Toward a public scholarship

I originally posted this blog on April 29, 2010.

“The issue now is not simply to promote ourselves better,” writes Craig Calhoun, an acclaimed sociologist and president of the Social Science Research Council, “but to ask better social science questions about what encourages scientific innovation, what makes knowledge useful, and how to pursue both these agendas, with attention to both immediate needs and long term capacities.” Calhoun’s incitement to social scientists to make research more useful and more public is critical and timely.

The education landscape is changing. Whether the change is a fad or true reform, the fact remains that in three years school districts and universities will have undergone drastic alterations. Now is the time for academics to become more involved, to communicate and collaborate with various audiences. Yes, a spirit of intellectual curiosity and discovery is critical to scholarship. I’m not arguing for that to end. Instead, I am arguing for education research to become more public and better designed to answer pressing social questions and inform public policy. There is no reason why research design cannot serve multiple ends.

Social science scholarship has not always been this way. It used to be progressive, just as concerned with social movements as scholarship. But I fear we’ve lost a bit of our edge in an effort to gain legitimacy from our big brothers and sisters in the hard sciences. After all, in two years when I go on job talks, faculty will want to see publications rather than outreach. That is a shame, but it is also something we can improve.

This week is an important week for educators. It is the American Education Research Association’s annual gathering, the largest assembly of education academics. During this week, I hope we can all find some time to reflect on the ways in which we may better create public scholarship.

The promise (and peril) of Promise Neighborhoods

I originally posted this blog on June 28, 2010.

Geoff Canada has quickly become a popular example of the charismatic, transformational leader necessary for positive educational change. His vision of the potential of one neighborhood is nonpareil and extraordinary. His non-profit organization, the Harlem’s Children Zone, which provides a comprehensive suite of services to children and families within a 100 city block radius in Harlem, is ending generational poverty. Over the past several years, Canada has been featured in multiple newspapers, in a book written by Paul Tough, on segments for 60 Minutes and CNN, and even in an American Express commercial.  In fact, Canada and HCZ have been so successful that President Obama, using non-profits and higher education institutions as local implementers, wants to replicate the model in communities across the United States.

The purpose of the U.S. Department of Education’s Promise Neighborhoods Program is to improve the outcomes of children through a continuum of “cradle-through-college-to-career” services. Of note, applications for the first stage, the planning grant, which provides a year of funding in order to develop an implementation plan, were due yesterday.

Promise Neighborhoods provides an opportunity to catalyze sustainable place-based reform; however, tremendous obstacles exist. Canada, for instance, estimates a program similar to HCZ will cost approximately $35 million. Even with matched funding from philanthropic organizations, organizations are not likely to achieve that amount. Other challenges include the politics of policy design, implementation, and evaluation, as well as the involvement of community stakeholders. Yet, the trend to fund community-specific  initiatives, while not new (see the Community Action Agencies established with the Economic Opportunity Act of 1964 as part of President Johnson’s Great Society), is essential to improving the lives of historically marginalized populations. Even though limitations certainly exist, Promise Neighborhoods represents an acknowledgment of the multidimensional aspects of education and community building. It may also represent, I hope and believe, an important shift in policy design.

Remember the Coleman Report

I originally posted this blog on March 02, 2010.

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 mandated a study of educational opportunity among students. In 1966 James Coleman presented the Equality of Educational Opportunity Study. Known as the Coleman Report, the findings were and are striking. They led to a shift of focus from inputs to outputs, from money spent to scores attained.

I’ve heard some describe the findings of the report as more money does not equal higher achievement. That’s true, but incomplete. The findings illustrate that variables such as per pupil spending and teacher to student ratio have little effect in comparison to socio-economic status. 

Yesterday President Obama announced ‘turnaround’ grants for underperforming schools in order to improve the percentage of students who graduate. Schools in each qualified state will compete for funds based on proposals that demonstrate their willingness to change. Some options include removing the principal and a portion of the staff, restructuring governance, and changing instructional programs.

