on the newly ascendant ideology of Marxism (Milosz defected in 1951). The audience was obviously unimpressed but mostly quiet. But people got ground down over time anyway. Because everyone wants to fit in.

I am starting to understand why university administrators summon faculty to long meetings.

Latest Read: The Stolen Year by Anya Kamenetz

I haven't had much of a blogging urge for a while, but I want to get a couple of thoughts out there about my latest read, so I can remember them. I'm reading The Stolen Year by Anya Kamenetz, a book on the damage done to kids by moving school online during COVID. It's a 300 page popular book with a certain font and layout, so I thought I would find it unremarkable. But in chapter 1 I'm hooked. She goes into the history of education in America, even as far back as Colonial times, which is not something I'd expect in this genre.

I like three points in particular:

1) Americans like the idea of education as "fixing" people once and for all, so they never need fixing again. We'll educate them and then poverty is fixed. We'll educate them and then they're virtuous people. We'll educate them and then they're whatever it is that we need them to be so we can believe that some perennial problem is solved. 

It's largely folly, but it's what we believe in this culture. Liberals believe it because it means that a social service (allegedly) fixed some problem. Conservatives believe it because they've taught a man to fish and now he (allegedly) never needs feeding again.

I've heard this critique of the culture before, but I've only heard it from a few people. But Kamenetz is one of those wise few. That makes her stand out among writers on education. I need to pay attention to her.

2) It is hence unsurprising that in a country with far less of a safety net than peer countries of similar wealth and cultural heritage, education would be one of the few universal guarantees. We guarantee public education to rich and poor. We guarantee it to the disabled. We guarantee it to teenagers in jail, apparently. (This was news to me, but she's an NPR reporter focused on education, so I presume she's looked into this.) We might not guarantee everyone a great education, but it's the one service we guarantee in some form.

This is part of why schools are the main anti-hunger program in the country. We feed poor kids...via school. We might not feed them anything terribly healthy, but this is how we feed them.

She makes the interesting point that the commitment runs so deep that even profoundly disabled kids who will never gain the ability to communicate much are still guaranteed special education. I confess that I had often privately thought that this was a bit much, a well-meaning but inefficient way of meeting needs that aren't really amenable to school intervention. I've known a few kids in that situation, I understand why it's done, I even feel good for them. But part of me always wondered if it's really necessary to address their needs this way instead of some other route.

But Kamenetz makes the interesting point that this is a marker of our dedication to this universal guarantee. If we didn't go there, if we eroded the guarantee for them, we could erode it for more people. And soon we'd erode it for people who have needs that really are best met via school. I can respect that point.

It's strange that an anti-intellectual country like ours would be so committed to schools. Indeed, maybe having an anti-intellectual culture value schools in all the wrong ways just exacerbates our educational problems. But value them we do.

3) Until March of 2020. And then we shut them down. And now we see so many problems. Because we shut down something we've never fully backed away from previously. That has a lot of deep implications beyond the immediate, narrow questions of whether Learning Objectives 2b and 2c on Official Checklist B612 were met. There's always a way to check a box and pretend that you did so honestly.

But walking away from one of your few (supposedly) ironclad commitments? That does something to a culture. That sort of thing can shut down a whole bunch of non-obvious circuits. The conservative in me thinks we flipped a switch on things we never understood and don't really know how to reboot. A progressive optimist would say "Oh, just fund these programs that are Recommended By Experts. It's Best Practice." But I don't think societies are that simple.

Recent articles

I have gotten two opinion pieces out this week:

1) A piece in Areo on the doubletalk around diversity and affirmative action.

2) A piece in Real Clear Education on the obstacles to improving graduation rates when students are underprepared and need to work to support themselves.

The more things change, the more they stay the same

 I have been reading a lot but haven't had the blogging bug. Until today, because I read two very different things that clicked together.

I'll start with the Serious Reading: I'm reading Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, a very philosophical novel that I won't attempt to summarize in full. I'm about a third of the way in, in chapter three of Part 3 ("Words Misunderstood") He's describing the experiences of Sabina, a Czech woman who has moved to Switzerland after the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia. Sabina is talking to some other Czech emigres, and one of them starts inquiring into her anti-communist bonafides. Did she engage in sufficiently dissenting activities back in Czechoslovakia? Did she do enough to oppose the Soviet-backed regime?

