The clicker is a device that a student uses to send an instantaneous response to a computer that the professor can access to see the responses. The appeal of the clicker is its suitability to promoting "active learning" in the classroom, which is an attempt to shake post-modern students out of what Paul calls the "cone of silence." It lets all of the students, rather than a few (whether volunteers or persons selected by the professor), participate. It keeps them focused on the course, and makes distractions dangerous. It could (and Paul says it does) put an end to cell phone messaging, game playing on laptops, web surfing, and other activities that students somehow think will make them better lawyers when they are retained by a client with a problem involving issues studied in the course in which they are presently enrolled. It encourages attendance. The key to making the clicker approach work is that each one is "tagged" to a particular student, so that the professor knows who is responding to a question, and who isn't.
It didn't take long for other law faculty to respond. For example, Prof. Ann Althouse, who's at Wisconsin Law, explains in her blog posting on classroom clickers that her first reaction was "a childlike I-want-one-for-Christmas-too attitude." She explains her familiarity with the cone of silence. I, too, know the cone, and Ann, I'm totally with you on wanting a clicker system (and I want it NOW! (grinning)). Rather than posting on this topic yesterday, I invested the time sending emails to the dean and faculty with the topic, "I Want (Uh, Need) This ASAP". (I learned the "need" thing from my children.) True to form, by the time the committees are formed and the issue slogs through the law school bureaucracy, these clickers will have been made obsolete by some sort of direct brain wave measuring device.
And that takes us to Prof. Althouse's concern that the use of clickers will interfere with student classroom autonomy, something that she asserts "[s]tudents deserve." She writes:
By law school, they are adults and they should be taking responsibility for their education. They will soon enough have clients relying on them, and there will be no lawprof wired in to supervise whatever they decide to do. With classroom autonomy, students can play video games or blog or IM or sleep or think about their personal affairs or even engage and learn something. The consequences are there and they will need to live with them come exam time. If they aren't up to keeping track of their responsibilities autonomously, why should they be unleashed with law licenses on an unsuspecting public?
I disagree. Once upon a time, I had the same outlook. But then I changed my mind. Why? Almost a decade ago, I reached the frustration point when, for the umpteenth time, a student sat in my office in late February, reviewing a not-so-wonderful grade from a course taken in the fall. (Why it takes 2 months for grades to be released, at a point when the student barely remembers the exam (and I have lost a good deal of my familiarity with it) is another topic that needs some serious attention, but not today.) In tears, the student kept saying, "If only I knew that I had a totally wrong approach to the material." I asked myself, "Why didn't this student know?" and "Why is this such a pattern, that students don't know that they are not learning properly and I don't know that they're missing the boat?"
The answer was two-fold. I couldn't do much about one, but I could do something about the other. Why the student had reached the second year of law school devoid of some basic lawyering skills was a question I could answer, but was a problem over which I had (and still have) no control. Why the student was not learning from me how to learn, how to analyze problems, how to plan, and how to write answers was a reflection, perhaps, on my teaching. I decided that I would give feedback to the students during the semester, so that they could make adjustments in their learning process before it "was too late." It would also help me understand which aspects of my teaching were working and which ones were not.
Thus I started the practice of administering "exercises" during the semester. The exercises require students to describe what additional facts must be obtained from the client, to identify flaws in statements made by hypothetical practitioners, to contrast statutes and regulations, and to engage in a variety of other lawyering tasks. Some of the exercises require short answers and are administered through the digital classroom. Others are administered, in class, without notice. These may consist of multiple choice questions, true/false questions with explanations, argument selections, chart completion, or some other design that minimizes the need for extensive writing. Because students might have legitimate reasons for missing class, and because I do not want to sit in judgment of each reason or excuse for an absence (based on experience using that approach), I let the students drop the two lowest scores of the ten scores. The total score from the 8 exercises with the highest scores counts for one-third of the course grade.
