what we've got

Myself and Mary Thorpe gave a presentation to the Arts Faculty at The Open University this week, on social networking. We began with an overview of what social networking means and how it works, and discussed the specific applications of social networking to education, using the Social Networking for Practice Learning (SNPL) project as a focus.

Giving this kind of presentation raised some interesting questions. Our role, I think, was to outline the potential benefits of social networking – but stopped short of ‘selling’ the idea. I encourage healthy scepticism when considering these tools (and indeed most ideas) but there’s a thin line between being an evangelist for some of the tools you think could make a difference; and offering some objective, informative outlines which could then be picked up by those actually teaching using the tools. Anyway, I hope we got the balance right – here’s the presentation, some of which has been culled from the recent Learn About Fair presentation I wrote about earlier.

They say you should never go back, but I was dismayed to find my old alma mater (a phrase you’d never hear around those parts) had become dishevelled, unkempt. Some of windows of Sir Frank Markham School were smashed and boarded up; a hideous bright blue paint slapped on to cover the graffiti and damage; and, worse, it was covered in high fences, more a prison camp, it appears, than place for learning and making friends.

The balcony of Woughton Campus

And what a school it once was! I was sporty and smart-ish, so I fell into both camps and enjoyed my time there. The campus was clean and new and, compared to the North London home that I had left to live in Milton Keynes, full of green spaces and fresh air.

A field to you, the scene of footballing triumphs for me

But seeing them again – well, those spaces that had witnessed some of my most pivotal teenage moments now felt desecrated. Although I was powerless to stop the memories from washing over me, it felt a mistake to sully them with an atmosphere that I’d rather forget. Maybe it’s me – the field where we once played football every lunchtime looked bare and uncared for and the wall – where we’d meet – seemed smaller than before, less imposing.

A new Academy nearby, still a building site but with construction well under way, puts my old school in the shade, quite literally; and metaphorically, too, since it’s hard to imagine how young people can be happy and learn in such an environment. Maybe I’m wrong and I’m just being old and sentimental and being old I shouldn’t be surprise that things change, and sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

Reports that say that something hasn’t happened are always interesting to me, because as we know, there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns — the ones we don’t know we don’t know.         Donald Rumsfeld

Another world is possible

Martin Weller has written a though provoking blog post on the possibility that sometimes it’s detrimental to have too much information. It builds on the work of James Surowiecki on the wisdom of crowds and applies to Tony Blair’s decision to invade Iraq. Martin argues that many people were opposed to the war because they had too little information. Blair, on the other hand, had too much and faltered under its weight. To quote Martin’s post:

Blair had an excess of information, while the crowd, deprived of all the intelligence reports he was privy to, had been forced to see the salient features of the war, and had instinctively judged it to be ‘wrong’. […] In short, Blair suffered from a deficit of ignorance, which enabled the crowd, lacking the vast quantity of (meaningless) intelligence to isolate the significant factors in the build up to the war.

One way of approaching this is to think of what happens when we don’t have too much information. One suggestion raised in Martin’s post, implicitly perhaps, is the role instinct, and its bedfellow intuition, play in decision making. It’s implied that an absence of information leads to an action based upon instinct and intuition rather than rational consideration: the people “instinctively judged it to be ‘wrong’”. Despite an acknowledgement that instinct plays a part in our daily life, there are clear problems with the irrational approach it creates; and I don’t think anyone would suggest that a war could be waged on a ‘hunch’. So clearly we need some information.

So how do we know when we’ve got too much? Perhaps the answer is that you can only have too much information when a decision is wrongly made because there was too much information… ah, hold on, that’s circular and won’t do. There will never be a case when it’s not true.

This tempts us to try to quantify the amount of information at which a mistake is inevitable. This is difficult. Try answering this kind of question: when does a man become bald? Is their a tipping point at which what’s recognised as a head full of hair suddenly becomes bald? Probably not, just as we can’t say Blair reading 99 documents is fine, as long as he doesn’t read 100. So we can’t put a number on it. But that’s ok, because we can often speak about things that we can’t quantify or define: we still have baldness and we still have art, respectively.

What’s more problematic is how far the idea of having too much information isn’t so much the product of deduction but of induction. In other words, it’s not a repeatable, observable phenomenon that based upon a rational investigative process. We can’t possibly hope to know even some of the many variables involved in the journey to war and so we can’t possibly suggest with any certainty that too much information is a root or central cause of Blair’s mistake. In a recent elaboration on the problem, Martin suggests that having too little information may sometimes lead to innovation because some are stifled by rules and expectations. (This is a different kind of information from that in the Blair example; I haven’t touched upon that difference here, despite its importance.)

But we can’t be sure that is the cause because we haven’t… got enough information. Besides, innovation has taken place in areas where a great deal of information is present (just as innovation doesn’t take place where there is too little information, too). The problem is when we’re finding out information is that there are things that we know; things that we don’t; things that we know we know and things that we don’t know we don’t know. We will never know some things and other things we’ll never know that we never knew them. This is why Rumsfeld, for all his faults, is on to something.