Within the past year, our administration has introduced two new competitive grant programs for considerable sums of money–$4.35 billion for Race to the Top and $900 million for the newest grant. Reform is important and necessary. A disproportionate number of African American and Hispanic students do not graduate, do not go to college, do not lead happy lives. Spending money to fund a new reading program, unfortunately, will not initiate systemic, sustainable change. Replacing leadership, teachers, or governance structures probably won’t help much either. We may see bumps in achievement, but they will fade.

Public education is not doomed. For widespread, lasting change, however, our administration must consider a broader array of social reform programs. Money is important, but we need to fund the right things. The Coleman Report reminds us of the influence of a spectrum of factors including access to healthcare, stable housing, and early and adult education. The Great Society, which led to the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, is the source of both praise and criticism. The intent was good and ambitious. The results were uneven and sometimes uninspiring. Perhaps it’s time we begin to speak of a new generation of progressive initiatives, a chorus of reforms to improve schools and communities together.

(Re)viewing the Classics: Carol Stack’s All Our Kin

I originally published this post on February 01, 2011, at www.21stcenturyscholar.org. At the time, I was just beginning to study neighborhood ethnography--the methodology that I would later adopt for my dissertation.

Carol Stack, with her three-year-old son in tow, spent several years collecting data in The Flats, a poor, black neighborhood in an unidentified Midwestern city. Her purpose was to examine the strategies poor people adopt in order to survive. The researcher, now a faculty member at University of California, Berkeley, did not seek access through a church or school; wanting a more representative sample of families, she gained access to two families through a mutual acquaintance. From there, she networked.

All Our Kin challenges the stereotype of black families as dysfunctional and self-destructive. Stack presents a complex network of real and fictive kin working together with few resources to survive. Among these networks exist complex rules about topics such as gifting and child-rearing. Some may see these families as similar to the families presented in texts like the Moynihan Report or The Truly Disadvantaged, but Stack provides the reader with a more personal, nuanced portrait. A single-parent household does not automatically equal social disorganization.

The book is as relevant now as it was when published in 1970. The writing is clear and concise. Stack’s use of theory is unobtrusive but useful. More importantly, buzzing in the background of the text is a persistent feeling of uncertainty and precariousness. The individuals in All Our Kin want to succeed, but they can’t. Their material conditions are lacking and government policies and programs do not support upward mobility. Critiquing the welfare state, she says:

It is clear that mere reform of existing programs can never be expected to eliminate an impoverished class in America. The effect of such programs is that they maintain the existence of such a class. Welfare programs merely act as flexible mechanisms to alleviate the more obvious symptoms of poverty while inching forward just enough to purchase acquiescence and silence on the part of the members of this class and their liberal supporters. As we have seen, these programs are not merely passive victims of underfunding and conservative obstructionism. In fact they are active purveyors of the status quo, staunch defenders of the economic imperative that demands maintenance of a sizable but docile impoverished class. (p. 127-8)

As I said before, the book is as relevant now (if not more) than ever.

So you want to be a qualitative researcher in the 21st century

Originally posted at www.21stcenturyscholar.org

A tension exists between old and new. In The Anxiety of Influence, Harold Bloom explains the generational process among writers: Old poets inspire young poets. The apprentice learns to love form by reading the work of a skilled master. The beginner writes derivative verse. Anxiety stirs as she realizes the only way to establish a legacy is to break from tradition. And, that’s the rub.

The charm of Bloom’s theory is that it extends to numerous fields. Consider the myriad movies in which young protagonists ignore the sage advice of their battled-scarred mentors. Characters fail, fail, and fail again. And then, after sweaty and bruised adversity, they triumph. Hello, Karate Kid. Or, think about athletes. Young basketball phenoms like LeBron battle the legacies of legends like Jordan and Magic. Musicians provide yet another example—thankfully, Bird inspired Coltrane. The theory extends to more quotidian examples too. Children clash with parents. Students argue with teachers. The young fight for a trophy, the ability to say, “I did things my own way, a better way.” The trophy, of course, proves elusive.