Does it work? Yes. That is, there has been improvement. Rather than leaving the students to their own pursuits in the classroom, my parentalistic approach of "getting on them" (as they describe it) has increased the level of preparation, has compelled them to assimilate long before the traditional cram time of the exam period, has alerted them to basic flaws in their learning algorithms that weren't previously identified in their educational careers, and has spilled over into their achievements in other courses. It must work. Some (too few) of my colleagues have followed my lead, though with variations and alterations, as they, too, try to deal with similar issues. The students complain bitterly until the middle of the semester, when the tide begins to turn, and by the end of the exam (long after student evaluations are submitted), they are thanking me. My favorite endorsement came from a group that stopped by after an exam; one of whom said, "We thought you were a total jerk but now we see what you've done. You've got to find a better way to make students understand this at the beginning of the semester."
Does it solve the problem? No. The passive students continue to "dominate" the classroom. The cone of silence remains, even when I use the lame attempt to "poll" the students on a problem answer. Years ago, when I had the time-wasting practice of calling on students (who were unprepared and hemmed and hawed until I gave up on them), a student asked me to refrain from calling on her because she was shy. I asked her if she would make that request of partners, judges, administrative hearing officers, clients, witnesses, and others. To this day I never quite figured out what she thought the practice of law would involve. And the notion of a "shy lawyer" continues to haunt me as a oxymoronic classic. In the New York Times article, Paul explains that many students were embarrassed to speak out in class, especially if it meant admitting they did not understand something, and that "They were petrified of looking dumb in the eyes of their classmates..." If the clickers push them past that point, great.
The typical post-modern student wants to be passive, to be fed information, and to regurgitate it. That's been the educational experience of most of these students. (Too) many of the teachers that these students have encountered, eager for high rankings on student evaluations, prefer to play to the crowd, placate the desires of students weaned on television, and refrain from pushing students to become active participants in their own education. (I'm not alone in this opinion, though I wonder why the author of Remembering the Old Lions (Chronicle of Higher Education, 2 Apr 2004 (subscription site)) had to use a pseudonym. Is it really that dangerous to criticize the negative consequences of the "pamper and coddle" approach?)
If indeed post-modern culture prevents a return to the days of holding students responsible by putting them on the spot, de-valuing their baseless complaints on student evaluations about work load and academic expectations, and failing those who fail, then perhaps getting them involved by "making the work fun" is worth the effort. The clickers are toy-like, they are almost identical to the TV remote with which the student is deeply familiar, they are snazzy and exciting, and they equalize the participation level at something other than zero. Faculty using the clickers claim that the students are enthusiastic about them. That's not a surprise. So surely it's worth a try.
In all fairness to Ann Althouse, there is a risk that some professors would use the clickers to acquire information from students that is inappropriate or that would be used in inappropriate ways. She wonders if it would be acceptable to collect political profiles, say, in a Constitutional Law course. Perhaps, but I'm not so sure that the political affiliations of law students are much of a secret, because we know who belongs to the Federalist Society and the various other organizations. But Ann is wisely warning us that taking polls through the clicker on the students' experiences (e.g., in Criminal Law, asking who has been arrested or used an illegal drug) is dangerous. The questions asked in the Sociology class featured in the New York Times article (race, household income) could be on the edge, but there are ways to track this sort of data by anonymous number rather than student name (especially because it would not and should not enter into evaluation in the same manner as responses to substantive legal questions).
By the way, the fact that Paul teaches tax has absolutely nothing to do with my positive response to the story. It does, however, assure me that clickers can be used effectively in my tax courses. Will the same be the case in my Decedents' Estates and Trusts course? Hopefully my law school will give me the opportunity to find out.
In the meantime, who else is using these? In what courses? What has been the experience? Let me know. You'll get some free press. If being hailed on my blog can be considered press. (It's free, that much is indisputable. And hold on those "you get what you pay for" comments. Be nice.)