Reinventing the Box

Standardized testing is, by definition, a product of large scale education, just as automobile is the product of mass production. The only way to produce a good car cheaply enough to be accessible to everyone, it was said, was to cut out all of the irregularities of the production process. You can only maximize profits if every McDonald’s fry is the same, every time, everywhere in the world.

We paid a certain cost in the qualities of our work lives for these profits, of course; all of those inconsistencies in the production process reflected the people making the cars or the fries. People always find small and large ways to put their individuality back into the process, but the push-back against alienation can only go so far before capital reasserts itself. Profit first, people second.

In education, people have pushing against the factory standardization model from the very start and in higher education, just as we seem on the verge of some sort of final victory against the S.A.T. and the A.C.T. and their ilk, capital is once again asserting itself. The new standardized test, according to a recent opinion piece in Inside Higher Ed, will be called the Collegiate Learning Assessment (CLA).

Why do we need a new standardized test? The profit motive is obvious; standardized testing is a huge industry. By definition, too, it cannot be decentralized. The non-standardized alternative, roughly speaking, is a portfolio system which is by definition tailored to individual students. There’s some profit in these portfolios, but nothing approaching the money made in a standardized mass-market.

It’s no surprise that two co-authors of the piece are executives of the company selling the CLA. The aims of the CLA, assessing students on so-called real world competencies, seems fine, but we don’t need another illusory attempt to put learning into an objective box. The logical fallacy here, is an old one that equates learning with consumer products, but students aren’t fries or cars.

Rare Complaint

Here’s a piece so rare that I almost can’t believe I just read it: an academic- an administrator, no less- demanding that the education mass media and the education community address biases in class both in journalistic and financial priorities. It’s a response to a spate of stories of how elite institutions are handling the budget crisis precipitated by the recension. Drew A. Bennett (chancellor of Missouri State University-West Plains) says things have to change.

First, Bennett says, the media need to “stop drawing attention to the alleged sacrifice of doing without cookies [at Harvard] and ask what’s wrong with a system where some institutions have that much money in the first place.” This is a fact of life in education that’s almost never discussed. Yet, as Bennett notes, while ” a million-dollar gift to an institution like Harvard or Princeton is a drop in the bucket, while the same gift to a two-year, rural college is a tsunami.” As always, the poor and working people take the hits most often.

What’s so interesting is that so few people either feel the outrage that Bennett so nicely dramatizes or so few feel free to openly discuss these class discrepancies in higher education. Yet he’s only scratched the surface of these inequities. Material privileges of this sort are hidden right out in the open and so naturalized that they almost never generate critical examination. It’s as if at some level we believe that the well-off, in education and elsewhere, are well off for good reason. Who are we to question what they have?

Too Much Democracy

I have to say that sometimes market-obsessed conservatives fascinate me with their strange subtleties. Here’s Neal McCluskey, writing recently in Forbes (“SRFA Stinks“) about the Student Aid and Fiscal Responsibility Act (SAFRA). “SAFRA would direct $47 billion to Pell grants and require that grant amounts rise annually at the rate of inflation-plus-one-point,” Mc Cluskey notes.

“SAFRA would send about $9.5 billion to community colleges; $2.5 billion would go toward improving facilities,” he says, “and the remainder toward grants intended to push schools to improve their program-completion and job-placement rates.” And “$8 billion is slated to go to early-childhood education and $4 billion to repairing and modernizing not just public college buildings, but elementary and secondary schools as well.”

What could more conservative than promoting education, that bastion of boot-strapping American individualism? It’s a very commonsensical kind of proposal: if you get rid of the middle-men, that is, the banks who “process” student loans, you can take the administrative savings and use it to expand educational opportunities. It shifts money from one place– the banks– to another, more useful place– students and schools.

Eventually the banks will get their money– this will not change the regressive nature of the economy. If we had a “pay as you go” rule, this bill would pass muster. So why does McCluskey object? Here’s where the subtly really kicks in. First, he says, can they really save all that money by taking out the middle-men? “The cost of quintupling the volume of direct lending is, at best,” he says, “tough to predict, and bureaucracies have a strong, inherent tendency to grow.”

The health care debate has taught us that government administration– with its civil service salaries and economies of scale– is often a cheaper alternative. So that’s not a strong argument. I don’t find the “another government take over” line persuasive, either, and even McCluskey seems hard pressed to lament the loss of other, “non-government lenders.” McCluskey also seems to think that the capital markets are less competitive when one of the competitors is the government. That doesn’t make much sense either.

No, I think the real reasons have nothing to do with these faux-economic ideals. “This is especially troubling,” McCluskey laments, “because too many people are pursuing degrees.” In other words, to his way of thinking, college is already too accessible. We’re letting the rabble into the temple, and it’s costing us. “About a third of college students take at least one remedial course, only 56% graduate within six years and 29% of Americans have bachelor’s degrees even though only a quarter of American jobs require them.”

I wonder what he calls “remedial”– writing classes? Doesn’t that say more about the public school system? It’s odd and sad that we still don’t have a majority of citizens with a college degree. Isn’t that good reason to expand access? Why can’t everyone have a college degree, if they want one? What would be the harm? Maybe we would create some sort of critical, educated tipping point and people would read these sorts of arguments and just laugh.

Literary Studies Concedes Defeat

Perhaps they, the youngest generation, can labor with their teachers in putting together the house that has forfeited its sense of order. If they do, they can graduate with the knowledge that they possess something: a fundamental awareness of how a certain powerful literature was created over time, how its parts fit together, and how the process of creation has been renewed and changed through the centuries …

They can also convert what many of them now consider a liability and a second-rate activity into a sizable asset. They can teach their students to write well, to use rhetoric. They should place their courses in composition and rhetoric at the forefront of their activities. They should announce that the teaching of composition is a skill their instructors have mastered and that students majoring in English will be certified, upon graduation, as possessing rigorously tested competence in prose expression. Those students will thus carry with them, into employment interviews or into further educational training, a proficiency everywhere respected but too often lacking among college graduates.

American Scholar, Autumn 2009,The Decline of the English Department, William H. Chase

Literary Studies folks have long lamented the possibility that their field seemed to be settling into the same sort of steady-state irrelevance as, say, the study of classics or linguistics. (By irrelevance, of course, they mean to undergraduate education). What’s unique about Chase, at least as far as I know, is that he concedes that the battle is lost.

In my upcoming book, A Taste for Language, I argue that this is exactly the wrong strategy. I won’t repeat that argument here, but I will say that what I find fascinating about this piece is the way it assumes that the sole source of academic power lies in the discursive powers of the academic. Since literary studies cannot persuade, it cannot succeed.

In one way, of course, that’s only common sense. Certainly English Studies (both composition and literary studies cadres) need to find some way to make their continued existence more than simply palatable. More precisely, Literary Studies, as Chase notes, seems difficult, if not impossible to justify, as an investment of time and energy. Composition has no such problem.

But this idea of persuasion– in texts as much as in committees and the public at large– too often hides as much as it reveals. What it hides is that there are other forms of power, specifically, the power that results from organizing. If people worried about the fate of English Studies were suddenly organized into unions, the whole picture would change.

Social systems and economies are complex systems, but the changes in the university system (and the economy at large) are not random. They serve certain specific interests. Generally, the changes in Detroit, just as much as changes in the higher education classroom, tend to favor markets over people. These changes were never inevitable, and they can be reversed.