As qualitative research enters an exciting moment, apprentice and master researchers are reenacting similar clashes in classrooms and research labs across the globe. “The methods are quaint,” the initiate says, “but I think they’re a little dusty. I can do better.” The mentor winces: How many times has she heard similar boasts?

Innovative technologies and digital media are providing new tools and venues. Consider the possibilities of research-based digital media. They can reveal complex processes that contribute to elusive opportunities for low-income students in ways that peer-reviewed articles cannot. Policymakers often grimace at pedantic and esoteric research. A digital short provides fertile ground for conveying the sorts of thick description qualitative researchers seek and also improving the relevance of research for policy stakeholders.

Novel methods are alluring, an opportunity for novice researchers to shape their legacies. But, like the young poet who privately spends thousands of hours mastering rhyme and rhythm or the basketball phenom who quietly practices drills in the gym, the innovative researcher is the product of hours and hours of unheralded work: planning, collecting, analyzing, producing, experimenting, revising, and repeating.

Rigorous designs depend on the ability of a scholar to undergird the process and product with traditional methods, all the while embracing emerging opportunities. A two-minute film excites. It also requires a complex set of skills. The researcher has to be well versed in fundamentals like interviewing and analyzing as well unconventional techniques like filming and editing. She has to understand triangulation and color theory, parallelism and the rule of thirds, NVivo and Final Cut. The challenge is formidable. But, the chance to experience that inventive moment, the next adjacent possibility, is worth the work.

Tom Hanks Loves #FreeCommunityCollege and So Do I

Originally posted at www.21stcenturyscholar.org

Is it possible for Tom Hanks to be any more lovable? Apparently, yes. Last week, the actor who made such endearing classics as Big, The ‘Burbs, and Turner & Hooch published an editorial about his time at Chabot Community College. After discussing his experiences, he concluded, “That place made me what I am today.”

Hanks wrote the op-ed in response to President Obama’s plan to provide free community college. Of course, the policy warrants a critical discussion. The research is mixed about the effectiveness of two-year colleges. Scholars have long discussed the possibility of a “cooling out” that may occur; others focus on the lack of degree completion among students and poor alignment between two- and four-year colleges. For instance, less than two-thirds of students who enter community college will graduate with a degree after three years.

Others argue that Obama is wasting billions of dollars. After all, pathways to college and career begin years before community college. Why not spend the money on early education or remediation? Consider that, in a city like New York, less than half of the students from the lowest performing schools graduate. Of those who do, less than a quarter are college-ready.

Bill wrote last week about the possible externalities of the ambitious plan. Yes, it may increase college access for low-income students; privileged students may also partake. With a limited amount of resources and no such thing as pure public goods, perhaps the government ought to target the provision of services. Established policy scholars presented similarly incisive arguments when mayoral candidates during New York City’s last election waved big, bright flags for universal pre-kindergarten. Few discussed the downsides of such a simple and alluring idea. Namely, scholarship indicates that low-income children benefit the most from pre-k. In such a cash-strapped state and city, why would politicians subsidize a service for middle- and high-income children when the gains will likely be minimal?

I agree with all of the above concerns. The plan may be a colossal waste of money. It may not improve college access or address the core problems of the pre-k to college pipeline. It may never even survive the whims of the political process. And yet, I’m thrilled.

Prior examples show that sometimes politicians—rather than using the results of a cost-benefit analysis—ought to make decisions based on ideals. That’s part of being an ethical policymaker.

Postsecondary education made me a more thoughtful and compassionate person. It also prepared me for a career that I love. I was a first-generation college student. My family couldn’t afford a four-year university. I attended community college. I eventually earned a Ph.D. One wouldn’t have been possible without the other. Everyone should have the same opportunity.

