Don’t Ask This Question, Part II

Yesterday I wrote about the irrelevance of a student asking a professor what blogs he reads. I suggested in Don’t Ask This Question, Part I that blogs aren’t irreplaceable or necessary for a professional to stay abreast of his field or be a masterful educator.

But Warlick’s assumption about the value of blogs was the lesser of two surprises. I’d like to examination the harm Warlick’s question will do in the circumstances he provides. Here’s a reminder of the setting:

At this point, might [sic] daughter starts classes next week, a number of which are education methods courses. During the first day, the instructor will introduce the course, its goals, a syllabus, and her formula for grading. She or he will then ask if the class has any questions. I would suggest that someone ask,

“What blogs do you read?”

This is, as Warlick puts it in “Another Question for Interviews…,” to assess one’s “21st century literacy skills.” He continues:

If the instructor stammers or in any other way answers in the unknowing or the untrusting, then there’s opportunity for everyone in this class to learn.

Of course, you do not want to be the one who asked the question that the instructor couldn’t answer — especially if it might seem, in any way, loaded. So immediately ask what journals he or she reads. Save face!

He’s right – this question provides an excellent opportunity to learn.

As I said in Part I, interviewing, as with the majority of communication, is a delicate thing. First and foremost, questions need to have a purpose. Warlick suggests that asking, “What blogs do you read?” will help everyone evaluate the professor’s familiarity with new media, but at what expense? Warlick says that you don’t want to put the professor on the spot – it’s common courtesy. If that question doesn’t do it, I don’t know what does.

Communication is about investing. Every question and every answer is, in a way, an investment. The interviewer poses a question for immediate gain – the answer – and to build a relationship that delivers long-term value. The interviewee is in the same situation. If your question or answer doesn’t bring long-term value to both parties, re-think it and come up with one that does. Anything else is counter-productive.

That is, of course, unless the question or answer is a deal-breaker. If one concludes that an educator unfamiliar with blogs is someone who can’t provide any value, one should stand up and leave the course. I don’t need to point out the folly in that logic.

If a university has allowed this professor to teach a course, they deserve the first day to demonstrate that they know something about the topic. They’ve already been hired for that semester; they need not be subjected to a student grilling their competence on the first day. It’s rude, unprofessional and harms one’s relationship with all in the room. How’s that for an investment?

Responsible scholars and teachers network their intellects out of habit. That’s one reason they are where they are. Students would do well to assume that a professor has read relevant scholarship until he’s shown that he hasn’t – and that’s when it’s appropriate to bring in an instructive example that the professor has missed.

If your purpose is to understand a professor’s take on new media, look at the syllabus. A reference will be integrated in some way or it won’t. Find the explanation or omission and ask a general question about new media that relates directly to a portion of the syllabus.

Blogging is an immature medium, but some sectors are more mature than others. The two leaders are tech and politics – and the latter is polarizing, especially in academia. Asking a broad question about an unstable, charged or partisan topic yields problematic answers. If you aren’t sure what type of return you’ll get, don’t invest. Avoid bad investments.

But you’re an unscrupulous investor. You’ve asked the question and your professor stammers. He’s not a techno-myrmidon. What’s the damage to you? At worst, you’re on the path to a class full of self-directed study that mirrors the vague directions of superiors that you’ll invariably encounter once you’ve got that degree [unless I'm wrong, and every school administrator welcomes suggestions of change with an open mind and a willingness to give you the reins]. Being forced to innovate on one’s own encourages self-motivation and problem-solving that is necessary to do your job well.

In short, be a leader. When relevant, work blogging into class dialogue. Offer its examples as solutions to the issues you’re discussing. If the class – including the professor – isn’t familiar with the example, explain what it is and why it matters. Add value to the class rather than questioning value at the beginning.

The appropriate word for this question isn’t “loaded.” It’s “tendentious.” Ask the question if you want to prove to everyone around you – most of whom will be largely unfamiliar with blogging – not only that you see yourself on the cutting edge but also that they aren’t. Ask the question if you want to undermine your professor’s authority on the first day. Ask the question if you want to expose an agenda to the class in its first meeting regardless of whether you actually have one.

Or you could make the smart investment. Don’t ask the question.

Part III will be a summary and reaction to new material from David Warlick’s post “Is the Education Journal Dead?”

RELATED ARTICLES:

• Don’t Ask This Question, Part I
• Don’t Ask This Question, Part III: A Call for Evidence