On Technological Panic

My first entry for this blog is coming a little late due to technical difficulties, so I thought it was a good time to think further about the role technical difficulties play in online pedagogy. I've always been of the mind that the computer and the LMS for an online class are merely its medium. Still, so many online instructors and students spend the majority of their time grappling (and coming to terms) not with the content but with the delivery device of online classes. We struggle to log in, to format our work correctly, to find the information we're looking for in an endless parade of contextual menus, and to bring some semblance of ourselves into the interactions we have in online forums and chat tools.

When we gather to discuss our experiences as teachers and students in online classes, we often end up talking more about technology than about the subjects we're studying/teaching. It would be like sitting down to write an essay with pen and paper and becoming distracted by ruminations about the nature of No. 2 pencils and recycled college-ruled loose-leaf paper. (I have always had a particular fondness for No. 2 pencils, even though I rarely find the occasion to use them anymore.) Likewise, discussions of online pedagogy usually become entirely preoccupied with best practices for using technology in teaching and not with best practices for teaching more generally. Thus, we so often allow the bells and whistles of new-fangled technological tools dictate our pedagogy, rather than finding ways to use those tools to implement our own pedagogical choices.

When technology fails us, as it so often does, our impulse is to become even more preoccupied with it. I often encounter students and fellow teachers in a state of utter panic about the failures of technology in their online classes. For example, I very frequently get e-mails from my students about their inability to upload an assignment to the course. It goes something like, "I've tried and tried to upload my assignment before the deadline, but I can't because of . . . and . . . and then . . .," which includes a sometimes endless narrative about their experience of technological failure. The e-mail ends with a plea: "What should I do? Is there any way that you will still accept my work?" Exclamation marks are quite common in these e-mails, which is just one of the many indicators of the student's ensuing panic.

I respond to these e-mails quickly and calmly with something like, "Of course, I'm happy to accept your work for full credit. Feel free to e-mail it to me when you can. My hope is that technology will not become a barrier for learning in this course. When it does, just assume that I will be understanding." My goal is to have students focusing on the quality of their work and the integrity of their learning experience. When technology fails, there is always a fallback. Certainly, a secondary goal of online coursework is to help students become more proficient at working online; however, the primary goal is for students to engage with the subject-matter of the course. In my mind, the secondary goal should never trump the primary goal. If a student is unable to upload work to the course and unable to submit it by e-mail, I could (though have never had to) ask them to mail their work to me via postal mail. The point is that I want them to spend more time thinking about their work and less time thinking about its delivery device, which is ultimately arbitrary.

So, while it took longer than I expected to upload this first blog entry, it did eventually get here, and it is no better or worse for having floated around briefly in internet limbo. And, even more importantly, I haven't yet felt a moment of technological panic about my not-yet-but-soon-to-be-working-brilliantly blog.