My wife and I are also one of the first cohorts who have incurred so much student loan debt that—despite everyone trumpeting the value of postsecondary education—the financial burden may outweigh the benefit. The cost is even higher for first-generation students today. That’s wrong and something needs to change.

Maybe the free community college plan fails. Or, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe, it foreshadows a free four-year college plan. I’ll take the risk because the reward could be so much better.

Ferguson, ethics, and the public intellectual

Originally published at www.21stcenturyscholar.org

During the 1890s, newspaper publishers Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst competed against each other to sell more papers. They printed sensationalist stories accompanied with fear-inducing headlines and vivid, provocative pictures. Journalists eschewed facts for melodrama. At the height of yellow journalism, the two newspaper tycoons published stories that contributed to the United States’ involvement in the Spanish-American War. 

Fast-forward 120 years. In Ferguson, Missouri, a 28-year-old white police officer shoots an 18-year-old black man. Residents protest. Droves of reporters travel to Ferguson. Over three months later, following months of unrest and anticipating even more, Missouri Governor Jay Nixon declares a state of emergency. One week afterwards, a grand jury decides not to indict the police officer with criminal charges. Violent and nonviolent protests escalate. Journalists chase and film rioters. They flood newspapers, television channels, and social media with panic-inducing stories and images. Cable channels cut from out-of-breath reporters in the field to argumentative talking heads in the studio.

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The media has largely influenced the ways in which the public talks and thinks about Michael Brown’s death and the subsequent protests. Rather than facilitating civil, fact-based exchanges, they encourage vehement, opinion-based disagreement. Their actions starkly differ from the ethics of journalism, which include pursuing truth, reporting accurately, and limiting harm. If there is such a thing as a 21st century public sphere—a place where we can intellectually discuss important social issues—the media is corrupting it.

What, then, is the role of academics? Consider some of the ethical concerns of researchers: beneficence, respect, and justice. While we typically discuss those ideals in terms of the conduct of research, we may also consider them in relation to when and how scholars participate in public forums. 

Stated more simply, while talking heads whip up racist antagonism and blame individuals, research is resolute. Young men of color disproportionately experience gun violence. A discriminatory police state surveils low-income neighborhoods. We have established clearer pathways from school to prison than school to college. And, due to a lack of opportunities, concentrated and generational poverty has spread among individuals of color.

While sitting in Birmingham Jail, Dr. King wrote, “Law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress.” We have few forums to thoughtfully and critically discuss the pursuit of social justice and the existence of injustice in the United States. Scholars have an ethical responsibility to assume an increased role in public discourse, to illuminate the pressing causes and consequences of injustice, and to help imagine opportunities for social justice in the 21st century.

Stats, stories, and policy design

In my last post, I mentioned Illinois’ new testing plan, which sets different testing standards based on student demographics including race and class. The policy oozes the flawed logic that has defined the accountability era: Statistics—and experimental and quasi-experimental studies, in particular—represent the gold standard of educational research. 

Before you either tune me in or out because of the above paragraph, let me make a few points: First, I am not a qualitative zealot. I don’t hate statistics. Research questions determine methodology. The questions in which I am interested just happen to be open-ended and relate to “how” and “why.” 

Second, rigor and scope—not methodology—determine the value of a study. How do we know what we know? And, how does the study inform social issues? In terms of rigor, qualitative researchers have not always provided compelling arguments to policymakers about the utility of their work. While some have attempted to develop standards, others have critiqued the epistemological underpinnings of the whole endeavor. Who wants to invite wet blankets to the policy design party when all they’ll do is philosophize? Policy is about doing, not thinking: Politicians want to know if they should or should not fund a reading program. Yes or no. 

In terms of scope, policymakers have failed. Methods are tools to understand complex social issues. Each tool serves a unique function. Just as no one expects a hammer to saw, no one should expect an ethnography to inform policy in the same way as an experimental study. Policy designs, based on a limited scope of understanding, fail to account for the full bloom of social life. Imagine how we could improve implementation if policymakers combined the insights from a variety of rigorous studies. 