Sabina's realization is that this guy is the mirror image of the communist functionaries who would scrutinize people's dossiers before they could get jobs or travel visas or official approval for other activities of life. It also reminds me of a point that Vaclav Havel made in his essay "The Power of the Powerless": These modern authoritarian regimes care deeply about appearances. It's not enough to just threaten to kill anyone who tries to thwart the dictator's material interests, they also need to keep up the veneer of ideological uniformity.

Related to the veneer of ideological uniformity, today I learned that in the official Dungeons and Dragons rules they will no longer refer to Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, etc. as "races." They are now "species." It seems that the essentializing of group differences in Dungeons and Dragons comes too close to racism in our real world.

There are two levels on which we could look at this. If we approach it purely on the level of the specific term, well, I don't know what the "right" term is to describe a world of fantasy and magic, with trolls and wizards and lizard-men and gnomes and all sorts of other weird stuff. Surely trolls and humans and lizard-men differ from each other more than, say, humans from different continents differ from each other. On that level, "race" seems an inapt term, and trying to equate the difference between an orc and an elf to the difference between two groups of real humans seems illogical. On the other hand, the existence of half-elves, half-orcs, half-giants (in some stories), etc. suggests that these creatures can mate with humans, and maybe do differ less than most species.

Not to mention that they mix and mingle in many of these fantasy societies, which may be the far more salient reason to say that they are more akin to different human races than to, say, dogs and cats. From a story perspective, Elves and Dwarves and Lizard Men (or Lizard Thems, to be gender-neutral?) are groups that often have their own separate kingdoms but frequently trade and sometimes even mix in bustling trading ports. Their interactions are fantastical, exaggerated stand-ins for conflict and cooperation between human groups, as magical creatures in fairy tales have long been. "Race" captures their story function quite accurately, if sometimes uncomfortably. (And who said fiction is or ought to be uniformly comforting?)

But that's not the real point here. It's not about dogs and cats versus human groups in modern society. It's about moral hygiene. It's about trying to ensure that this fantasy game doesn't corrupt the youth with ideas that run counter to the morality that adults are trying to install. And we've seen this game before, with the 1980's freak-outs about D&D being satanic. Now a new group of prim, proper grown-ups with strict moral codes is trying to parse games of fantasy and imagination for anything that might corrupt the youth, and lo and behold they've found it. How long before Tipper Gore starts bitching about music again?

All of this has happened before and will happen again.

In Defense of Dissenting Syllabi

(Also published at Medium)

Could any professor fairly summarize–in just one sentence–the complicated history of land rights in their locale over centuries of conquest and settlement? Ethicists, historians, political scientists, lawyers, and other experts could fill thick volumes while analyzing that topic–or at least fill more pages than any syllabus. Nonetheless, University of Washington (UW) computer scientist Stuart Reges provocatively stated on his syllabus “I acknowledge that by the labor theory of property the Coast Salish people can claim historical ownership of almost none of the land currently occupied by the University of Washington.” Reges now alleges in a lawsuit that his institution initiated disciplinary action in response. While this may seem on the surface to be a question of workplace speech on matters ancillary to the course, it goes to the heart of open discussion in higher education. If faculty are encouraged to air popular stances on complex questions, we must also allow dissent from those stances.

Taken in isolation, Reges’ syllabus statement is obviously inappropriate. It’s hard enough to get students to pay attention to reading assignments and homework deadlines; why alienate anyone with provocations irrelevant to course material? My physics syllabus this fall will list assignments on electromagnetic waves and relativity, not my opinions on drug legalization, face masks, or election procedures (to reference just three of my many contrarian views). The only reason to drop political bombshells in my syllabus would be to encourage careful reading. (“Hidden amidst the due dates is an opinion on gun control. Can you find it?”) If UW merely required that syllabi be simple, practical documents focused on course content and policies, few would object.