It is the job of politicians, aided by their public staff, to pursue the ends of knowledge in order that the effect of the unknowns does not unduly affect the result of the decision making process. So, Blair can’t leave it to chance that the thing he doesn’t know might tip the scales (what he knows he doesn’t know); or that there is an avenue he’s yet to pursue of which he’s so far unaware (what he doesn’t know he doesn’t know).

We could therefore argue is that Blair had too little information, for if he knew what the crowd knew then he wouldn’t have acted as he did. More probably is that he knew but ignored it, and that’s where individual judgement comes in. But in order to learn this doesn’t mean that he needed to unlearn everything else. The motives, thoughts and feelings of the crowd, like everything else, can be distilled and presented as evidence amongst a store of other evidence – which he can choose to listen to or ignore.

It’s implied that ignorance – in Martin’s case, the absence of exposure of the crowd to military intelligence – inculcates a more straightforward process of decision making, one that, unfettered by the complexities of competing paths, is somehow more authentically engaged with the truth. But I don’t think that such simplicity is true or desirable, not least because it will give ill-informed politicians a chance to wriggle out of uncomfortable questions about the decisions they make. Ignorance might be bliss but it’s not a firm footing for political decisions.

I’m clearly doing Martin’s post a disservice when I take issue with a number of points a short blog post like his cannot possibly deal with. I might be guilty, too, of focussing too intently on the idea of instinct, which wasn’t the point of Martin’s post I don’t think. In another blog discussion on Martin’s ideas which claims that lack of an adequate filter is the problem, not the information itself (but which amounts to the same thing – too much information) he suggest he might ‘expand on this in a blog post’ and maybe even a book. There is certainly room for one.

The cloud crowd

One of my main roles is as project manager for the Social Networking for Practice Learning project conducted here at the Institute for Educational Technology at The Open University. It’s in the second part of its life, a pivotal time since we’re able to look back to what we’ve achieved and look forward to what there is still to do. I work alongside the project leader, Mary Thorpe.

In the first part we worked with a range of Associate Lecturers (ALs, or tutors) here at The Open University in using social networking and web tools. We’ve been working for several months on a range of tools – including Google Reader, Delicious, Facebook and Ning – and have collected thoughts, resources and reports on a wiki.

Ten tutors have been encouraged to create accounts in these web tools and perform some tasks and reflect on their usefulness. We’ve created some guidance materials for them, including some videos, as well as a ‘Helpdesk’ on the wiki which addresses those tips or tricks that aren’t covered elsewhere and which the tutors write themselves. Eventually, we intend to introduce new ALs to use these tools on a voluntary basis and then – well, who knows? Perhaps if they find it useful and find the time, the word will spread and tutors throughout the OU will join.

This project is significant in that it represents the tutor perspective to social networking and focuses on the needs and wants of tutors in using web tools, rather than the student perspective. That’s not to say we’ve ignored our students: indeed, the group has been inventive in suggesting ways in which the tools – and some of the processes and related ideas – might be used for teaching (here, Delicious appears to have been particularly inspiring). But the focus has often been on such things as professional development, knowledge sharing and maintaining best practice and how these tools can facilitate that.

The new strand of development (following a successful bid for funding) will see the toolkit – a collection of social networking tools along with some guidance on how to use them – distributed throughout the wider University, to course team, academics and other interested parties.

I intend to post some of the findings that have come out of the project, as well as the directions it has taken and plans to take. It’s certainly been very useful and fun to work on – I hope it proves likewise for my interested colleagues here a the OU.

A bonus

Jen is on a two-year contract working for the UN. This has some implications for how I’ve been thinking about the move. On the one hand, it means that there is potentially a point at which I might return to the UK. It’s a bit like having a date-stamped return ticket: you know you’re coming back, in this case in around two-years’ time.

But at the same time there might be the opportunity to stay on for a variety of reasons; indeed, if all goes well, we hope this will be the case. This means that the move might be a permanent one. After all, the return relocation will be (nearly, I imagine) as traumatic as the move out, albeit for different reasons.

So, I’m caught in a delicate but sustained balance between thinking I’ll return sooner or later. When the mood catches me that I’ll miss England, I remember I’ll be back; conversely, when I’m eager to leave, I know that it might be forever and I should never return. It’s a strangely comfortable state of ambivalence that I’m happy to enjoy. I know uncertainty can be exciting and daunting but I’m embracing this, as if only something good can come from it.

I think my approach is to enjoy the two years at the very least and think anything else a bonus.

The Mansion at Bletchley Park

Since we’re moving to Geneva, we are keen to visit a few places in the UK before we go. It’s not like the UK is a million miles away, but we realise that there’s Europe to explore and so we do not intend to come back for anything other than to visit parents and so on.

One of the places we wanted to visit was Bletchley Park, of ‘Enigma’ fame and home of the Codebreakers and perhaps less well known but also of significance, The National Computer Museum.