Frustratingly, smart people are discussing the issue. The ever-thoughtful Mike Rose talks about the importance of stories to portray nuance and complexity. Thomas Pikkety, in one of the most hyped books from an academic press in recent memory, and a NY Times bestseller, rallies against pedantic, overblown statistical methods. 

There seems to be an emerging consensus that stats only tell part of a story. And yet, researchers and policymakers motor along.

Social justice and policy design

A few weeks ago, I read about Illinois’ new testing plan. It includes a number of points. The most notable is the state’s decision to use different standards to measure achievement among student groups. By 2019, Illinois expects 85% of white students—compared to 73% of Latino students and 70% of black students—to pass the state reading assessment. In other words, some students will be held to higher standards than others. State officials have presented the system as an improvement to No Child Left Behind. Remember, NCLB required 100% of students to be proficient at state assessments (even though, test scores became a bit of a moving target). 

I don’t know how you interpret the convoluted new plan. I tried to consider all perspectives, but had trouble remaining neutral. In fact, the words “idiotic” and “racist” came to mind. I then attempted to explain the policy as some sort of affirmative action. However, affirmation action tries to reverse discriminatory practices—not create them—in order to provide opportunity.

Of course, Illinois state officials provide perfectly acceptable rationale. They even mention all of the familiar buzzwords. Data. Data. Data. Growth. Growth. Growth. And also, a few nods to poverty and after-school programs. Everyone can rest comfortably, they argue. The state’s low expectations are all backed by science. This braintrust, I’m sure, had nothing to do with the last policy iteration—the one that used to be touted as the next best thing and is now evidence they use to justify the new best thing.

My primary objection with Illinois’ reform—like so many across the country—is the degree to which it is divorced from common sense and the day-to-day lives of students. How does a mom explain why the state has different expectations for her child? What happens at the lunchroom when a group of friends try to figure out their test scores? And, why did the state create a policy in which the major accountability measure affirms current inequities, rather than eliminates them? 

We ought to be able to design policies that provide opportunity for all students.

In my next post, I’ll discuss how research contributes to the problem and also provides a potential solution.

How do scholars produce policy relevant research?

As I mentioned in my last post, I was named as an Emerging Education Policy Scholar (EEPS). The program, a collaboration between The Thomas B. Fordham Institute and the American Enterprise Institute, provides the opportunity for young, policy-minded scholars to collaborate with and learn from a range of key policy players.

Our first meeting took place a few weeks ago. The long list of impressive participants included advisors on Capital Hill and in the White House, representatives from large foundations, researchers working in think tanks and the government, and reporters from a variety of publications. 

The conversations were always candid, often refreshing, and sometimes daunting. We discussed the relationship between research and policy. Yes, research influences policy. However, the path from research question to legislation is often circuitous and involves a mixture of concerted effort and unpredictable chance.

The meeting was enlightening and rewarding. Here are a few themes—many of which complement the emerging criteria Bill and I present in our article “Qualitative Research and Public Policy: The Challenges of Relevance and Trustworthiness”:

Relevance

How do scholars engage with the most pressing policy issues? Policy windows open and close quickly. During those times, politicians use relevant research to either shape or support policy decisions. Importantly, individuals during the meeting frequently cited the need for research to both address contemporary issues and also say something specific about policy implications. For instance, while a study may find that more low-income students need to obtain postsecondary degrees, such a finding will likely not guide legislation. Policy makers want to know about the effectiveness of specific interventions; they worry about what to do and how to fund it. There was a heavy premium on experimental and quasi-experimental studies. I will discuss the role of qualitative research in another blog.