In context, though, Reges’ statement is less an exposition of John Locke’s theory of property ownership than a response to UW encouraging instructors to include syllabus statements acknowledging the Native Americans from whom the land was taken. (Writer and law professor Eugene Volokh confirmed the official encouragement in correspondence with UW Allen School Director Prof. Magdalena Balazinska.) Reges’ protest was not good pedagogy, but UW’s recommendations make it harder to reasonably push back on his statement. A university that values open inquiry and expression cannot reasonably scrub syllabi of dissent on complex topics that have been declared syllabus-appropriate.

Open inquiry does not mean that every venue must be open to every idea. My physics class this fall will not be an appropriate venue for discussing territorial claims in Kashmir (as long as we’re on the topic of land rights…), nor would a class on international politics be a good setting to discuss Einstein’s theory of relativity. Likewise, evidence-free assertions, irrespective of topical relevance, would be inappropriate in either class. However, despite the strong evidence supporting the theory of relativity, my physics class is an entirely appropriate setting for discussing clever experiments that search for evidence contradicting it.

In Reges’ case, the university had already decided that computer science syllabi are appropriate venues for discussing this topic, and his statement referenced a widely-studied philosophical argument. Locke’s argument is, of course, fair game for both praise and criticism in relevant academic venues. The fact that computer science classes are not good venues for discussing Locke’s ideas is a reason to keep computer science classes focused, not to selectively promote certain views on land ownership.

One might want to treat land acknowledgments differently from other social and political controversies since they address the propriety of the institution’s very existence in that location. However, colleges and universities avoid prescribing stances on many other activities with weighty implications for their missions. For instance, a student health center’s decision to offer (or not offer) certain reproductive health services could affect whether some students are able to remain in college, and likewise have profound moral consequences (depending on your outlook). ROTC provides crucial financial support for many students, and some research programs rely on Department of Defense research grants. Nonetheless, most people recognize that war, peace, and reproductive rights are fit for open debate, not prescribed stances.

A tempting pedagogical rationale for treating land acknowledgments differently from Reges’ critique thereof is that most land acknowledgments are harmless nods to widespread sympathies for marginalized groups, while Reges’ critique was inflammatory and distracting.  However, this argument sidesteps the fact that academics frequently critique widespread sentiments. Patriotic sentiment tugs at many people’s heartstrings, but everyone agrees that criticism of the US government is fair game. Jesus preached a charitable message that even many atheists admire, but no reasonable academic would consider Christianity beyond critique. At the same time, we mostly try to strike a balance whereby religion and partisan politics are kept out of syllabi, except when germane to the course material.

If university policy just required succinct syllabi that avoid irrelevant controversies, I–and likely many other academics–would deem it a mundane workplace rule akin to word limits in travel funding requests. However, if one opens discussion of a controversial topic, basic fairness requires room for reasoned dissent in academic environments. To quote a controversial book, to everything there is a season. Syllabi should be useful, academic discussions should be informed, and dissent should receive fair consideration.

Next Book: The Color Bind

I'm currently reading The Color Bind: California's Battle to End Affirmative Action by journalism professor Lydia Chavez. I stumbled across it pretty randomly and thought the topic looked interesting. It was written in the 1990's, and looked at the battle over Prop 209, which ended most forms of affirmative action in California's public institutions. I was in California but not very aware of this stuff at the time, so it's an interesting look at that era for me, written by someone who was on the scene at the time.

I doubt I'll blog all of it in detail, but in the first few pages it's interesting to see that some of the key proponents were a couple of obscure academics, one of them an adjunct philosophy instructor with various affiliations, and the other a tenured professor of anthropology at Cal State Hayward (now known as Cal State East Bay). On pages 7-8 she describes the anthropologist's experiences at a 1989 conference on multiculturalism, and the strong emotions he came away with. (He was not pleased.)

I suppose some readers might say this is too simplistic, to ascribe so much to an obscure academic conference. And if the question is why millions of people voted as they did, it's obviously about far more than one frustrated anthropology prof. On the other hand, if the question is why one guy became an activist willing to do the work, well, everyone has an origin story, and often those stories start with seemingly small things. Whatever you think of the bigger subject and controversies, it's a very human and convincing detail.