There is a deep incongruity between the importance of the site and its contents and the attention it receives from funding. Despite valiant attempts, including the work of several volunteers, no one can fail to see how run down parts of the grounds are, how the exhibits are poorly organised and how it compares unfavourably to other modern museums in its approach (cf Duxford Air Museum, the subject of a future post). You can sign a petition here to save Bletchley Park from what the site calls its ‘two to three more years of survival’. I hope it survives and the exhibits given the context they deserve; you would, too, if you visited.

The grounds include a pond with water jet

If you can forget all this for a moment – and this is easily done, since the Bletchley Park story is so interesting and important – the site soon becomes wonderfully alive, and full of treasures. The working of the code-breaking machines is relatively complex (for me, at least) but the museum is careful to relate it to a human endeavour, and we are continually reminded of the heroism and sheer hard work both en masse and by individuals. And the fun, too: in a collection of reminisces, one woman, Diana Russel Clarke, remembers:

We had a very gay time going out to pubs for supper together when we were free. A lot of romance went on, definitely a lot of romance.

Those better known are represented, too. The slate bust of Alan Turing, the eccentric and troubled genius behind the code breaking, looms large in its room as does his presence throughout the grounds and buildings.

The slate bust of Alan Turing

Near the cinema – which plays authentic newsreels the kind of which you’ve caught briefly in documentaries – is a wonderful room full of photographic equipment. It’s oddities like this that really make Bletchley Park a rich and varied experience, unpredictable and quirky like, if our apocryphal stories are to be believed, like the very men and women that helped crack those codes at Station X. Note men and women: Bletchley Park should be lauded for its gender equality, devoting a great deal of time and space to the heroines of the war, in service and at home.

The National Computer Museum seems more a labour of love than a fully functioning museum but it’s no less interesting for it. If you’ve been using computers for a while you’ll be delighted at seeing those you recognise, some of which are still working. I wonder if, when using some virtual computer in years to come, I might be reminded of the Apple Mac IIc and remark: ‘they don’t make them like they used to’.

Copyright 1982 Sinclair Research Limited

Whilst walking through the grounds, I had a big debate with Jennie regarding the genuine prospect of a German invasion and the role propaganda had in controlling the British peoples’ attitude to the war. The details aren’t important. What is important is that Bletchley Park survives, and along with it the kinds of conversations, emotions and thinking it inspires.

I’m learning French, and whilst not being a natural, I’m enjoying it. One of the reasons I find I keep coming back even when it’s tough is because I like the teaching method. I’m working through Michel Thomas’ (in)famous audio tutorials. You may have tried it yourself – the CD cover tells me along with his Wikipedia entry that he has taught many languages to thousands over the years – and if so, it’s unforgettable even if you’re not so keen.

He begins by telling you two points: first, you must relax completely; and then that there are many words that you already know because English and French (in my case) share a common vocabulary.

But perhaps more interesting is how it works in practice. Michel is accompanied by two students, with the same level of ability as the intended audience, here beginners. Therefore, you feel as if you’re taking part in the discussion, just one of three people there to learn how to speak French.

Crucially, one student is better than the other. The weaker student often struggles to get to grips with new words and forgets the ones we’ve learned (sometimes to comical effect: more than once she confuses ‘voulez-vous’ with ‘vol a vent’). This means that you’re likely to sympathise with at least one student. Some complain of getting annoyed with the less able student but I find it reassuring, perhaps because I’m less capable myself.

Overall it’s the gradual deposits of learning that thicken like a coastal shelf which leave you feeling you are completely able to move on to the next stage without the rug being pulled from underneath. So, the learner is able to say something meaningful – such as the title of this post, which serves only as an illustration of what you can say within minutes – whilst understanding how it’s constructed. It gets you speaking quickly and helps with confidence, surely the most overwhelming problem for the beginner. For those interested in the learner experience in terms of its managed development over a course of study, Michel’s method is revealing.

To aid learning, I’m following a French language tutorial Twitter stream with a daily tweet, as well as the excellent (but slightly tougher) BBC website and its email service. The web makes learning easier. But Michel Thomas’ charm – part expert, part raconteur, part teacher – c’est tres acceptable pour moi, comme ca.

Recently, my wife Jennie called me to say that she had been offered a job working for the World Health Organisation in Geneva, Switzerland.

I replied: ‘You’re joking!’ a reminder that even in our most significant moments we are prone to the banal. She wasn’t joking.

So now, some time later, we’re planning to emigrate to Geneva. The plan is that I won’t work full time, but pursue what have become known enigmatically as ‘my interests’. Speculations in the comments please.

Exciting times ahead. Watch this space.

(Thanks to Andrew for pointing me to the link. Get your own here.)

I was rudely forced to leave my office this morning following a fire alarm (happily, there was no fire). I’ve had this happen before, so I took my camera and headed to the frozen wastelands of… Walton Hall, the Open University campus where I work. I took lots of pictures (and some video) and this is my favourite.

Trees and ice, Walton Hall