Audience

How do scholars appeal to multiple audiences? Several participants stated the need for scholars to produce dual publications. If you publish in an academic journal, translate the findings for a blog at Huffington Post or Edweek. Why? Policymakers receive stacks and stacks of research. They rarely read studies, but they do read blogs.

Visibility

How visible are scholars among multiple channels? Especially due to social media, academics have the opportunity to engage multiple audiences. The tenure process still relies on publications. However, when thinking about a scholar’s ability to influence policy, publicity (or “klout points,” using Rick Hess’s term) matters.

Relationships

With whom do scholars engage? Academics who influence policy often have connections with key change agents. Get to know policymakers. Talk to reporters. Engage funders. Informal networks provide predictable and unpredictable opportunities.

These four interrelated themes—relevance, audience, visibility, and relationships—often undergirded our discussions. We will reconvene in June; I’ll keep you updated.

Sitting at some new tables in the academic cafeteria

As Murray Milner documents in Freaks, Geeks, and Cool Kids, teenagers often order themselves using status symbols. Take a stroll around a high school cafeteria. With few exceptions, students clump neatly into groups: cool kids, jocks, band geeks, drama nerds, emos (not to be confused with emus), and any number of other categories. Each group has unique norms, values, and symbols. While monumental decisions loom—like what to do for the rest of their lives—teenagers spend inordinate amounts of time wondering about very different questions, like what to wear, where to sit, and with whom to talk.

Fast-forward to academic life. How different are scholars? What do we wear? Where do we sit? And, with whom do we talk? Cliques and status symbols—albeit drastically different—are very much part of the daily experiences of graduate students and faculty members. However, instead of figuring out what to do on Friday night, we talk about epistemologies.

A few weeks ago, I was named as an Emerging Education Policy Scholar (EEPS). The program, a collaboration between The Thomas B. Fordham Institute and the American Enterprise Institute, two conservative organizations, provides the opportunity for young, policy-minded scholars to collaborate with and learn from a range of key policy players. I know colleagues who have participated in previous cohorts, and I know some of my cohort-mates. I’m thrilled to have the opportunity. 

As an early career faculty member, I didn’t think too much about how others would react. Why would I? I have the opportunity to talk to really smart people about critical issues. Even more, while no one would mistake Bill as a neocon, as an advisor, he has always encouraged me to communicate with and learn from individuals from all perspectives, even if they belong to a different political party or tax bracket. That’s part of being a reasoned, thoughtful scholar, right?

Reactions have been interesting. One university colleague congratulated me and also provided a few tips for “talking to the other side.” Another stood speechless. I saw the wheels turning in her head: Is Randy a liberal or conservative? To diffuse, I made a joke about brushing up on supply-side economics. Both people were sincerely congratulatory and well meaning. But, the interactions revealed the ways in which politics—among other factors—act as a sorting mechanism among academics.

Most will agree that improving education is important. And yet, our actions do not always demonstrate the same joint commitment. I skim vitriolic, all-or-nothing arguments from both liberal and conservative scholars on Twitter. I then read supposedly objective and rigorous research and wonder how to separate reality from ideology, research from propaganda. A methods section—if there even is one—can only do so much; social media is turning out to be just as telling for the trustworthiness of a researcher. 

Some seem most concerned about being right. “We know what works,” they argue and then provide a checklist of reforms in which the research is decidedly mixed. Likewise, intransigent liberals attack and vilify corporate reformers and then, in the same breath, argue for deliberative democracy and social justice. If people scream and yell long enough, others—even if they share similar beliefs—start to wonder about things like credibility, ulterior motives, and a true desire to have a cooperative and mutually beneficial discussion.

I’m going to sit at some new tables in the academic cafeteria. For the few worried liberals or qualitative researchers out there, I still support universal pre-k programs, neighborhood schools, and more inclusive standards for government-funded research. But, we place too much emphasis on who’s sitting where. I’m interested in discussing innovative solutions and improving education. Our problems are far too complex to be solved by anchoring to a set of ideals and then yelling louder than the other person.